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fanfoolishness · 3 years

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Fulminating (The Mandalorian)

(Din suffers a complication after nearly drowning on Trask. He and the Child recover together. Maybe it's enough. 5000 words, canon-compliant, angst, medical whump, hurt/comfort, sign language. Set during Chapter 11: The Heiress. Don't say I didn't warn you about the whump - but the comfort's there, too.)

Thank you to @lastwordbeforetheend, @art3mys and @honestlyhufflepuff for helping talk me through this! You can also find this story on AO3 if you prefer.

***

The air streams past him, tugging at the free edge of his cloak as he descends. He tilts his head upward, watching Bo-Katan and her cruiser climb to the edge of the atmosphere. They’ll take the ship, and he’ll take the Jedi’s name.

It’s not the deal he wanted -- hell, they aren’t the Mandalorians he wanted -- but she gave him what he needed in the end, and he’ll respect that.

He coughs, chest feeling heavy, and lowers his head as the air rushes past. That’s better.

He aches as the rush of the fight leaves him. He’s not getting any younger, and while firefights are what he’s built himself for, taking an entire cruiser hadn’t been on his agenda. Especially coming off the disastrous crash landing on the ice planet with the kid and the passenger; he’d hit his head pretty badly in the landing, beskar helmet or no, and he still feels a nagging headache now that the action’s over. He scowls under the helmet.

The Rising Phoenix burns clean as the docks rise up before him, and he lands clumsily, staggering. He’s got to work on that. In all the traveling lately, his training has slipped. Koska in particular has given him some ideas for how to better utilize the Phoenix in combat, and he’ll have to consider incorporating the techniques into his own fighting style.

Din pulls a deep breath as he straightens up, slightly winded by the landing. Time to collect the kid and get going.

Leaving would be a good idea, if not for the fact half the port is still quiet. He glances around, realizing it’s still early in the morning and the Mon Calamari he paid to tend to the Crest is nowhere in sight. Fine. Maybe he and the kid will grab some sleep in the inn. How long has it been since they got any rest?

His feet fall heavy on the wooden docks, his boots scuffing. Yeah. A room might do them good.

***

It takes him a good twenty minutes to make his way through the narrow alleys to the Frogs’ home. He’s a little slower than usual, though he’s got good reason to be weary. The door slides open at his knock and the happy couple greets him, gesturing to a water-filled dish on their table. A tadpole splashes back and forth, and Din’s foundling stares at it with wide eyes and half-opened mouth, barely noticing that Din has come for him.

Din almost hates to pull the kid away. He’s downright enchanted by the tadpole (the kid better have minded his manners!), curious and fascinated and protesting as Din scoops him up. He congratulates the couple on their child and heads out into the alley, the kid chattering away unintelligibly. He’s been using that little voice of his much more lately, and though Din hasn’t picked out any words he understands, it’s a comforting sound. He chuckles a bit at the kid’s chatter, the laugh slipping into a brief cough that he swallows down. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could understand what the kid has to say.

The kid’s voice burbles cheerfully in his ears. Probably telling him all about his exciting night, staying with the Frog family. Maybe he’s asking where Din has been, or wondering where they’re going next. Din hasn’t a clue. He tries to pay attention, but finds it strangely difficult to concentrate and walk at the same time.

It’s not far to the inn. Half a klick at most. He’s walking at a normal pace, not running, not sprinting.

So why, then, is he breathing so hard?

He pauses against the wall of a small fishery shop, leaning against it slightly in a way that would look casual to a passing observer. He takes a deep breath, then coughs wetly, chest rattling.

You’re fine, he tells himself firmly, but his chest rises and falls like he’s been running.

His helmet swivels left, right. Quarren, Mon Calamari, humans, they scurry past Din and the child, but more than a few turn to stare at the two of them. This is too open. He needs to get back under cover until he can figure out what’s going on. You are both predator and prey, intones the Armorer, and oh, he knows it. His gut clenches a warning.

The Phoenix roars on his back, carrying them the rest of the way. He holds on to the kid with both arms and the kid giggles, enjoying the ride, but Din just focuses on breathing.

***

The innkeeper stares at him. “One night, then?” he grunts.

Din reaches into his hip pouch, pulls a stack of credits out, more than what’s needed. He forces himself to slow his breathing, though his chest hurts with the effort. He swallows. Modulates his voice to sound gruff and intimidating. “One night. And no questions.”

The innkeeper nods, holding his hands out in an appeasing gesture. “Whatever you say, Mando.” He tosses Din a fob to unlock the room. “Up the stairs, third door on the left. Food sent up to the room’s extra.”

Din merely nods. The kid, nestled in the crook of his arm, looks up at him, frowning. His ears sag down to his collar, and he wraps one hand over Din’s wrist.

Din makes his way to the stairs, shoving past a few Quarren there for their breakfast. They grumble, but they get out of his way; news travels fast about what a Mandalorian can do when pressed. They clear a path for him as he approaches the narrow stairs. With his back to the barroom, no one able to see him directly, he allows himself the luxury of a few deep breaths before he begins. He needs every one.

The flight of stairs isn’t long. Fifteen steps, maybe. But he has to grab the handrail with his free hand, gripping it tightly. His head swims, and the inside of his chest sears, burns, aches. He sucks air through an open mouth, shivering.

“Dank farrik,” he hisses, and regrets the extra breath expended on the curse. He has to rest halfway up the stairs, slumping against the wall with his head spinning.

He makes it up the rest of the flight, through the hallway, to the third door on the left. It slides open and he stumbles through the doorway, barely noticing the door sliding closed behind him as he staggers to the lumpy four-poster bed. He sets the kid down carefully before he sinks onto the bed with a thump. He struggles to remove the Rising Phoenix. He manages to rest it on the floor at his feet, and stays leaning forward, curled up over himself.

What’s wrong with me?

He desperately tries to run the possibilities. Poison? No, no, nothing’s broken his skin, he hasn’t eaten since he left the ship.… He shivers again. Is he sick? This doesn’t feel like any sickness he’s ever known before, coming on so fast like this, hitting so hard…

He sits huddled on the edge of the bed, panting. His helmet’s sensors chime at him. Normally vital signs are measured in the background, but he forces himself to focus on the corner of the display through his visor, where it flashes a warning: Blood oxygen level below 90%.

Oxygen… lungs… going under the water after the kid, struggling as the seal on his helmet slipped, as the seawater rushed up over his face, into his mouth and nose --

But I was fine, he tries to tell himself. He tries to remember if he inhaled the water or if he spat it back out, but all he remembers is frantic choking, flailing, a confusing jumble of cold and weight and struggle. I was fine --

He coughs again, the action bowing him over himself, and he gags on fluid in the back of his throat. He retches, gulps, tastes something metallic. Blood.

Fuck. Fuck.

His mind races. Battlefield first aid is taught to all Mandalorians, but he doesn’t remember what he’s supposed to do here. What here even is. His mind blanks for a second, or an eternity.

He suddenly remembers a function of his helmet he’s rarely used. He toggles it on with a jerky swipe over his vambrace. He can’t carry an entire tank of oxygen with him, since it’d be a clear explosion hazard in his line of work, but the helmet does have emergency oxygen concentrator ability. Enough to double the atmospheric content for low-O2 planets. He breathes deeply of the fortified air, and for a moment he feels a little calmer. This’ll fix things. Just need a little more air, a little rest, I’ll be fine --

It’s not enough.

The display in his helmet says it’s concentrating the oxygen at maximal levels, but damn it, it’s not enough. He wheezes, straining.

The display says a lot of things now. It’s going fucking haywire, streaming readings for his heart rate, his oxygen, spiking or crashing in ways he’s never seen. He forces himself to focus on the room beyond him instead of the screeching vitals, tries to focus on fishnets lining the dingy walls, a cramped closet refresher, a little wooden table to sit at, a round window letting in muted daylight.

It’s not working. Din drags in breath after frantic breath, coughs again, feels something frothy in the back of this throat. He tastes metal. He’s -- he’s suffocating --

No. No. This is just a sickness, I just have to get through the worst of it, just breathe -- just breathe --

But he wants to tear his helmet off, he’s so hungry for air, he wants -- he needs --

Firm pressure on his lap, movement, something besides the flail of his chest. It’s the kid. He’s almost forgotten about him in his struggle, and seeing the kid calms him slightly. Just slightly.

He manages to lower his head, though it makes him dizzy. The kid’s dark eyes stare up at him, his little face scrunched up and worried.

“I’m fine,” Din gasps, though clammy sweat clings to him inside his suit, though his heart still races. Does the kid understand him? He coughs, the sound harsh and wracking. “I just need to -- rest --”

Rest. Yeah. Yeah, that should help. Maybe he’ll be better off laying down in a different position. Holding the kid against him, he tries to ease himself down on the rumpled bedding. But as soon he’s down, he realizes it’s wrong -- on his back, he feels his armor crushing him -- smothering him --

He jerks upright, clawing at his chest, undoing the catches of his armor. His cuirass loosens and falls to the bed beside him. He leaves it. The pressure eases, barely.

The kid in his lap lets out a wail, and Din realizes that the kid knows.

What if I don’t -- what if he’s alone -- if this gets worse -- His heart rate jumps at the unfinished thought, pounding until he can feel the veins in his neck throbbing, the pulse thready. He slumps against the post at the end of the bed, wrapping a hand protectively around the kid. No. I’ll be fine.

He has to be fine. For both of them. He wishes he could tell the kid --

***

Grogu feels, sees, senses ripples in the Force, just as he senses ripples in the water where a frog might be near. Most of the time, it comforts him, feeling its swirls and eddies.

It isn’t comforting now. It’s scary. The Force is disturbed, the ripples churning waves. His protector, his person clings to him, and Grogu feels fear panic wrong.

Grogu flinches, his stomach hurting. He doesn’t know what’s happened to the man, but there’s something in the man’s chest that isn’t right, something that shouldn’t be there, something that makes it not work the way it’s supposed to. Grogu tilts his head up and rests one hand against the man’s armor, whimpering.

The man is shaking. His voice catches. “It’s -- it’s all right,” he chokes, but Grogu can feel how hard he’s working to breathe, how his voice sounds different. It sounds wet.

Grogu whimpers again, tries to reach out in the Force. He has to help him! The man flickers in the Force in a way Grogu remembers once from a misty dream, the day he sent the fire back; he was so sleepy after the flames ran away. But the man feels like he did then, faint and far away, and this time, Grogu understands what it means. Faint and far away and fading.

Grogu tries to talk to the man. Tries to tell him that he can help. He makes his voice loud, but the man’s breathing is louder. It’s not working.

He gets to his feet in the man’s lap, hurriedly bracing his hands against the man’s laboring chest. This close he can hear the wrongness inside him even without the Force, his ears catching terrible crackles over the man’s pounding heart. It shouldn’t sound like that. He knows it in a way he doesn't have the words for.

The man is soft without the armor, but the cloth and leather he wears are still thick and hard to get through, under Grogu’s hands. Grogu tries to reach, tries to make the Force inside the man move and change. He’s done it before, he has to try now, has to try to help him --

But it’s hard to shift the Force inside the man. He’s still wrapped in most of his armor, no skin to touch. Maybe one of the Masters from long ago could fix the man without touching him, without pressing skin to skin, but Grogu doesn’t know how. He wraps his claws around the heavy vest the man wears under the armor, and he cries at him, trying to make him understand.

“Please --” the man rasps. “It’s -- don’t be afraid --” He coughs again, thin reddish fluid beading at the bottom of his helmet. Flickering -- far away --

Grogu sinks into the man’s lap, breathing hard himself. The man’s fear is overwhelming, making it hard for Grogu to think. He’s felt it before from him when things got scary, but always the man’s bravery was bigger, more powerful, so much brighter in the Force than his fear.

But it’s all that Grogu can feel from him now.

He has to do something. The man still flickers. He looks around wildly, sees the man’s hand, limply resting against the bottom of Grogu’s robe.

“Hey, buddy,” the man wheezes. “You’ll be -- okay --”

Grogu is already pulling at the man’s wrist. He’s seen a little flash of skin here before, where the glove meets the armor. He fumbles with it, but it’s on too tight for him to budge.

“What --”

Grogu pulls hard at the glove, and the man helps weakly with his other hand, his fingers clumsy. The glove slips down at the wrist, exposing light brown skin, a thumb. The man crumples against the post at the end of the bed, the line of him all wrong, head rolled to his shoulder. He’s so faint.

Grogu curls one hand around the man’s thumb, presses the other hand against his palm. The man’s skin is cool and sweaty and calloused. Grogu holds his hand as hard as he can, and he closes his eyes, and he reaches.

He can't make sense of what he feels through the Force. Water, but there shouldn’t be water here. Breathing, but the air doesn’t help. Grogu concentrates, but it’s hard. It’s not like when that other man’s arm was hurt in the dark by the creatures, when Grogu could reach out and feel the way the poison wasn’t supposed to be there, the way the arm wanted to be normal again. The Force flowed to the hurt part, and it made it like it was before.

But now he’s confused, the fear so loud and painful, making it harder for Grogu to understand the problem with the water and the air and the lungs. He clutches the man’s skin, claws digging into his strong hand. He tries to do what he can, tries to tell the man’s chest to be normal, to work, to help.

The Force shimmers. It flows, and something goes out of him, into the man.

But it’s not like before. The other man’s arm got better so quickly, the poison disappearing, the flesh coming back to itself. It doesn’t feel that way now; he’s not sure what it feels like. It feels… like something slow, like something calm and quiet, like something gentle.

Grogu lets go of the man’s hand, his mouth twisting. He knows he didn’t understand enough, didn’t get it quite right. He lets out a soft wail, sinking down into the man’s lap and staring dejectedly at his hands.

He hears a quiet, tired voice. Feels the man shift, feels his hand with the rolled-up glove brush against his cheek. Grogu looks up through sleepy eyes and sees the man’s helmet upright again, looking steadily at him.

“Kid?” A long, ragged breath. A hoarse voice. His shoulders rise and fall with big breaths, but not as fast as before.

The man pulls him closer, and Grogu’s ears swivel. The crackles are getting softer. Going away.

“Thanks, kid,” the man whispers.

Grogu gazes up at the man, and he manages a tired little smile. The man is getting brighter in the Force. No more flickering. And underneath the man’s fear, Grogu senses brave again.

***

Din isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting there, leaning against the post at the end of the bed, holding the sleeping kid in his lap. He only knows he’s been working, and it is work, at breathing.

In, and out.

His helmet display flashes numbers at him. They aren’t normal. Oxygen, heart rate, respirations. But hell, they’re so much better than they were.

He doesn’t know what the kid did. The bare skin of his hand tingles in the cool air, and he’s almost afraid to cover it up again, in case it reverses what the child did to him.

For him.

All he really remembers -- things are hazy, even though it was at most only a few hours back -- is the panic, darkness at the edges of his sight, a terrible, unending hunger for air.

And then something quiet and soft, gently washing over him. It was enough.

He coughs again, but it’s easier than before. The rattle’s faint, thin, clearing. He’s not a medical droid, but he’s sure of it anyway: he’s going to make it.

The kid yawns beside him, half-wrapped in Din’s ragged cloak. He squints up at Din, his expression wary. Worried.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, his throat raw. “Are you okay?”

The kid whines a little, his ears swinging low at the way Din’s voice sounds so rough. Din feels an ache that has nothing to do with his lungs and everything to do with the kid’s anxious face.

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna be fine,” Din manages. “You helped me. Saved me.” The words are hard to force out, but he knows they’re important. Hell. What the kid must have seen -- what he must have thought was going to happen -- He freezes, remembering a dark cellar, explosions, a day of red robes in the smoke.

No. That’s not gonna happen. Not to him.

Din cradles the kid into a hug, his ears brushing against Din’s chest and shoulder. The kid hugs him back as hard as he can with his small arms, and he can feel the child trembling.

“Hey, hey,” Din murmurs, though he’s getting winded with all the talking. “I’m sorry I --” He huffs, keeps going even though it’s difficult. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

The kid reaches up to rest one clawed hand against the cheek of the helmet. Din blinks, startled at the closeness, but the kid keeps his hand against the beskar. Din mirrors the gesture, resting the knuckles of one hand against the child’s soft cheek.

“We’ll be okay. You and me, pal. Understand?” he asks gently.

The kid blinks those large, dark eyes, and Din wonders if he’s failed to reach him. Then the child lowers his hands, letting out a cheerful babble with a tilt of his head, and the tension in Din’s chest and gut falls away.

Yeah. He’ll be okay.

The kid chirrups again, voice rising in a question. Din thinks he recognizes what the kid is asking. “You hungry?”

Food. He dimly remembers a few ration bars, tucked in at the back of his belt, swiped from the Crest before they’d left. He sets the kid down beside him, then pulls out two bars and unwraps them both for the kid. Din’s thirsty, after everything, but the idea of food holds no interest yet.

“Here,” Din rasps. “Eat.” He carefully straightens up, taking a moment to slowly swing his legs over the edge of the bed. What normally takes a second leaves him breathless.

He gets to his feet, using the bedpost for support. He’s still wearing boots, his armor aside from the cuirass. It’s all so much heavier than it should be. He lets out a hiss between his teeth and crosses the room to the refresher, one step at a time. Water.

Once inside the refresher he sinks down onto the seat, removing his helmet and setting it into his lap. He glances up and sees his face in the cracked, streaky mirror, the skin blotchy and pale, hair a matted tangle, eyes swollen. There’s residue on his face, dried pinkish red around his mouth and nose. The sight makes him run cold.

It had been so close.

He flicks the water on, strips off his gloves and sets them into his upturned helmet. He cups his hands together beneath the faucet, the cold water spilling over the edges of his palms.

He drinks, and it’s enough.

***

The ship awaits them. Unfortunately, it's barely better off than it was when they left it. The Razor Crest drips with Mon Calamari detritus, rope rigging and tangles of seaweed crisscrossing the ship's hold. Din shakes his head, stepping aboard with the kid in his arms. It’s not great. It’ll do to limp along to something better.

He allows himself a faint chuckle, putting himself in the same category.

He’s mostly recovered. He can still feel it, the way his lungs don’t fully expand the way they should, the way he gets a little winded when he’s up and walking around. But he’s so much better than he was, and getting better every day. Thanks to the kid, and his powers.

He glances down at him; he seems fascinated by the Crest’s new decorations. Din brushes a hand over the back of the kid’s head and the little one coos, reaching out to bat at a clump of seaweed.

“You like this, huh?” he asks. “Don’t get used to it.” Soon as I’m up to it, this stuff’s getting spaced.

The kid giggles at the slimy seaweed in his hands, and Din softens. Maybe he’ll leave it up for a little bit, anyway.

He carefully takes the ladder up into the cockpit, only huffing a little. He’s grateful for the way he takes oxygen in, the way it sustains. He finally turned off the oxygen concentration function of his helmet this morning, and he hasn’t missed it. It’s a good feeling, one that’s been growing as he’s gotten closer to recovery.

He doesn’t remember much of the past few days. He remembers the Quarren innkeeper hollering outside about their time being up, until Din lurched to his feet and shoved a pile of credits at him through the crack in the door. He remembers the innkeeper, mollified, bringing up bowls of steaming soup and leaving them out in the hall for Din to slowly bring inside, one at a time. He remembers how good it tasted, rich and briny and hot, hot, hot. He remembers sighing so loudly the kid’s ears twitched, and the kid let out the longest, tiniest, happiest sigh Din had ever heard.

***

He remembers a realization.

He had found it hard to talk on the second day, between the lingering heaviness in his chest and the bone-deep exhaustion. The kid, though, had seemed to bounce right back after using his powers, and had taken to relentlessly exploring the room for things to do.

Din watched him roam, crawling under the bed, playing with the empty drawers of the dinged-up dresser, trying to climb up the wall to see out the window. The kid was gonna hurt himself if he wasn’t careful, and Din couldn’t afford another scare. He reached out and planted the kid on his lap the next time his circuit around the room brought him close.

Inspiration struck. So it was hard to speak. So what? He had options.

He held up a finger. The kid watched keenly.

Look here, he signed in Tusken, fingers splitting and then rising up to his visor. The kid tilted his head, focusing.

We can talk like this. A wide sweep, a hand raised up near the mouth, palms spreading wide. Din waited. The kid had seen him use Tusken before, but for some reason, Din had never tried it with the kid. He’d always seemed to understand Basic well enough for how young he seemed to be, but he’d never spoken a word of it that Din could make out. He wondered why he hadn’t tried this earlier.

Do you understand? Din asked, hands flattening, circling, ending with a soft point of the index finger. He asked it a few times, varying the speed and size of the question, trying to see if the child understood.

The kid’s ears quivered, as if trying to catch something far in the distance. He held out his small three-fingered hands, and tried a clumsy sign for you.

Din leaned forward, hitching a sharp breath at the effort. Do you understand me?

The kid signed you again. Tried it a few times, the word smoothing out the more he tried, getting clearer.

Good job. It was hard to say if the kid really got it, or if he thought it was just a game. But it was promising to see his ears perking up, his dark eyes wide and interested, his mouth in a toothy, tiny grin.

Din smiled beneath his helmet. If this worked, they might be able to understand each other a lot better. The kid could ask him for help. Din could make it clear what was off limits and not to be bothered with. It was heartening as hell, a bright spot glimmering in the midst of some of the shittiest days he’d had in years.

And then a name swam into his head, causing his hands to drop, slowly, back into his lap.

Ahsoka Tano.

It wasn’t going to matter soon if the kid learned Tusken or Basic. He’d be back with the Jedi.

And Din would be alone, again.

His hands, trembling, spoke for him. Fingers flashed much too quickly for a beginner to learn; phrases scaffolded in front of him, words in motion, hands unfolding with meaning he knew the kid couldn’t hope to guess. The little one gazed up at him.

Thank you for saving my life --

I promise I’ll help you, no matter what --

I’m really going to miss you, kid --

Din’s eyes stung. He blinked once, twice, and stilled his hands. He’d said too much. The kid reached out and held onto his palms, his hands weighing almost nothing at all against Din’s own.

Din swallowed, looking into those trusting eyes. “Okay, kid,” he said hoarsely. “Come on. Let’s try again.”

***

Din shakes the memory off. He knows what he has been quested to do, that Mandalorians keep their word. He’s promised to find the place the kid belongs, and he would rather die -- nearly did -- than leave that promise unfulfilled.

The door to the cockpit slides open, and Din groans. The Mon Calamari’s handiwork is even more ridiculous here than in the rest of the ship. A dangling fishnet slaps him in the helmet, and he shoves it aside irritably as he buckles the kid into his favorite seat. Even through the helmet, the whole place stinks of brine.

“Mon Calarami,” he grumbles. “Unbelievable.”

He powers up the ship, starts easing it into the atmosphere. The ship shakes beneath him, clearly wounded. He can tell by the feel and the instrumentation that the ship should hold together for travel… barely.

A strange noise catches his attention, and he reaches out, grabbing some kind of sea creature that looks like it was about to pounce on the kid. The child burbles with delight and Din shakes his head. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. He squeezes until he’s sure the creature’s dead, then hands it to the kid for a snack. It’s not as hideous as some of the things he’s seen him eat, anyway.

“I finally know where I’m taking you,” Din tells him. “But it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

The starfield opens up before them. He takes a deep breath -- hold together, now -- and punches it to hyperspace. The stars ribbon past them, and Din leans back in his seat, relieved. It’ll be enough to get somewhere safe. Before they find the Jedi.

The ship vibrates around them, and Din makes a running list in his head of things he needs to check, wiring that needs to be redone, processes to recalibrate, repairs that need to be made, Mon Calamari detritus that needs to be jettisoned. He could start work on it now. Get it done. It'd be the efficient thing to do.

Instead, Din turns to the kid. “Hey. You wanna practice what we learned?” His hands flash before him as he speaks, tracing out the sentence structure in Tusken. “You can do it.”

He knows he doesn’t need to bother. He can speak again without losing his breath, and what’s more, he knows the kid will leave him soon. He knows it’s not enough time to teach proficiency, that it probably won’t make a difference for the kid in the long run.

But the kid likes it, and Din does, too. Maybe that’s enough.

The kid stares at him intently, moves his small hands in little circles, makes a fist. He grins, clearly pleased with himself.

Din laughs, hands shifting in affirmation, echoing the kid’s words. “That’s right, kid.”

The kid’s hands sign again, repeating the phrase Din had gone on to teach him, the signs clumsy but clear.

You. And me.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu djarin #grogu #clan mudhorn #the mandalorian fanfiction #noromo mando #whump #noncardiogenic pulmonary edema is the diagnosis if anyone is wondering #and treatment is basically... oxygen and sedation #it ain't fun!#my Mando fic

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castieltrash1 · 4 years

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dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

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blueburds-but-swtor · 3 years

Text

The Path Ahead; part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Finally giving Altrethir and Ashara more well-deserved time together! I had fun with this chapter and spent a little extra time tweaking it. Hope yall like it <3

“I sense your uneasiness, Altrethir,” said Ashara, breaking the silence of their meditation. As he gave her no immediate reply, she took the opportunity to pry further. “You didn’t just ask me to join you for meditation.”

“You are correct,” Altrethir murmured as his eyes slowly opened. “This was our only means to get away from the base without drawing suspicion.”

Ashara’s brows furrowed, “Suspicion?”

“I would like to hear your thoughts on a concerning matter.”

“If it’s whatever’s troubling you, then absolutely.”

Altrethir exhaled a deep sigh from his nose, shifting atop his knees. “The traitor within our ranks: I have them narrowed down to a small list of individuals.”

“You must have been working hard. It’s been less than a week since the whole incident on Iokath.”

“I have spent every free moment of my time investigating.” All things considered, it was quite obvious who this traitor was. Still Altrethir’s gut churned with every piece of evidence he collected.

“Who’ve you narrowed it down to?” Ashara asked.

“The only individuals who were directly involved with the superweapon scheme: Empress Acina, Lana, and Theron.”

“Acina has a history of being deceitful and manipulative. It’s got to be her.” Ashara then gestured to him, “Maybe Thexia isn’t the ally she preferred. Her loyalty to the Empire was put into question in the past, but yours never was.”

“You suggest that Thexia has grown to be too much of a wild card for Acina’s own comfort?”

“In a sense.”

“I do not believe loyalty is what concerns the Empress, rather, she seeks powerful allies. Allies who both benefit from a mutual goal, not particularly loyal to one another. Thexia and I both hold substantial amounts of power; physically and figuratively. Eliminating one of us would have no benefit to her, nor the Empire.” Altrethir glanced to his friend, her brows furrowed and lips pressed thinly in thought. “The reason for this incident,” he continued, “I believe goes beyond mere faction wars.

“You understand that this matter was only to be kept between Thexia, Lana and Theron, but Theron enlightened me of the situation regardless. Thus, I have only received his end of the story. He claimed to have been fixing a power cable in the eastern hallway at the time of the attack.”

Altrethir retrieved his holodevice and produced an image. Ashara looked to it, observing the angles as it slowly spun. “The power cable in question,” Altrethir elaborated, “claimed to have been damaged by the droids. It has been sliced through with a blade.”

“What type of weapons did the droids use?” Ashara said, catching on.

“Vibroknives, conveniently. But the width and depth of the cuts are what caught my attention.” Altrethir then opened his backpack and pulled out a vibroknife. “Taken from one of the droids in the control room. I inspected every one of their knives, concluding that they were all identical. The blades are long and thin,” he traced the blunt end of the knife with his finger for emphasis, “but the cuts are short and wider.”

Ashara observed the knife and the holo image. Granted, it was difficult to truly determine the damage from a mere image. “So one of the droids didn’t damage the cable. It was the assassin, then? They were trying to create a distraction to draw Theron out?”

“In some manner, yes. Contrary to Theron’s claims, the droids were not the ones who destroyed the cables. That much is true. I also investigated the superweapon’s systems—as much as I could, anyway. I had difficulty sifting through the fried circuits, but I digress.” Altrethir then pulled out his datapad and scrolled through his notes. “The coding the droids of Iokath use follow its own self-created programing. Thankfully, SCORPIO left enough of the coding within the Gravestone for me to begin understanding it.”

Coding and slicing were never his strong suits, but over the course of time he spent with Theron, he’d learned the basics and more. He understood where to start and what to look for between the lines.

“When the superweapon charges up, the room undergoes an intense lockdown protocol. Nothing may enter or exit. Only the GEMINI droids, even ARIES, could override the system.

“But there aren’t any GEMINI droids on Iokath?”

“No,” Altrethir muttered disdainfully. He briefly recalled the event in which Thexia cut down SCORPIO before she could merge into the planet’s system. Truthfully, he thought, that was the reason Iokath had become as chaotic as it was now: it lacked coordination, a sole voice to listen to. The droids ran without guidance or goals. While SCORPIO wasn’t one to be trusted, at least she could have kept the droids under control.

“Even if there was another way to override the programing, it was never tampered with. Here,” he gestured to a line of code that he highlighted in his notes. “There is never any implication that security protocols were lifted. Meaning our suspects are those who were already inside the control room when the assassin struck.”

“So the assassin was already waiting when they arrived,” Ashara said in slow understanding.

“Perhaps. In regard to the self-defense system, here,” Altrethir turned to another page of notes. “Six battle droids are to awaken and eliminate the threat of any tampering with the terminal. Meaning that when the control terminal is damaged or at risk of being harmed—or perhaps if it is already damaged—the droids engage. Theron said he was fighting droids while Thexia was already conversing with the superweapon.

“He did not mention fighting droids when they both entered the chambers, but I do not believe they did. I can recognize remnants of Thexia’s fighting in a heartbeat; not a single one of those droids were sliced in half, decapitated, or crushed by means of the Force. And thus, Theron’s claims contradict the programing of the superweapon.

“Our traitor is no one else than my dear Agent Shan.”

Ashara blinked. Her gut tightened, knowing what significant pain her friend must have felt. “I see why you’re so uneasy now,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, Altrethir. Have you felt his guilt through the Force?”

“Not much. He’s masked his emotions well over the past few days, further drawing my suspicion. Coupled with the evidence, our traitor can be only him.” Altrethir leaned forward, bringing a hand to his mouth then drawing his fingers down his chin in thought. “But my involvement in everything was intentional. He brought the matter to my attention, after all. I fail to yet understand why.”

“The SIS had him on all sorts of undercover missions, right? Maybe he has to keep extra quiet about this one.”

“The SIS has not recruited him for such a mission.”

“How do you know?”

Altrethir hesitated. He glanced to Ashara but kept his head in place. “They already have an agent of the Republic working undercover for them. They wouldn’t require another, not one to do something as drastic as this.”

“What are you talking about?” She kept her voice low but there was eagerness in her tone.

“I allied myself with the Republic. I refuse to become a slave to the Empire again. My agreement in joining Acina was a ruse. But, for now, I work in absolute secrecy for the Republic. I trust you, Ashara, as I have for many years. You must not tell anyone else. Not even your own allies of the Republic, and especially no one else from our old crew.”

Her expression was one of pleasant surprise. A short huff of a laugh escaped her lips as if in disbelief. She gave a quick shake of her head and a shrug of her shoulders, “You’re for real? I mean—stars, I’m relieved that you’re not returning to the Empire. But to join the Republic? How did you manage to convince them?”

“I shall tell you someday in a more secure setting. That is where I would like to drop the matter, please.”

“Of course. So, Theron,” her smile slowly faded. “He’s pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes but yours. What are you going to do about him?”

“I shall continue things as normal. Outing him directly as a traitor will not end well for anyone. I do not believe his intentions are malicious; his assassination attempt on Thexia was orchestrated to be non-lethal. The voltage the superweapon produced was created to short-circuit droids, not to kill humanoids. This was intentional.”

“He’s still on our side.”

“Yes. There is a deeper layer of this situation that I’ve yet to uncover. I shall remain ever observant. And I would like for you to as well, Ashara.”

#swtor #sith inquisitor #ashara zavros #oc: Altrethir Valran #fanfiction #my writing #Alt pulling out his detective hat for this chapter

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neko-rogers · 3 years

Text

72 Hours

You only have 72 hours to detain Steve Rogers. He’s the only opportunity you can get to find out what happened and why half of the population mysteriously disappeared.

word count: 3,168

tags: eventual dark!steve rogers and non-con; however, none much in this chapter but plot and interaction

Things escalated so quickly.

Ever since half of the world population had suddenly disappeared, which left fewer people walking around the streets of Manhattan, your job had become stressful yet so useless. The rest of the investigative crew are close to giving up and adapting to what has been left.

Meanwhile, here you were. Neither convinced nor ready to accept the fact that most of your friends and family have vanished.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. By now, the withdrawal is coming close to a year and a half. Yet the clues you have gathered merely comprises for a month of effort.

“You should be giving up on this already.” Two of your colleagues walk behind you, either of them comforting your bothered state by rubbing your back as a gesture to cheer up. The hint of hopelessness in their tone bothers you more than their initial intention.

“I doubt you will be solving one of the biggest mysteries of the world yet,” they state with an implication of humor before pulling back. From the corner of your vision, you could see their jackets folded neatly and hung on top of their arms. Just as their uniforms remained pressed, it conveys that they were already prepared to check out of their shift.

“But hey, if you do solve it, let us know. We’ll be more than supportive and grateful for your efforts, Agent.”

“Thanks. I hope so,” your voice was soft, resisting to show any sign of weakness or vulnerability despite on the verge of breaking down on the inside.

Within a few minutes, the office was left noiseless. Most of the officers who had day shifts proceeded to depart by the hour until you and two others have remained.

For you, it did not matter whether you got paid for overtime from your original schedule. Since you did not have anyone to look forward to when coming home, you preferred to spend most of your hours at work, searching for a way to somehow bring them back.

The chances were so odd and slim. The fact that all your families and friends near your location were wiped out. You could not do anything since you did not know who caused all this disaster, let alone the reasons behind the disappearances.

As your elbows were resting on top of your desk, your head fell onto both your palms. A big sigh was released from your lips countless times already. This wasn’t just getting lonely anymore, you were obsessing over something that was far from your reach.

The plain screensaver of the bureau’s logo was dancing over your desktop. Along with several pictures, specifically one or more for each member of the well-known extra-terrestrial fighting group of Avengers. Their superhero names were scribbled with red ink and pinned onto a small corkboard.

Tony Stark.

The name haunted you to your dreams. The billionaire who brought good and bad things into New York City.

You are not entirely sure why your guts were forcing you to focus on this man amongst the rest of his alliance. But you were just desperate to cling onto any evidence blindly hanging in front of you.

For the entirety of the event, you haven’t had a single report about him. Assuming that he’s been trying to hide from this mess, you tried contacting other bureaus from across the world in search of the man. For months of being very pushy, you have only been getting the same phrases like a broken record.

‘I’m sorry, Agent.’

‘No. We haven’t had any reports about Tony Stark.’

‘My crew has been trying their best, but there aren’t any traces of him.’

‘We assure you we’ll find him sooner or later, Agent.’

‘Please be patient, we don’t have much manpower here anymore.’

For months, you have been at the edge of your seat. Eager to answer the phone at the first ring. If it’s not considered patient then soon enough it’s going to run out. You did not know what backup plan you have once that does happen though.

Maybe going crazy would ironically be the sanest thing to happen.

Nevertheless, you will eventually cross that bridge when you get there. For now, the only option you have is to overwork yourself to the edge of insanity.

“A long day you got there, Agent?” A subordinate of yours passes by with two cups of coffee in her hand. She sets down the other right beside your computer screen and glances at the pictures splayed across your work area.

You groan, a frown still evident as you sat up straight before replying, “Oh tell me about it, I’ve had the longest year.”

She gave you a warm smile, like always around this time of evening. Though only being hired recently after a month of the mysterious disappearing arc, she continued to attend to her shift and adapt as the others would. And despite almost a year of greeting, and often bringing you a cup of coffee, you never really gave any of your attention to her.

This time though, you looked back just as she was about to leave. You were quick enough to get a glance of her name plastered on her identification card connected to a lanyard that draped around her collar.

Agent Maria Hill.

“Agent Hill,” you addressed her. She turned around with a smile, looking neatly as ever with her hair combed and pinned in a neat bun.

“Yes?”

"Thanks for the coffee, like every night." Your gratitude combines with a warming smile that reaches out for her. Though appearing exhausted from staring at a screen and documents for hours, you tried to look your best when facing her.

"It's no big deal." Her reply trails down to murmur a few indistinctive words that you merely brushed off, assuming that it was nothing but a nice gesture.

Before her figure could entirely exit the vicinity of your workplace, you swiftly chirped, "And thanks for being so nice to me!" A chuckle was heard from her, leaving off with a smile as she walked away without responding anything in return.

Immediately, your mood shifted again returning to your usual distressed state of mind.

The coffee you drank earlier was wearing off from your system. You could drink the cup your colleague had offered, but you figured it could not do much now that your body could only harbor caffeine to such an extent. A twelve-hour shift with merely half an hour of lunch break would not leave you, or anyone, at best. By sooner, your eyelids were getting heavy, risking to doze off at work.

Your fingers reached to move your mouse, dragging the cursor along with the useless mail your inbox has been receiving. Each of them took that least bit of hope of finding Stark, making you feel caged and haunted every day as there is not any progress in a year.

Again, you groan, louder this time. Other agents around could have heard you yet shrugged your frustration casually since they have witnessed it for months. You ball your fists and slam it against your desk, rough enough to make a sound echo throughout the room, but not enough to break it into two.

“Fuck, I need the rest,” you admit to yourself.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

24 hours

Days have passed. Like usual – nothing.

As always, your routine started just as you were walking to the agency. However, amidst peacefully walking at the pavement, trying to get even a hint of peace of mind, the phone tucked inside the pocket of your jacket started ringing.

The name of your agency was the first thing you have noticed as you faced the small screen. Moreover, you did not hesitate to slide the green phone button to answer.

“Hel–”

Just as you were about to offhandedly greet the person at the other line, they made their way to cut the conversation fearfully.

“They found him! They found him, Agent!” The fearful yet impressed tone was evident, and eventually, you realized that the familiar voice belonged to Agent Hill.

Nonetheless, your mind started wandering to different scenarios, jumping to conclusions like a kid. Despite barely hearing anything other than they caught someone, you were sure looking as joyful as ever. It was as if every bit of hope you lost each week have been restored.

For a short while of daydreaming, you have recovered quickly. Moreover, inquire about the context of what she’s trying to refer to. “What do you mean you’ve found him, Hill?”

Your heart raced quickly. The tension behind finding out who it was was far from the reality of it being a pause for mere seconds.

Please say you have found Stark. Your mind could only pray harder for those words to be repeated from the other end of the call.

“The team found one of the members of the Avengers,” she answers.

“Which one of them?”

“It’s Steve Rogers.”

Your world partly crumbled after hearing a different name compared to what you were expecting. Nevertheless, happy enough that you were progressing on the vision you have laid out.

“Hold on, I’ll be at the station in a few minutes.” You assert, turning around the corner of a street you were approaching. From here, there was a fair five-minute jog until your office. Considering that it was early morning, you did not hesitate to start speeding your pace.

Right now, as if things escalated so quickly

Once you arrived, you passed vacant offices until reaching the interrogation room. The other officers were gathered outside it, facing the two-way mirror that displayed the known Captain America.

Maria Hill was standing closest to the mirror. Getting the best view of the super-soldier sitting peacefully inside the room. You approached her with a confused look upon your face.

“How did you even find him?”

“It’s a long story, there were two of them though we could only catch up with Mr. Rogers,” she explains.

“Alright.” You motioned for your other colleagues to return to their original tasks. Both you and Agent Hill were left, given privacy to talk about what should be done.

“Give me a moment with him, I’ll try to see what information we can get.” Agent Hill nods at you and hands over a folder. She gestures for you to take a step inside the room and reassures that she will be outside to act as a witness.

As you enter the room, it felt colder in addition to the resentful stare coming from Captain America himself. His gaze does not leave you, following your trail up until you reach the metal chair and take a seat in front of him.

Your back begins to sweat even after barely interacting with him. You did not know what could happen. For all you know, he could rip his handcuffs and beat your face over the table.

Nonetheless, you tried to look as assertive as possible. Adjusting your posture to feel comfier in your seat and clasped both palms of your hands over each other. You look in front, seeing the man still staring at you.

You took a deep breath to prepare yourself “Nice to see you in Manhattan again, Mr. Rogers.” Your voice was close to breaking, but you disregarded it. This is your nearest encounter with a superhero, so it would be normal for anyone to feel pressured.

The soldier raises one eyebrow at your greeting. He pulls back and slumps on his chair, acting as if he’s the one probing the detainee. “Been keeping track of me, ma’am?”

The tone of his voice instantly became cocky. Even so, smirking while his gaze shifts from the floor and back at you.

“I have been keeping track of the Avengers for these past months,” you affirm. To prevent a boost of ego in his system, you also added, “But I wasn’t specifically keeping my eye on you, Captain.”

He imitates an offended look, placing one of his cuffed hands over his left chest. “Ouch. Was expecting a pretty woman like you tracking down America’s Golden Boy.”

“Nonetheless, do tell me which one of us were you looking for. Is it Stark?” You tried to ignore his mood swings. The sudden change of being quiet, then proceeding to act hurt, and now seeming provoked even if you had not given any answers yet.

You figured it was best to ignore his question.

“Mr. Rogers, may I know what you were doing here in Manhattan and who you were with–”

“I asked you a question first,” he reminds.

“Look, sir, I don’t think it will help if I’m the one answering questions here,” you sigh. “So if you could please cooperate with us.”

“Cooperate? Why would I?” He scoffs. “You can only detain me here for seventy-two hours at most. Considering that you have no evidence against me, you can only hope to pray for a miracle.”

His attitude was not at all welcoming. Your blood started to boil at the man seated in front of you, acting as if he is completely innocent about all this.

“Is it true that you aren’t withholding any information about the disappearance of half of the world population?” You argue with a brow raised at him.

“I know nothing,” the man answers.

“And if you do know something, that’s obstruction of justice. You know that right, Captain?”

He smiles faintly. This time he breaks his stare, looking at the floor while answering, “Yes I do, ma’am. Very well.”

His expressions were starting to drive you crazy. You were used to this kind of scenario back when things were normal. Though after the events transpired, it has been a year without you interrogating someone who was held inside this room. You’ve gotten subpar upon looking like an intimidating officer.

“Okay then.” You nod, “Can you explain to me why you and your accomplice tried to run away from the cops.”

“We didn’t,” he said, ever so boldly. “Your friend, over there, spotted us and tried to cuff us immediately. Which one of you thought that was a good idea?”

Your gaze follows onto the large mirror placed near the door of the room. You could only see both you and Steve Rogers, but you knew Agent Hill was at the other side listening to your conversation.

“Look, half of the population mysteriously disappeared,” you sigh in between, “it’s not something a normal person would be able to perform. Can you blame us for following up on the Avengers?”

“I guess not then, ma’am.” He nods, accepting your statement. “Still won’t change the fact that I have no idea about all these disappearances, yeah?”

“Right, then tell me who were you with before Agent Hill decided to detain you here.” You lean back while crossing both your arms against your chest. Your teeth lightly bit the insides of your cheeks as you tried to hold out a frustrated sigh.

“Well, I was with Nat,”

“Nat? Natasha Romanoff?” You raise your chin, intrigued to find out more. “Five-foot five, Russian assassin, shoulder-length vermillion hair, Natasha Romanoff?”

“That’s impressively accurate.” Steve Rogers chuckles in front of you again before adding, “Except that she’s blonde now.”

You tried to take in a few minutes to grasp the information. The silence prods through your thoughts as you analyze the possibilities, perceiving that maybe, just maybe, you’re a few steps closer to Tony Stark.

But the man disrupted your thoughts, “Still don’t know why you’re holding us custody despite all this. You won’t get anything, might as well cut to the chase.”

“You’re quite a smart-mouth there, Captain.”

“And you’re quite eager to find about Stark, Agent,” he mocks. You throw your head back in defeat. This was going nowhere and both of you knew it.

Instead, you push against the table so you could finally stand up. You rest both your palms flat against the cold metal table, arms stretched wide to balance your weight out. “I think that’s enough for today.” You grab the untouched folder before turning to your side to walk towards the door. “Thank you for trying to cooperate with us, Mr. Rogers.”

As you head out, you noticed that Agent Hill was already out of sight. She most likely headed to do her job rather than to stand and watch you and Steve exchange nonsense.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

As you get home, you dressed into casual home clothes and headed to bed.

You could not entirely fall asleep. The super-soldier was stuck in your mind, frustrating you into the depths of it.

You tried to ponder, grabbing the folder of compiled documents that Agent Hill handed you over earlier. As you opened it, the first layer of it was pictures of Steve Roger’s face throughout the week. You guessed that they were not just trailing him today, but also studied his moves for the past week.

Furthermore, you flipped through pictures of him and his crew, but they looked like they were not in taken in New York. It was dark and the faces of Steve, Natasha, two other persons in the background could be seen fairly.

“Huh.” You furrowed your eyebrows realizing that there were more details about them that you expected. For a while also wondering why Hill did not updated you about these at least.

But eventually you acknowledged that you were so busy figuring out information about Tony Stark, that you forgot that the other superheroes he has worked with were just as significant.

Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanoff. Sam Wilson. Location: Edinburgh, Scottland 21:32. April 2018

Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanoff. Location: Manhattan, New York 13:05. October 2019

His beard remained almost the same despite the year difference. His golden hair was brushed backed sleekly. His appearance was still alike a year ago which meant that he was trying to maintain that kind of appearance

Compared to his clean, shaved aura back in 2012, you can admit that he looks way more intimidating now. You did not know whether he was trying to look different to prevent the bureau from recognizing him or if it was because he wanted to look like some creepy degenerate.

Nonetheless, there were a lot of questions running around your mind. It was only tonight when you finally got to grasp on who and what you’re dealing with.

However, your comprehensive scanning was interrupted after hearing a tap on your window. It did not sound as terrifying as it would, but it was loud enough to interrupt your thoughts from getting further.

In the end, you set the files on top of your nightstand and switched on your lamp. You lay in your bed, eyes sealed shut yet your mind still wanders off, trying to fit together the pieces of the puzzle.

When drifting to sleep, the most evident question strayed:

Why was Steve Rogers, and his team, staying in Manhattan, despite hiding completely undisturbed in Edinburgh?

#dark!steve #dark!steve smut #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers imagine #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark steve rogers imagine #dark steve #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans smut #dark!fic

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nehemia-deserved-better · 3 years

Link

Elorcan deserved about 500 more chapters all to themselves, so I decided to write one of them. I intended this story to be as canon-compliant as possible, so that it could plausibly be considered an extra Elorcan chapter in Empire of Storms. It would be set a day after their fight over Lorcan killing the ship owner in chapter 43, and before the next time we see them where Elide claims to have not spoken to him for 3 days.

So without further ado: How The Light Gets In

The nightmare began at the top of a stone stair. Elide’s heavy, uneven footfalls echoed ominously in the tight space as she descended, spiraling down into the fetid air of the dungeons. The chains snaking around her ankles rattled and slithered with each step. Yet it was not that sound which frightened Elide; it was the cacophony of despair emanating from below. Women’s voices: moaning, screaming, and—worst of all— pleading. She tried to flee back up the stair, but a phantom hand seized her chains and sent her pitching headlong into the unforgiving stone. Her fingernails splintered and bled as she scrabbled for purchase, fighting to crawl away from that horrible noise. But the pull on her chains was relentless. Elide was dragged downwards into that ocean of misery, each voice crashing over her until she was drowning in sound, unable to distinguish her own screams.

—————

Lorcan stood at the prow of the ship, illuminated by the light of the stars, and cursed his keen fae hearing. He couldn’t block out the soft whimpers coming from within the ship’s cabin, or the rustling of a small form tossing under the blankets. He didn’t want to know that Elide was having a nightmare, didn’t want to care. After all, why should he? Pathetic she had called him, nearly spitting the words in disgust. Jealous, lonely, pathetic, unhappy—each insult flung from her with greater conviction than the last. And when she had finally finished, face mottled red in rage and chest heaving, he couldn’t even muster a convincing facade of anger. Instead, as he looked down on that tiny, furious woman, he felt only admiration and a surprising amount of desire. When was the last time someone had dared speak to him with such candor? He had killed males for lesser offenses, and she knew it. And yet, she remained stubbornly unafraid.

But when she had followed that outburst with a demand to leave the ship, to leave him... Lorcan realized belatedly that the gut-wrenching sensation he'd felt then had been fear. He tilted his head up to look at the stars, admonishing himself for that weakness. This human should not have such power over him. Still, he knew he would not allow this fierce creature out of his sight. He wanted more of her. He wanted to feel her thick, dark hair between his fingers, and to do more with that red mouth than just gaze at it. But mostly, he wanted more of her passion, honesty, and bravery— her ability to see right through to the core of him with those cunning eyes. Lorcan found himself striding for the cabin door before he could think better of it.

—————

It is a peculiarity of nightmares to seamlessly blend one horror into the next, forgoing transitions in exchange for an unending montage of terror. And so, Elide suddenly found herself standing at the base of the stair. She pressed her palms over her ears to no avail; nothing could block out that endless, many-voiced wailing. A long hall lined with torches and iron doors stretched out before her. She knew what lay beyond those doors, though her mind recoiled from the thought of witches and alters and demons. In the flickering light of the fires stood a ghostly woman draped in black. Kaltain raised a finger to her lips and, as though by her command, a curtain of silence fell over the hall. Elide didn't spare a moment to be relieved. She stepped toward Kaltain, trying to tell her that they must run, that they weren’t safe here. No words passed her lips— they never did, in her dreams. The Lady merely stared at her. “You can’t save them. Only I can do that now.” Elide furrowed her brow in confusion, prompting a breathy laugh from Kaltain. “Don’t you remember? Or did you forget about my sacrifice so easily?” Her lips split wide in a mockery of a smile, her mouth opening and opening until the flesh peeled away completely. Beneath, shrugging off Kaltain’s skin like an oversized coat, was a pale woman with blood red lips. “And what of my sacrifice, my darling girl? What became of me?” Elide reached for her mother, but she crumbled to ash between her fingers.

—————

Lorcan’s breath caught as he laid eyes on Elide sleeping fretfully in the narrow cabin bed. The blankets were twisted around her legs, becoming thoroughly tangled as she continued to shift in agitation. A sheen of sweat glimmered at the base of her throat. Distress was clear in her expression, despite her face being partially obscured by her disheveled hair. Lorcan had no idea what to do. He wanted to soothe her and provide comfort, but he had no experience with such things. Besides, if Elide’s resolute silence of the previous day was any indication, she would likely not welcome his presence. And yet, he found himself unable to walk away, as though some gravity beyond his control were pulling them together.

Gently, Lorcan reached down and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face, smoothing them behind her ear. His hand lingered for a moment, brushing against her cheek. He marveled at how small she seemed under his broad palms. She stirred, and he quickly retracted his fingers, scolding himself for his stupidity. How incensed would she be to wake and find him standing over her? He began to turn away.

“Stay.” The word was a single breath, so quiet that Lorcan was fairly certain it was a hallucination brought on by wishful thinking. But then it came again, soft as a prayer, “stay.” He simply stared at her. Elide didn’t even seem to be awake. It was very possible that she was speaking to someone in her dream, utterly unaware of his presence. Just as he was convincing himself of this, a hand lightly grasped his own. Her fingers were so little in his, delicate like the bones of a bird. But he knew the strength that lay there, knew she had calluses and scars to mirror his own. Lorcan softly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, Elide's hand still in his. He wasn’t used to holding something with such care, not with these hands that had wrought so much death. He found that he liked the change.

“Elide?” he whispered. No response. “Are you awake?” Her eyes remained closed but she spoke slowly in reply.

“Lorcan...You’re not usually here.”

“In the cabin?”

“In my dreams.”

He took a moment to absorb that blow to his male ego. Before he could think of a suitable response, Elide was tugging on his hand, trying to pull him closer. Lorcan was conflicted. She was clearly not fully awake, hovering in the limbo of her dreams. As much as he wanted nothing more than to lay down and pull her close, to see just how well the curves of her body fit with his own, it didn’t seem right to take advantage of her hazy consciousness. And in addition, there was no way his massive frame would fit on that bed with her unless she was nearly on top of him. He struggled to divert his imagination away from that particular path of thought.

When he looked back at her face, he was startled to find her eyes wide open. The gaze that met his own was clear, apparently awake. “Stay,” she repeated, and the last of his reservations disappeared. She scooted up against the wall, occupying the narrowest strip of bed possible. After some adjusting of bodies and untangling of blankets, Lorcan wound up on his back. His shoulders took up the entire width of the bed, and still he was precariously close to the edge. Elide was pressed between his body and the wall, her limbs sprawled out across him: an arm resting on his chest, a leg bent up over his own, her foot pressed between his calves. Gingerly, he slid his arm underneath her head, providing his bicep as a pillow.

“I thought you were still angry with me,” he grumbled.

“I am. I don’t think I’ll ever speak to you again, because you are a cruel bastard,” she responded sleepily, snuggling closer. Lorcan had gone past the point of confusion and was now hovering somewhere in the realm of utter bewilderment.

“I’ll find a way to manage without you.” Why could he never find the right thing to say to her?

“No, you won’t, because you promised.” She paused there for a yawn. “As mysterious as you think you are, I know that promise matters to you... that I matter to you. Why else would I dream of you after a nightmare?” She yawned, more pronounced than the first time. When she began speaking again her voice was thick with exhaustion. “I know I’m safe with you. I know that you will protect me.” And with that, she was fully asleep once more. Not a trace of the nightmare remained on her face, and her breathing was deep and untroubled.

Lorcan could only stare at the top of her head, stunned. Despite how lucid she seemed, she had clearly still been half in the grip of her dreams. But her words, her absolute confidence in him, the comfort she had found in his arms...He had never experienced this before. Receiving affection without sex or motive, soothing fear instead of creating it— this was all uncharted territory. Something in him fractured with astounding force. It was as though every place their bodies touched was cracking open and she was the light pouring in, pushing back all that darkness he had gathered throughout the centuries. He had no word to name this feeling coursing through his blood, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so unburdened. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and whispered “I will always keep you safe”. Then, he laid his cheek atop her hair and listened to her breathe for a long while before he fell asleep.

—————

Elide woke to the smell of cooking trout, and the soft sound of water lapping against the boat. Even through her closed lids she could see that daylight was pouring through the windows of the cabin, meaning she must have slept very late into the morning. She rolled over with a groan and reached out a hand for...for whom? Was she expecting to find someone in her bed? Sitting fully upright now, she looked around in confusion. She’d had a very strange dream. Lady Kaltain had been there, in the dungeons of Morath… she shuddered at the memory, both of the dream and its real-life inspiration. She’d vomited for days after she saw behind those iron doors, and had no desire to recollect the specifics either awake or asleep.

But then she’d left the dungeon and arrived in the ship’s cabin, where her fear-addled brain had conjured an image of the only true safety she had known for the last decade: Lorcan. A soft smile graced her face at the thought, quickly replaced by a grimace as she remembered him killing that man, and their resulting fight. He provided safety for her, perhaps, but he brought only death to those who got in his way. Her thoughts lingered on the barge owner who had once slept in this bed, dutifully cleaned the cabin windows, adorned the small table with an embroidered cloth— she bolted out of the bed and through the door, suddenly needing to be anywhere else.

Fingers gripping the ship’s railing so tight that her knuckles threatened to pop out, Elide leaned into the wind off the river water. Lorcan may well have saved both their lives by ending that man’s. An innocent bystander he may have seemed, but one likely to jump at the chance to profit from their capture. Lorcan had done it, as he seemed to do everything these days, to protect her.

That thought brought her back to her dream. It had been so real. She could recall the way his breath had stirred her hair, the feeling of his muscular chest under her fingers and his considerable bicep cushioning her head, how she had confidently declared how much he cared for her— she stopped as though her thoughts had crashed into a stone wall. She felt the blood drain from her face. She never, never spoke in her dreams.

A gentle tap on her shoulder had her shouting in surprise; Lorcan couldn’t normally sneak up on her, to his eternal annoyance, but she had been too deep in thought to notice his approach. Wordlessly, he held out a plate of trout. He betrayed no expression beyond a slight quirk of the eyebrows, likely in reaction to having a small woman scream at him in a pitch only bats and immortal demi-fae could hear. Elide studied the harsh planes of his face as she accepted the food in silence. She found nothing there to suggest she had spent the night curled in his arms. He seemed to be examining her expression as well. His lips parted, as though there was something he wanted to say, but something in her face seemed to convince him to remain quiet. With a soft shake of the head and a furrow in his brow, he turned away.

As he walked back toward the prow, she let out a sigh of relief. It had just been a dream. She felt an unexpected disappointment at the thought. It was harmless to admire his power and strength from a distance, or to feel sparks of desire as his gaze slid to her lips every damn time they spoke, but to spend the night in his arms? She watched him tirelessly propelling the boat with a long pole, his dark hair sticking to his neck in the hot midday sun. No, it had been a dream, and that’s all it would ever be...right?

Thanks for sticking around all the way till the end! It would mean a lot if you would comment and let me know what you think of my first ever fanfiction :)

#Elorcan #empire of storms #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #throne of glass #elorcan fanfiction #elorcan ff #throne of glass ff

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glbertblyth · 3 years

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AN: It’s been a long time shirbert fans... anybody still up for some fake-dating shenanigans?

It was raining by the time Diana arrived—the sort of rainfall Anne might have basked in and even written a poem or two about if she’d had a mind for it. Instead, with Gilbert’s short visit still fresh in her mind, it only exacerbated her horrible mood.

Once out the door (slammed behind her, much to Marilla’s great woe), Anne threw her denim jacket overhead to avoid the inevitable ruination of the pretty outfit she’d decided on that day. The walk to the back door of her friend’s car was all it took to dampen her hair and muddy up her beloved white hightops. She didn’t even want to begin to imagine what the state of her hair might be once dry again. The half hour she’d spent on taming the wild red lockes surely going down the drain with every squelching step she took. She shuddered to picture the disobedient strands frizzing and curling annoyingly around her shoulders.

“Anne!” was the first thing she heard when she opened the car door, her hands cold and clammy from grasping the freezing handle.

It was Diana who had exclaimed it, smiling brightly from her spot in the driver’s seat. At its most brilliant sight, Anne’s sour mood nearly melted away - she did so love Diana’s smiles. So for a fleeting moment it was as if it were summer again and they were having one of their lovely days of sloth, with the sun vibrant on their skin as they lay in the fields behind Diana’s house watching the clouds slowly drift across the sky. No school to worry about or boys to try and decipher.

Then thunder rumbled and she was brought back to the present. Sitting wetly in the backseat of Diana’s car next to Jane and catching the very last few syllables of words mumbled from the front.

The brunette beside Anne reached across the gap in the seats to pinch Ruby, who squeaked indignantly.

“We brought coffee,” Diana went on, pulling out onto the road. The higher octave of her voice gave way to the obvious—she was being purposely breezy. Acting as if Anne hadn’t just opened the door and interrupted a conversation in which they had most definitely been talking about her. “I had them put an extra shot in yours because I know that’s the way you like it. Ruby? The coffee?”

Ruby rolled her eyes as she passed the drink to Anne. But she didn’t turn back around when it was in the red-head’s grasp, instead hovering there with an oddly expectant look on her face. A look, Anne realized, that was present on the other girl’s faces as well. Even Diana, big brown eyes wide like a doe’s in the rearview mirror.

“What?” she asked, pausing with her mouth halfway to the straw of her coffee and glancing around awkwardly.

When the only response was the low and torrid voice of Harry Styles drifting through the stereo and a raise of Jane’s eyebrows, Anne’s lips thinned in realization. The very word she had interrupted when she’d opened the door hadn’t been a word at all. It had been a name. Gilbert’s name.

Anne flopped her head back onto the cushioned seat, “Oh god,” she bemoaned. Could she not escape it for five minutes? Not even amongst her most beloved kindred spirits?

But there was nowhere to hide. Not with the three sets of eyes watching her so curiously. Waiting for her to give an explanation that she surely did not have. She was beginning to grow tired of Avonlea’s uncanny ability to spread gossip like wildfire.

“Watch the road,” Anne snapped at her best friend, “or you’ll kill us all.”

Diana gasped and averted her gaze, focusing instead on navigating the road through the pelting rain.

“You can’t deny it happened,” Jane said matter-of-factly. “It’s all over everything.” Then she whipped out her phone, pulling up twitter as a way to prove her point.

“Don’t believe everything you read.” Anne snapped at her.

“So you’re saying it’s just a made up rumor?” asked Ruby, almost hopefully—because while Anne had despised Gilbert since the time she’d first laid eyes on him, Ruby had simply adored him. While Anne would spend every single valuable and precious minute of her English classes poking holes in Gilbert’s foolish arguments, Ruby was sitting not two seats away, mooning. It was exasperating.

“I’m just saying,” Anne folded her arms defensively across her chest, “there was a lot more to it than that.”

“So it happened?!” Ruby exclaimed, with such force she knocked her binder into Diana’s lap and almost spilled both of their drinks.

“Ruby!”

“Well I’m sorry but—this is—you can’t just act like this isn’t a big deal, Anne! He’s Gilbert! ”

“I’m well aware of who he is.”

“You hate him!”

Anne bit the inside of her cheek. Of course she hated him. Of course. But it’s not as if she could tell the truth: that she had used Gilbert as a mere line of defense against dearest Diana’s cousin—her very own flesh and blood. Though how that was possible was beyond Anne considering he was so insufferably annoying, whereas Diana was so sweet and kind and considerate. She never would have pushed anyone the way that Roy had Anne. She never would have refused to take ‘no’ for an answer, never would have imposed so thoroughly on Anne’s personal space that she felt as if suddenly all of the oxygen in the world had run out except what was left in her lungs.

Hell, even Gilbert had taken Anne’s ‘no’ at face value. He had nodded and left, much to her great relief. And how terrible a concept to consider: Marilla inviting him to stay for breakfast! What would she have done then?

“Anne,” Jane poked her cheek. “You’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

Like hell she did. Maybe the decision to kiss Gilbert had been rash, but she wouldn’t have done it had she not felt as though she’d been forced into a corner. And while she did hate Gilbert’s guts, the mere aspect of her kissing him shouldn’t have been ground breaking news. He’d been there. She’d used him as a shield. That was it.

Even if the memory of his lips moving fervently against her own had haunted her dreams all night, it was nobody else's business. After all, he’d technically been her first real kiss. And even if she did think him an insufferable pompous ass, she wasn’t entirely incapable of admitting that he was a rather good-looking boy. She wasn’t blind for chrissake.

But even so, she had absolutely no intention of that little tidbit of information ever leaving the confines of her own mind. Nobody needed to know that she found Gilbert Blythe attractive. Or that she may have very mildly delighted in the fact that he’d been so quick to kiss her back. Or—or that she’d felt a bit of a thrill when she’d seen him again that very morning; a thrill that may or may not have caused her to even entertain the plan that he’d so eloquently presented to her.

The severity of the realization jolted her. Rose her blood levels to an alarming height. Had she just admitted to anticipating Gilbert’s presence?

“I don’t have to explain myself to any of you!” Anne exploded. Though she couldn’t tell if her anger was directed at her friends, at herself, or at the mere prospect of having anything but ill feelings toward her long time rival. “What I do with my life is nobody’s business but my own! I don’t intrude on your private lives like this.”

Ruby shrunk back, but Jane wasn’t deterred. Everyone knew Anne had a terrible temper sometimes. When she yelled it was usually because she felt like she’d been backed into a corner and couldn’t see an escape besides pushing everyone else away.

“Sorry, Anne, but I’m your friend. Friends talk about this stuff. They don’t keep secrets.”

“It’s not a secret.” Anne grumbled. But she knew it was a weak argument. That her friend was right and that she had absolutely no excuse as to why she should keep the truth from them.

Because you’re actually considering Gilbert’s offer, a vexing voice said in her head, And telling them you only did it as a way to escape Royal would ruin it. The voice only annoyed her more despite its truth.

Anne took a sip of her coffee with far more enthusiasm than necessary. Any excuse to avoid talking on the subject further. Avoid meeting the tense stares of her friends.

“I don’t see why it would be such a big deal that you kissed him anyway. Half of our grade has been expecting you two to jump each other’s bones for years.” Jane shrugged nonchalantly.

Anne felt the large gulp lodge in her throat as she choked out a cough, “What?”

Ruby craned her neck around to face her, baby blue eyes wide and vulnerable. Diana released a quiet titter of laughter but didn’t take her eyes off the road.

Traitor.

Jane rolled her eyes exasperatedly, briefly meeting the hurt look of their sensitive friend, “Oh give up, Ruby. He’s known you his whole life and hasn’t made an attempt at you,” When Ruby faced the front again, lower lip jutted out in a pout, her dark gaze swiveled back to Anne’s, “ You , however, caught his attention from the moment you arrived.”

Anne flared her nostrils indignantly, “Not true.”

The girl next to her threw her hands up in frustration, “It is too!”

“Is not.”

“What are we, five?” Jane quipped. And then her face turned smug, “Besides, you guys did end up kissing, didn’t you?”

Jesus, it was a good thing they’d barely missed seeing Gilbert at green gables. Anne hated to think how insufferable her friends might have been had they known he’d stopped by that morning.

She let out a dramatic huff, placing her coffee in the cupholder between them and then crossing her arms to her chest. “Do you just believe everything that Josie Pye posts?”

Jane opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, Ruby turned around in her seat again, “We don’t have to. You’ve been evasive enough to answer the question on if you kissed him or not for us.” She said with an adorable scrunch to her eyebrows. It was obvious she was stung but didn’t want to be left out of the conversation.

A loud clap of thunder sounded outside of the car, mirroring Anne’s emotions perfectly. Oh, how she wished she were a storm cloud sometimes. Floating above it all, no care in the world. No expectations except for that of releasing their torrential rage on unsuspecting passers-by. Perhaps if that were her, she wouldn’t have gotten herself in such a messy situation.

She watched as the windshield wipers slapped at the front window, avoiding looking her friends in their eyes. “How far are we from the school?” she grumbled. Though it was certainly going to be a tough task in it’s own, it would be better than sitting under the excruciating scrutiny of the three girls she was trapped in the small car with.

Diana cleared her throat. “Just another block,” she said.

“If you want me to make sure Josie stays off your back today, I need to have the details.” Jane stated simply.

Anne ground her teeth at the annoying tenacity of her friend. “There aren’t any.”

“There aren’t any? ”

“That’s what I said.”

“How could there possibly not be—“

“Jane!” Anne snapped, teeth gnashing out like that of a caged dog’s, “Just drop it!”

There was a stunned silence for a moment as Jane snapped her mouth shut. No other sound but the constant pattering of the rain against the windows and the quiet hum of the radio. In the rearview mirror, Diana exchanged a sympathetic look with Anne.

“Fine,” Jane said finally, a cool resolve in her brown eyes, “But just because you hate Gilbert doesn’t mean everyone else does. If I can’t get the answer from you, I’ll just ask him.”

Anne stiffened—every muscle in her body pulling taut as she fought the urge to strike out with her constant weapon of choice: words.

Gilbert wouldn’t sell her out… would he? Not when he himself was riding on the possibility of a public relationship saving face.

God, would pretending to date him actually work? Could they even do it? Could she do it? Certainly he’d do something to piss her off. Something that would cause her to lash out and make it obvious that they were not, and would never actually be, in a relationship.

The thoughts tormented her as Diana pulled the car into the student parking lot. As she parked in her normal spot near the entrance. As she turned off the engine and they were swallowed by the sound of the falling rain. How fitting to see that Mother Nature bore such a pitiful mood—gray clouds swirling in the sky the very same way Anne’s feelings were swirling in her head.

As her friends giggled amongst themselves—already having moved on to the next subject of interest and opening their car doors—she took a shaking deep breath. Steeling herself against whatever the day might throw at her and clambering out of the car into sheets of cold rain.

+++

When the lunch bell rang, releasing students from their third period classes, Anne’s relief was as palpable as a cool wave crashing against a hot sandy shore. She gathered her things hastily—stuffing them into her bag and barely zipping it back up before hurrying from her calculus class and out into the crowded hallway.

She had very little want of being left in the classroom with a certain tall, dark, and tousled boy. And since that was how things normally went—since Anne and Gilbert were usually the last two left in the classroom, quickly scrawling the last of their work out on the worksheets before them—her rush to leave the confines of the classroom wasn’t without warrant.

Not for the first time since being acquainted with Gilbert Blythe, Anne cursed the fact that they shared a fair amount of classes. (Or unfair if you’d asked her.) But this day… This day had taken her dislike to an entirely different level.

Or maybe dislike wasn’t the correct word for the churning she felt in her stomach every time she’d caught a glimpse of his disheveled dark curls across the room. Maybe awkwardness was the proper noun with which to describe the tension she felt pulled taut between them. If she could even assume it was a reciprocated tension in the first place, that is. She certainly felt it—choking the air around her like a thick and unwanted layer of dust. But… Gilbert hadn’t necessarily shown any discomfort at the sight of her. He’d backed off on making his usual snide comments or witty remarks, yes, but she wasn’t positive that it was because he was playing an angle or if he genuinely thought it better to leave her alone.

Nevertheless, it made Anne’s gut twist uncomfortably. And because the whole school seemed to already know what had transpired the previous afternoon, she loathed to even look in his direction let alone exchange their usual haughty comments. She had, in not so many words, been avoiding him for the entirety of the school day—ducking out of shared classes with all the speed of a bulleting train and keeping her line of vision pinned straight ahead even when she felt his warm honey gaze settle on the side of her face.

This, of course, did not escape the notice of her ever so nosy classmates. In fact, the fervent silence between the two known rivals after such an unexpected public display of affection had only caused an even deeper upset among her peers. Anne liked to think she had learned to never underestimate the might of a small town’s grape vine, but she certainly hadn’t expected such… such backlash from one simple spontaneous moment in time.

To walk through the hallways of her familiar high school and notice the boisterous noise of groups dwindle around her felt much like her early days in Avonlea—except this time, instead of having smacked the town’s golden boy with a heavy textbook, she’d kissed him. And apparently that warranted an even more uproarious reaction.

Anne pushed through the crowd of students and scrambled to her locker—head down in an attempt to ignore the whispers around her. She’d thought that, after three and a half years, she had moved past the days of being an outcast; past the days of being a subject of interest on nearly every one of her classmate’s tongues.

Apparently she’d been wrong. All this time they’d only been hiding in the shadows, waiting for the precise moment she did anything out of the ordinary, so that they could pounce.

As she exchanged binders and textbooks with what had been stacked neatly in her locker, she was so thoroughly enveloped in her own vortex of thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the tall and skinny figure approach her.

“Anne,” the figure said. And despite the familiar trill of the voice, she startled, nearly slamming her fingers in the locker as she’d closed it.

“Dammit, Cole,” she hissed, but there was a smile beneath it.

She turned to her friend, a feeling of ease settling on her shoulders as it always had around Cole Mackenzie. He was leaning against the lockers with his hands wrung loosely around the straps of his backpack and his familiar blue eyes were warm with affection. After a moment, Anne realized there was a dark smudge just under his right eye—more than likely a result of wiping at his face after working with charcoal or graphite. A quick glance at his smeared hands confirmed just as much.

“You’ve got art on your face,” she said, gesturing at her own as a way to show him.

He released a breathy laugh before using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe it off. “Sorry I wasn’t able to get here sooner, I got caught up in class.”

Anne snorted despite herself. “Sure you did,” she said. “Keep acting like you weren’t flirting with that new exchange student.” She twisted her mouth into a feigned look of utter despair, “You left me to the wolves.”

Cole laughed as she schooled her features back to their normal, friendly state and swung her bag around her shoulder. She entwined her hand with his as they made their way in the direction of the cafeteria.

He fixed her with a faux imperious look. “I was only showing Gabriel the precise way of shading. Charcoal is a difficult medium to work with.”

“Don’t tell me,” Anne lowered her voice, acting as though what she was about to say was an absolute scandal, “You stood behind him and guided his hand with your own, heart pounding against his back as he leaned into you.” She caught at her chest with her free hand, “Oh, how romantic! ” she squealed, much louder than she’d meant to. A few students looked in their direction.

An exasperated laugh burst from her friend’s lips and he squeezed her hand lightly. “Not so loud, Anne.”

She shrugged. “People are gay, Cole. They can get over it.”

Cole wasn’t necessarily closeted. It was a pretty well-known fact within their friend group that he was very much homosexual—you have one conversation with him and he just couldn’t hold back his flamboyancy— but the world was still filled with small-minded bigots. And in a small town like the one they lived in, it was easier just to keep the knowledge of his sexual preference to a minimum.

“I suppose this means our vow to marry one another is broken,” she continued forlornly. It was a joking promise they’d made to one another when they were fifteen and certain they’d be deemed outcasts forever—no one but each other to lean on.

Of course, she’d had Diana. Beautiful Diana. But there were many things Anne experienced that her beloved best friend just couldn’t understand. Diana was popular, beautiful, a glittering star among the backdrop of the night sky—something with which Anne found little to no relatability being the scrawny ostracized girl that she was. But Cole’s friendship allowed a quiet solace; a person who knew what it was like to feel unwanted and unpopular.

Cole snorted. “You broke it first,” he said, “What do Gilbert Blythe’s lips feel like?”

Anne nearly tripped over her own two feet, having briefly forgotten the mess she’d gotten herself into. She snapped her head to look at the tall boy beside her and fixed him with a desperate glare. The look on his face was nonchalant, but she knew he was dying with curiosity.

“Why’d you have to bring that up?” she said, unable to help the whiny tone that had weaved itself into her words.

Cole clucked his tongue. “You left me on read last night. You deserve it.”

“I think I’ve gotten punishment enough,” she replied, a frown twisting at her lips. “It’s all anybody can talk about when they see me.”

He looked at her. “Anne. You kissed Gilbert Blythe . ”

“Yes, I know what I did.”

“Gilbert. Blythe.”

Anne unlatched her hand from Cole’s and threw her arms up exasperatedly. “Can people stop saying his name as if I don’t know who he is!?”

They turned down a slightly less crowded hallway, taking a shortcut they’d found halfway through their freshman year. “Can you stop brushing it off like it’s no big deal?”

“It isn’t a big deal.” Anne grumbled.

He ignored her. “How’d it happen anyway?”

There was a tearing feeling in her stomach—indecision on if she should tell him the truth of the matter or not. The small part of her brain that was hung on Gilbert’s earlier suggestion rioted at her to choose not.

It won. “It just—happened. Okay?”

Cole screwed his nose up. “What does that even mean? ” he said. “What, did you just randomly see him and say ‘fuck it, I’mma give into the three years of overwhelming sexual tension’ and decide to eat his face off?”

Anne blanched at him, stopping dead walk in the middle of the hallway. “Sexual tension?” she sputtered. “Have you been talking to Jane?”

Cole released a light laugh at the expression on her face. “No, but I’m not surprised she feels the same way. Everybody does.”

“I hate it here.” Anne said sadly, mouth turning down at one corner. What a piteous thing to confuse hatred with sexual desire. Because certainly— certainly —Cole and Jane were wrong. There was absolutely no sexual tension between her and Gilbert Blythe. None whatsoever. And she was positive in the fact that there never would be.

“Drama queen.”

“How observant of you,” Anne replied, beginning to make her way down the hallway again. “It’s as if we’re friends. Almost like you know me.”

Her blonde companion snorted, but followed after her.

“Apparently not,” he continued vexingly. “Not if you’re sucking face with Gilbert frickin’ Blythe.”

“Cole, I love you, I really do. But if you don’t shut up right this very moment, I will not hesitate to murder you.”

“Anne—“

“I’m serious,” she said, “I live on a farm—lots of sharp tools at my disposal, Mackenzie. Don’t push me.”

He laughed—a short and exasperated release of breath. “Has anybody ever told you you’re kinda scary when you want to be?”

She glanced over to where he was matching her stride beside her, smiling crookedly and impishly.

Cole’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Please don’t flash me your murder eyes. It gives me the creeps.”

Reaching across the space between them with her arm, she patted his shoulder lightly. “Good.”

They lapsed into casual conversation then, walking quickly the rest of the way to the cafeteria and occasionally bumping each other’s shoulders teasingly. She really did appreciate Cole, she decided. Well, she’d always appreciated him—but unlike the rest of her companions, he never pushed her to talk about the things he knew she was most uncomfortable with. Teased her relentlessly maybe—okay, certainly —but he always, always, knew when enough was enough.

As they passed through the metal-doored threshold of Avonlea High’s sorry excuse for a cafeteria, (even their library was larger than the sparsely decorated area—hardly even eight long tables adorning the length of the walls and smaller rounded ones few and far between) Anne startled at the absolute terror she was faced with.

Being such a small school, the majority of the senior class was pushed into the same lunch schedule. Meaning all the kids she’d grown with for the past few years—all the classmates that knew most definitely about Anne’s adamant hatred towards one Gilbert Blythe—paused fractionally when they noticed her fiery mane out of the corners of their eyes.

Anne’s heart rate kicked up, stomach twisting painfully as the cafeteria quieted ever so slightly and heads swiveled to gawk at her.

She felt Cole’s hand squeeze hers. “Christ,” he mumbled beside her. “They really don’t have any lives do they.”

She snorted, eased slightly by his encouraging and easy-going presence. “Our school doesn’t even have a total of five-hundred students. This is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened since you showed sophomore year and Billie Andrews made it his mission to torment you.”

Her friend winced. “Don’t remind me.”

“Shit, sorr—“

“Anne!”

The breath that had frozen in Anne’s chest upon realizing the upset she’d caused when first entering the cafeteria thawed the rest of the way at the familiar cadence of Diana’s voice. She could see her friend’s veil of dark hair, her infectious smile big and bright as she stood from their usual table tucked in the far corner of the room. The rest of her friends, still sitting, waved to her gregariously.

Friends, Anne reminded herself. Those are your friends and not even the disastrous evening before and whatever trouble Gilbert Blythe insights next can take them away from you.

She felt a warm smile tug at her lips as she moved toward the familiar corner, pulling Cole behind her as she went. But as she got closer, doubt crept into her mind. She saw the nervous glances Tillie, Jane and Ruby exchanged with one another—however miniscule they might have tried to make them seem. The scrunch of Diana’s nose, bringing her hand down from her enthusiastic wave and rubbing at a non-existent itch. Anne recognized it immediately as her bosom friend’s nervous tick.

Her steps slowed as she approached the table, nearly causing Cole to stumble into her from where he’d been following behind. Josie Pye—she was sitting straight backed, arms folded across her chest and an accusing glare flashing in her blue eyes.

Oh no.

Now this— this was the part she’d forgotten all about. Josephine Pye and her ridiculous aversion to amiable conversation. Her insufferable adamance on making Anne’s existence appear as a show for all the school to see. Josie fancied herself a puppet master, tugging at the strings on Anne’s back from the very first moment they’d met. And though a tedious friendship had developed between the two over the last few years, some things just never changed.

“Hey,” Anne squeaked out, instantly noticing how guilty she already sounded. She winced, sat stiffly on the stool across from her friends.

Cole rolled his eyes and plopped down beside her, shoved his bookbag towards the end of the table and folded his artist hands in front of him as he leveled Josie with a shockingly protective gaze.

“There will be absolutely no mentions of a certain happening with a certain someone taking place at a certain time yesterday afternoon, got it?” His voice left no room for discussion.

Diana nodded eagerly, reaching across the table and giving Anne a sympathetic squeeze of the hand. Jane pursed her lips, obviously wanting to say something, anything, about the unfinished conversation the girls had all had in the car that morning—but seemed to think better of it. Tillie and Ruby, always the more soft spoken of the group, simply sat quietly, glancing between Cole and Josie, the latter of which had narrowed her eyes in an obvious challenge.

The blonde grenade snapped her eyes to Anne instead. “I think that—“

“No.” Anne said icily, surprising herself. She’d never been one to overtly challenge Josie. But after dealing with Royal Gardner and Gilbert Blythe and every single pair of eyes that had followed and judged and questioned her all morning, she’d had enough.

She cleared her throat, “No,” she tried again, less hostile this time. “We will not be discussing the kiss because it’s my business and I owe absolutely nobody an explanation.”

“Periodt,” chimed Cole, snapping his fingers. Diana giggled, attempting to smother it with her hand but failing rather obviously.

Tillie’s eyes had turned wide as saucers. “So it’s true? You and Gilbert kissed?”

“Of course it’s true, I saw it with my own two eyes.” Josie snapped, “And obviously—“

“Josie, Anne literally just said we weren’t discussing it.” Diana huffed. It was the most annoyed Anne had ever seen her act with Josie—it made her want to tackle her best friend in a hug. “Please just drop the subject, okay? If she wants to explain herself then she will.”

“Must I repeat myself?” Cole raised an eyebrow at the blonde dragon across from him who was just barely containing the angry smoke Anne was sure to pore from her nostrils.

“Please,” replied Jane, amused.

“Periodt!” And he gave another flamboyant snap of his fingers.

Josie rolled her eyes imperiously. “You guys are dumb,” she said to the snickering gaggle of girls beside her, then she faced Anne again. “Look, I’m not one to really care all that much about your romantic life—“

Cole opened his mouth to protest but without even glancing his way, Josie cut herself off and snapped, “Shut it, Mackenzie.”

He raised his hands in the universal sign of defeat.

“But as your friend,” loosely Anne had to bite back from commenting as Josie continued, “I worry about what this means for your… reputation.”

“Oh, for the love of god, Josephine Pye. We’re in high school, not running for the frickin’ electoral college. I promise you, me kissing somebody is not that deep.”

Did any of them have lives?

A throat cleared beside her—Cole’s. “I mean,” he said quietly, “it kind of is when you’ve vowed to hate said kissee for the rest of your days. ‘So long as you bring air into your lungs’ I believe were your exact words.”

Anne snapped her head over to her traitorous friend, one who’d not moments ago was just defending her.

“Whose side are you on?”

“The gays,” he said solemnly. And then, upon seeing Anne’s unamused look, “Joking, joking—I mean, not joking obviously, but… Look, Anne. As overdramatic as Josie is being—“ said girl harrumphed impertinently, “—Everybody and their mother knows how much you hate Gilbert. I’ll fight tooth and nail for you, girl, but this whole situation is questionable in the least.”

“I just want you to know,” began Anne, “How much I hate all of you right now, nevermind Gilbert.”

“Hey!” Tillie protested, “I haven’t done a single thing besides ask if the rumor was true in the first place.”

“Tillie Boulter with-holding.”

Jane opened her mouth, “I—“

“You’re on thin fuckin’ ice, Jane Andrews.”

Anne was so incredibly and entirely tired of this entire situation. So much for not talking about it… God, she should just out and admit the reasoning already. Clear the air, make sure that everybody knew it was a farce. A ploy to get Roy Gardner to finally leave her alone.

Who was she kidding anyway? Even entertaining the idea that Gilbert had planted in her head earlier that morning was absolute insanity. Them? Dating? Imagine the uproar then. If her classmates were so nosy as to be absolutely entranced by the fact that they simply kissed, imagine if they announced they were dating .

Oh dearest Snow Queen, she asked of her longest comfort, What would you do?

She set her jaw then, determining it was time to come clean. “Listen, guys. Gilbert and I didn’t actually—“

“Anne?”

She froze. Didn’t blink. Didn’t take a single breath for what felt like a solid thirty seconds. Her friends all startled to look behind her, Cole craning his neck to meet the gaze of probably the absolute last person Anne wanted to see right then.

“Roy!” Diana chirped with false cheer. Her eyes flit between Anne and the monstrous cad that stood behind her, betraying the panic she felt on behalf of her best friend. “I thought you had B lunch?”

Anne refused to turn around, still frozen as she watched, horrified, as all her friends looked at each other confused and curious.

“Well, I did. But the adviser decided to switch some of my classes around. She thought it would be best if I stayed with the rest of the senior class even if British academia didn’t quite meet up with American—Anne, are you trying to hide?”

She was, she totally, full-heartedly was. She’d sunk into herself, almost as if she were trying to allow the lunch table to swallow her whole.

“Anne, sit up ,” Josie hissed at her. Was she—god, was she batting her eyelashes at the boy behind her? The boy in which Anne could very clearly feel inching closer to her with every second she didn’t acknowledge him?

She took a deep breath, turned around in her seat finally for fear that he might reach out and touch her, place his disgustingly delicate and nimble hand on her shoulder. “Roy,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Hi.”

“Hullo.” Roy replied, probably smiling in a way he thought was enormously charming. “Your dress is quite beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the one wearing it, I might say. Almost .”

Oh, for the love of all that is good and— He was insufferable. Anger, white hot and immediate bubbled in her blood.

“What do you want?” She said, rather bluntly. Cole elbowed her in the arm, shot her a confused look. I’ll explain later, she hoped her face portrayed to him.

Diana, ever the mediator, cleared her throat. “Royal. These are my friends. Tillie, Ruby, Jane, Josie, and Cole.” Cole watched him hesitantly, the girls all exchanged giddy glances. “Of course, you already know Anne.”

“How could I ever forget.”

Anne had to resist the urge to feign a gag.

“Anyways. Guys, this is my cousin Royal.”

“Roy. Call me Roy,” he said. But he didn’t even glance at them, his eyes were trained solely on Anne’s. And Anne rather wanted to punch him in his obnoxiously pert nose.

“It’s nice to meet you, Roy—“ Ruby had begun, but the miscreant cut her off, paying sweet Ruby no attention.

“Anne, I was hoping we might talk?”

Anne clenched her jaw, fought to keep from squeezing her eyes closed in exasperation at the sheer audacity Roy had to even ask that of her.

Right. This was why she’d entertained Gilbert’s plan. This was why she had desperately kissed him. Because Royal Gardner had no boundaries and despite being related to her best and closest friend, every moment spent in his presence was a moment she knew she’d never get back.

“Talk,” she said stiffly. She stood up, grabbed a confused Cole’s hand and yanked him up beside her. “But make it fast because Cole and I still haven’t had a chance to get in the lunch line.”

“I am… so confused.” Anne heard one of the girls say behind her. Diana shushed her.

“Privately? Perhaps?”

She was seriously going to punch this boy in the face. Like, actually. Right there in front of everybody.

“Privately?” Anne snapped coldly, her fury like fire in her veins. She stepped around him, cornered him to the table, making sure her back was to the rest of the cafeteria. Too many rumors were already circulating around her. If she caused a scene, lord knew she’d never come back from it. “Are you joking?”

She saw Cole step back from the corner of her eye, scuttle to the other side of the cafeteria table with the girls. All their eyes were wide and unsure of what to make of the situation.

“Anne, there’s no need for such hostility. I was just trying to—“

“Deliberately make her uncomfortable?” a new voice chimed in from behind her. There was an unrecognizable hardness to it, incongruous to all of the other times she had heard it before. Across from her, her friends' eyes widened impossibly, gazes landing on the new addition to the already intolerable conversation.

Anne could feel as all the eyes in the cafeteria turned toward them, a sure spectacle to behold.

She watched as Roy’s jaw hardened, eyes trained behind her with a new intensity as he tracked the movements of Gilbert Blythe lazily sidling up beside Anne.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of properly meeting,” Gilbert said as he threw an arm around Anne’s shoulders. She had to fight to keep from stiffening up, knew what he was doing, knew exactly what game he was playing at as he pulled her closer to his side and tucked her neatly beneath his arm. And while her blood boiled at his intrusion, at the audacity he had to come running in like he thought he was some god-awful knight-in-shining-armor, at the way her friends’ expressions all changed immediately—all smirking and knowing and not nearly as surprised as she thought they’d be—the smallest part of her was relieved.

Relieved.

Like she’d still been gunning for that stupid, ludicrous plan that Gilbert had blabbered on about that very morning to actually work. Which in itself was most positively and unmitigatedly not going to happen in a million—

“Right. Is this him then?” The accusation in Roy’s voice broke Anne from her spiraling thoughts, solidifying the situation she was in. There, in front of all of her friends and essentially the entire senior class, she was facing off with one of the most impudent males she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.

And, lord above, Gilbert Blythe of all people was the only person with the ability to make Roy leave her alone.

“Just a few months.” His words pinged around in her mind, “We get Royal and Winnie off our backs. And then we never have to deal with each other outside of class again .”

She scowled, resisting the urge to fidget beneath Gilbert’s arm. The heat radiating from his body where their sides were pressed flush together was rather difficult to ignore. She felt as though she could feel it fuse with her blood, travel through her veins and warm her cheeks, her toes, clog up her lungs.

“Is this who?” Anne replied, her scowl deepening.

“The boyfriend. The reason I can’t pursue you… or so you say.”

A choking sound came from her group of friends, though she absolutely refused to look in their direction. She was positive that the fire she felt across her cheeks no longer had anything to do with Gilbert’s body heat.

Roy raised a single brow when she opened her mouth, snapped it back shut immediately—a fish floundering on dry land. Gilbert’s arm tightened around her shoulder, probably meant to be comforting, reassuring, but it only made her want to elbow him in the side. The mortification leaching any and all relief she’d previously felt by his presence.

“I—uh,” she stuttered. Oh god, ohgodohgodohgodohgod. How in the hell had she gotten herself into this situation?

“My god, he broke her,” she heard Cole whisper.

“Anne? You did tell me you had one, right?” Roy’s eyebrow was still raised, the brazen confidence leaking from every pore. She hated him, she decided. Hated him more than the curly haired boy whose arm was wrapped around her and whose current silence felt like a ticking time bomb.

“I did,” she replied, and to her utmost horror it came out weakly.

“As much as I love being talked about as if I’m not standing right here,” Gilbert interjected, and Anne wasn’t sure if he’d noticed it but his thumb had started rubbing tiny comforting circles where it rested on her upper arm, “Anne doesn’t owe you an explanation. As a matter of fact, she doesn’t owe you a damn thing. So whether she has a boyfriend or not—whether I’m that boyfriend or not—is none of your business.”

Woah.

Wait a minute, not woah , what the hell? Had he really said that? Had it really made her heart rate kick up in her chest at the way he’d not only defended her but her right to make her own choices without explanation?

Royal blinked, opened his mouth, closed it. But Gilbert ignored him, turned his head to face Anne. The expression on his face said It’s up to you , the small curve at the corner of his mouth added, Carrots.

She closed her eyes, counted one, two, before opening them back up and meeting Roy’s gaze.

God help her.

“Yeah, Roy,” she said, swallowed thickly, “Gilbert is my boyfriend."

#shirbert #anne with an e #shirbert fanfiction #royalcordelia #my writing

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remmysbounty · 3 years

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vision of the past // hunter x gn!reader (ft. din & gn!reader)

yes I wrote a hunter fic featuring din djarin…. Yes that’s what my question yesterday was about…. Yes I have no concept of the Star Wars timeline Hahhaa anyway ENJOY 💛

You’ve felt eyes on you before. Knew from the way the hairs on the back of your neck bristled and how your shoulders automatically tightened that someone was watching. But these eyes, the one that had captured you since you and Din walked into the marketplace, were different.

A set of eyes that you hadn’t felt on you for a while now. And Din knew to. Knew from the shake of your head and the motion to the necklace hidden under your clothing that you knew exactly who was watching.

You wanted to turn around, see those eyes for yourself, but then the Troopers walked past and you remembered why you were even on this planet to begin with.

Din continued on ahead, the slight turn of his head letting you know he was still watching out for you, and as you went to follow, you knew you weren’t the only one.

Your hand drifted to the blaster kept close to your side, and then it flexed before retreating again. But yet the presence remained. Din stopped ahead of you, turning his head slightly before tilting to the inn that you’d be using for the job. You nodded and continued inside, almost motioning for your shadow to follow before once again catching yourself.

How times had changed.

With a sigh you entered your room, leaving the door unlocked with the hope that he’d show himself, let you see him even if it was just for one final time. You wanted to laugh at yourself, at your desperation, at your need, but instead all that seemed to come out of you was a cry. A cry for what was or a cry for what could have been- you weren’t entirely sure.

The beep of your comm was the only thing that stopped the tears from ever falling. And yet the familiar face that popped up made those tears bubble back up to the surface.

“I take it you and Mando made it to the inn,” Fennec watched you as you merely nodded before clearing your throat.

A pause grew as she seemed to wait for a response before her gaze softened, “What is it?”

You shook your head, “It’s nothing.”

Her steely gaze seemed to return, but under it you knew was the softness she kept hidden, “It’s not nothing.”

“He’s here, and if he’s here, then so is she.”

She nodded her head, yet her eyes had a faraway look in them, reminiscent almost, before returning to her piercing stare, “Does Mando know?”

“That they’re here or my past?”

Fennec shrugged, “Both. Either.”

“He knows.”

You paused trying to find your next words only to feel him just pass the doorway. The shadows coming through the small slit at the bottom were an obvious scene that clearly someone or some people were waiting, but there was something more, something that made you know it was him.

“I’ll comm you later Fennec,” and without waiting for a response you hung up.

Your body led you to the door, your hand resting on the handle waiting for your mind to give the command to open it and yet for some reason it couldn’t. You wanted to see him, to look him in the eye, to feel his presence in person but yet your mind wouldn’t let you.

And then you heard it. The soft voice telling him to be patient, to give you time. She had matured clearly, but how could you be so surprised when really so much time had passed. Your forehead lent forward, hitting the door with a soft thunk as you tried to slow your mind down, waiting for it to give you the permission that your body ached for.

You expected to hear their footsteps echo away from you, to hear them walk away just as you did all those years ago. You deserved it after all, didn’t you? But instead all you heard was the small chime of your comm with a single message from the Mandalorian in the room across from you, open the door.

And you did. You wanted to laugh at how quickly your body reacted to Din’s message, but you trusted him even when you didn’t trust yourself, so if he said to open the door, you’d do exactly that.

It all bubbled down the second your eyes met his, though. Those eyes that you used to see even in your dreams, the ones that you knew would protect you from anyone and anything, the ones that you still looked for the second you’d wake up. Your body stepped forward almost instantly, prepared to hold that face that you loved to stare at in your hands, only to see the way he tensed at your approach, and found yourself backing into the room slightly.

Then you saw the tuft of blonde hair just behind his shoulder and found yourself looking at a face that you almost didn’t recognize. You knew it was Omega of course, but gone was the child that you’d practically called your own and in her place was a grown adult.

“What are you doing here?”

Your face shot back to look at his, your eyes much like a deer caught in headlights as your mind processed his question. He repeated the question, his rather cold stare penetrating you as he waited for your answer.

“I’m doing a job.”

“Why here?”

“Because this is where the job sent me.”

“Who’s the job for?”

“A friend.”

Each question felt like a dagger to your gut, but you didn’t feel any pain, only growing anger. Anger at the fact that he clearly didn’t trust you anymore, deemed it important to interrogate you.

“What is it?”

“Getting a package.”

“Who's the Mandalorian?”

You exploded, “Why do you care?”

Only for him to respond in kind, “Why don’t you?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to calm yourself, your eyes actively trying to avoid looking at him even though all he did was continue to look at you.

You swallowed down all your words, waited for the anger to slip away before finally answering, “We work together. That’s it.”

Your hands clutched at the sides of the doorway, hoping it would hide the trembling running through your body. You thought you would be prepared for seeing him again, but turns out all it did was dredge up everything that you’d kept locked away since you’d walked out the door and closed it behind you.

You felt his gaze on you soften, almost as if he knew how much was brewing inside you, waiting to finally be released. And yet his next question stopped you in your tracks, “Would you like some help on the job?”

Before you could even gape at him, another voice provided you with the answer you had dreamed of saying, “We’ll take it.”

There Mando stood, leaning against the doorway as if it was the most relaxing thing in the world. And instead of gaping at Hunter for posing the question, you gaped at Mando for giving the response.

Of course you wanted the chance to even be in Hunter’s presence, but…. Din knew what was running through your mind, and yet with a simple shrug and a nod to leave he seemed to soothe your worries.

If only you’d considered how similar the two men were.

…

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or bash their heads together, and one look in Omega’s direction let you know you weren’t the only one.

Of course this job wasn’t as simple as Fennec made it out to be. And now here the four of you were, leaving the city to track the package. Only with Hunter’s abilities and Din’s helmet, what was meant to be a simple tracking expedition turned into a competition between the two.

Each time one was tracking, the other was staring and when no tracking was needed they’d be glaring full on daggers.

Your fifth sigh since seeing their stares finally made the two of them stop walking. Din merely tilted his head at you, while Hunter turned to face you, “What?”

“Just,” you sighed again, “can you two stop with this whole thing?” You waved your hand in a circle in the direction of the two of them.

Neither of them bothered to stop their staring as Hunter said, “Let’s stop for tonight.”

Soon you found your group accompanied by the warmth of the fire in front of you and the sight of the stars above you. The plan for the next day had already been hatched out and yet, even after Din had wrapped your blanket around your shoulders, you didn’t find yourself wanting to sleep.

Instead you sat next to the fire, your eyes watching the flame and your fingers playing with the chain around your neck as you let your mind wander. And wander it did. To see Hunter after all this time, to his beauty even as he got older, to what it would have been like if you stayed, to the dreams the two of you used to talk about when you laid under these same stars.

You hadn’t even realized the tears that started to drift down your face until you felt an extra source of warmth settle down next to you. Without turning your head, you knew it was Hunter- he always did run warm, even more warm than the other clones.

Yet even with the chance right next to you, you couldn’t turn your head. Not after remembering the way he’d tensed at being close to you. And then his fingers started to make their way into your line of sight until his hand rested on your thigh. It didn’t squeeze, didn’t prod, just rested on top, finally granting you the physical connection your body ached for since sensing him outside your door.

His eyes seemed to burn the fingers that played with the chain, yet you didn’t feel his cold stare, instead all you felt was his pain, “I didn’t realize you still had it.”

You nodded softly before pulling off the chain, letting the ring rest on your palm, “I couldn’t let go of it, no matter how hard I tried.”

His hand remained unmoving, even as you felt his focus shift to the ring, “Why?”

“It reminds me of…” you started to stumble, “of why I- of.”

His voice was soft, much like the blanket wrapped around your body, “Of why you left us?”

You nodded your head, before finally letting yourself turn your face to look at him, “Of why I sacrificed my future with you.”

His eyes shifted up, meeting yours. You saw the way his Adam’s Apple moved up and down before he opened his mouth, “Why… why did you?”

“I was becoming too well-known in the field,” your eyes became distant as you thought back to the moment you knew that your dreams became shattered, “Another bounty hunter and I were fighting for the bounty when he mentioned you and Omega, how people knew that you were the keeper of my heart… my weakness. They said your names,” your voice started to crack as the memory played out in your mind, “the location of our place, the name of Cid’s place…”

You let out a shaky breath as Hunter’s fingers started to intertwine themselves with yours, “No matter what, I had to protect you… but I couldn’t just leave, that would be too obvious. I had to- I had to make them think that the two of you were no longer…” your voice drifted off.

“Cyare?” You felt the way his body inched closer to yours and how yours leaned further into his touch in response, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You both knew why. And yet he waited, rather patiently, for your answer.

Your hand squeezed his slowly, almost as if to remind yourself that his presence next to you, wasn’t one of your dreams, “I had a reputation for never involving any of you in my jobs and if you knew, well, it would just increase the risk of you getting hurt,” you paused, “My safety stopped mattering to me a long time ago, at least not in the way that’s yours and Omega did.”

“So,” his voice remained soft even though you knew he was becoming angry at everyone who’d ever threatened you, “that’s why you started to distance yourself.”

You nodded, “The only way I would know for a fact that the two of you wouldn’t be targeted was if neither of you knew anything and if I truly made everyone believe that we’d broken up.”

“The fight?”

When you’d walked out. You could still feel the coldness of the door to Cid’s place as you closed it behind you. The words that you’d screamed at him, in view of every patron, still ringing in your ear. They were still etched in your mind, each hateful lie you threw his way, and each little crack of your heart that came in response.

You nodded again, “Word had to spread.”

His warmth seemed to wrap around you like an extra layer on top of the blanket, and then you felt his other hand squeeze your shoulder. He’d actually wrapped his arm around your back, pulling you closer into him.

“I never believed anything I said to you, especially that night. I wish I could take it back, all of it,” you paused as you rested your head on Hunter’s chest, right where his heart was, “I’m sorry.”

His lips pressed softly against your forehead as he took in your scent, “I forgive you. I would have forgiven you that day if I knew why.”

For a second you were transported to the past, when you still traveled with the bad batch on occasion and you were all still young. And then you felt his chest shake as he took a breath in.

“Did you ever- ever stop…”

You shook your head softly, trying not to bother his lips that still remained pressed to your forehead, “I think I love you even more than when I did all those years ago.”

You took your own shaky breath in, “What about you?”

“I never stopped.”

…

You hadn’t even realized that you finally found sleep until you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin on top of the warmth of Hunter’s body still wrapped up in yours. Even though the climate of the planet you were on made the sun harsh and bitter, you still couldn’t help but admire how it seemed to only highlight Hunter’s beauty.

Your fingers craved to run through his salt and pepper hair, and trace every bit of his face. But then he stirred, still not fully awake and you found yourself slowly extracting yourself from his arms, leaving the ring that had somehow found itself within his grasp.

The sun seemed to burn your back, yet as you looked at his sleeping body below you, you realized it blanketed him in a golden light.

Before letting yourself fall deeper into your dreams of waking up like that every day, you walked over to where Din sat, grabbing the ration bar he handed to you and your gear without a single question passed in between.

Even as you ate, your eyes remained locked on Hunter, not stopping when he woke up and got settled next to Omega.

You could feel Din’s eyes on you, “You don’t have to stay with me, you know?”

Your eyes drifted to meet his, even if you couldn’t see them, “Are you sure?”

If it wasn’t for your constant stare you were sure you would have missed the small nod he gave you in response, “Besides, I have to return.”

You nodded again, a soft smile growing on your face as you turned your head again to meet Hunter’s eyes, “I’ll always be there for you.”

“I know. You are always welcome in Mandalore.”

A comforting pause grew between the two of you and as Din stood up, he looked down at you, “You should tell him.”

You remained seated, watching as Hunter interacted with Omega, one of his hands still wrapped in a tight fist. And then you found him getting closer to you.

He settled down next to you, your body automatically turning so that you could face him. At first you were surprised at how quickly your body wanted to mold with his, but then you realized your body could never forget. The smile on your face continued to grow, especially when you found Hunter smiling in return.

His free hand reached out and grabbed your wrist, softly pulling it towards him before opening up your hands and placing the ring in your palm, “I think you left this behind.”

You nodded, cherishing the physical contact you had with Hunter. Unintentionally, your body continued to reach forward until there was no space between the two of you.

A gentle wind started to grow as the sun continued to rise and although it wasn’t needed, you felt Hunter lean in to where your ear was, “Do you have any plans once this job is done?”

“Well,” you started slowly, “I was hoping, if you’re okay with it, that is, of… maybe…” you felt your face fill with the warmth of your embarrassment to your loss of words. And yet Hunter waited patiently.

You cleared your throat, “I want to be with you again, if you’ll have me.”

You’d closed your eyes at some point as you spoke and for a second you regretted it, not being able to see Hunter’s reaction. Then you felt his slow movements, his hands trailing up your arms until they met your cheeks where they rested, the hot air from his breath disappearing from next to your ear and reappearing in front of your lips. And then his forehead softly rested against yours.

Your breaths started to meld together as you took in Hunter’s response. One of your hands tightened around the ring still sitting in your palm while the other traveled up Hunter’s chest before becoming entangled in his hair, not really pressing him closer to you but also not letting him pull away.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d started to speak, “Don’t let me go, please, don’t ever let me go.”

A prayer to him or to yourself- you weren’t entirely sure- but a prayer nonetheless.

Only for you to receive one in response, “I won’t, I’m never letting you go, not again.”

Even as you continued on for the job, you knew that Hunter would remain by your side and as you pulled the chain back over your head you realized, it didn’t feel as heavy as it did all those years ago.

———

tags: @bubblegum28universe @rose-the-bot @sergeant-hunter

Tin Man: @captn-andor @thewayofthemandalorian @magpie-to-the-morning @magicrowiswritingstuff @booksmusicteaandanimals @littlemisspascal @letoatreiides @dincrypt @ohwaitimthewriter @staarshines @dindjarindiaries @dindja @dindjarinsghost @reluctant-mandalore @pascalpanic @princessxkenobi @smoldjarin @spideysimpossiblegirl

#remmys bounty #remmys writings #tbb imagine #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter x gn!reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter imagine #tbb hunter #din djarin & reader #din djarin & you #din djarin & gn!reader

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thelazyhermits · 3 years

Text

Stoking the Fire

As I mentioned in this post, I wanted to write a drabble focused on Fortune having a vision about the All Might vs AFO fight since I figured out a way to make it happen so there wouldn’t be any extra wariness among the heroes about the summer camp.

This takes place after TABF chapter 29 but before the Two Heroes fic. I hope y’all enjoy it! ^-^

Your Quirk is very troublesome in many ways.

For starters, you have no control over it when it comes to receiving visions, so they always happen at random which can be really inconvenient at times. Although, there are also times they happen just when you need them, so you suppose you shouldn’t complain too much on that end.

One of the most annoying aspects of your Quirk is the fact that it comes with so many drawbacks. It’s seriously ridiculous how much suffering your Quirk constantly puts you through.

Sure, it somewhat makes sense when you consider how powerful your Quirk is since great powers like foresight normally come with limits, but you think your Quirk has way too many.

It’d be one thing if you only had the drawback that prevented you from revealing the contents of some of your visions, but to also have a drawback that causes you to take the pain someone would have felt if you hadn’t intervened on their behalf and prevented them from getting injured? Truly ridiculous.

Not only that, when you use your Quirk for offensive purposes, you can only use it for a select period of time. Otherwise, you risk overworking your brain, which could result in seizures as well as horrible migraines and nosebleeds.

A truly troublesome Quirk indeed.

And unfortunately for you, there’s one other troublesome aspect of your Quirk that you oftentimes forget about since it doesn’t happen very often.

Sometimes, for reasons unknown to you, your Quirk gives you visions while you’re asleep.

The reason this is problematic is because sometimes it’s difficult for you to tell if you had a vision or if it was just a dream. Not only that, you never can tell when exactly the events of these particular visions occur unlike how you usually can with the visions you get when you’re awake.

While it’s not unusual for you to not be able to tell the exact date and time an event will happen, you can usually tell if it will be a few days or months away, but when it comes to visions that occur while you’re asleep, you can’t tell what the timeline is at all for whatever reason.

That’s why you hate getting those kinds of visions since it drives you crazy knowing that something is going to happen but having no idea when it will occur, especially when the events of said visions are very worrisome.

Like what you see in the vision you get a week before summer break starts.

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

As soon as the vision comes to an end, you wake with a loud gasp and quickly pull yourself into a seated position. While you take a moment to calm down, you brush the back of your hand against your forehead to wipe away the sweat clinging to your skin.

Once you’ve steadied your breathing and your heart is no longer pounding frantically in your chest, you mentally go over what you just witnessed while you were asleep.

It was a battle but not just any kind of battle. It was a fight between All Might and All For One himself.

There’s no way that was just a dream. It had to have been my Quirk at work.

That’s what your gut is telling you, so that’s what you’re going to believe since you can’t afford to write off something as important as this.

You drag a hand down your face. Unfortunately, that vision didn’t give me a lot to go on since it didn’t even show me the full battle, just bits and pieces of it. I couldn’t even tell where those two were since I didn’t get a good look at their surroundings. It just looked like a typical battlefield that came to be after a section of a town got torn apart thanks to the fighters’ Quirks.

So, not only do you not know when this battle will happen, you have no idea where it will happen. Great, just great.

To make matters worse, All Might didn’t appear to be looking too good in that battle. Of course, you suppose that’s to be expected, considering he no longer has OFA and is only fighting using the remaining embers of his old Quirk.

However, despite that and All For One’s taunts, the number one hero didn’t look like he had any intention to give up. No, he was still fighting hard for the sake of everyone who was counting on him to win this all important battle.

Unfortunately, All For One had a trick up his sleeve to shake All Might’s resolve.

“Shigaraki Tomura is Shimura Nana’s grandson.”

When All For One dropped that bombshell, you had first thought he was lying, but you quickly realized that that was something the villain would absolutely do. So, you’re sure he was telling the truth no matter how much you don’t want to believe it.

Poor All Might looked absolutely devastated by the news, not that you can blame him. His mentor was someone who was near and dear to him, so of course, it would hurt to hear that All For One was able to find her grandson and use him in his evil schemes.

Fortunately, that news didn’t break All Might like All For One was aiming to do, so even though your vision didn’t show you how the battle ended, you’re sure that All Might continued to fight his nemesis with all his heart and soul.

That’s why you’re not worried about the outcome of the battle, because you know All Might will win. You have complete faith in him. There’s no way he’ll lose.

Still, you do think you should tell him about your vision, so he’ll be prepared for what’s to come. A warning probably won’t do much in the grand scheme of things, especially since there isn’t much you can actually tell him that would be useful to him, but you still think you should let him know what’s in store for his future.

And maybe if you tell him the news about Shigaraki, you can give him the time he needs to come to terms with that information, so All For One can’t use it against All Might in their fated battle.

Just that alone would make telling All Might about your vision worth it since there’s nothing more you’d love to do than to throw a wrench in All For One’s plans.

Your hands clench into tight fists. I won’t allow you to hurt All Might like that and use his suffering for your gain, All For One. I won’t let you do as you please.

That’s a promise.

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

After homeroom, you contact All Might and ask for him to privately meet with you, so the two of you can discuss the vision you had last night.

Briefly, you had considered asking Aizawa and Nedzu to also join the two of you, but you figured you should talk to All Might first and foremost. And you wanted to do that privately because of the matter with Shigaraki since you’re sure that’s what All Might would prefer.

That’s why you later find yourself in a private room, sipping tea with All Might who returned to his true form once the coast was clear.

“To request a meeting like this, you must have seen quite the vision.” Yagi remarks, “Is it pertaining specifically to me, or is it about Young Midoriya?”

“It’s just about you.” You answer before later adding, “And All For One.”

His expression darkens. “I see. In that case, I can only imagine that you’re here to tell me that I will fight against that man again.”

As expected of the number one hero, he’s incredibly perceptive, which is to your benefit since it saves you time explaining things. Although, ironically enough, this is the one occasion where you don’t actually need that kind of help since this vision is apparently one you can talk about without having to worry about your drawback., probably because you don’t actually have any worthwhile information that could result in changing the future.

You nod, “Unfortunately, I had this vision while I was asleep, so I can’t tell you when the two of you will have your fated battle. For some reason, I’m never able to provide a timeline for those particular visions.”

A sigh escapes you. “I also don’t know where that battle will be since my vision didn’t really show me much of your surroundings. It looked like you were in a part of a town that got destroyed by the battle, but it could literally be anywhere.”

“I can’t even tell you how the fight turns out since my vision only showed me certain parts of the battle and didn’t even let me see the end of it.” You frown, “I’m sorry, Yagi-san. I wish I could be more helpful.”

He reaches across the table to pat your shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/N-kun. It is not your fault that your Quirk picks and chooses what it shows you.”

“Even if I don’t know when or where the battle will happen, I still appreciate the confirmation that such a battle will occur within the next year since I knew it was only a matter of time.” Yagi adds.

The corners of his lips curve upwards. “Your news is actually encouraging since, if you couldn’t tell who the clear winner would be, that means that I will be able to put up a good fight despite no longer possessing OFA.”

Your eyes widen. “I see what you mean. The more time passes, the less likely you’ll be able to continue using OFA since you’re currently just using the remaining embers. So, since you were still able to hold your own against All For One, then…”

“Then, it’s likely the battle won’t be a full year from now.” Yagi picks up where you left off. “While I intend to hold out for as long as I can for the sake of the public, I know it would be foolish of me to truly believe I can continue as I am with mere embers of my former Quirk for a long period of time, even though I would like nothing more than to remain the Symbol of Peace until I can pass along my mantle to Young Midoriya.”

Remembering the state he was in in your vision, you frown, “Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be able to continue working as All Might after that battle, Yagi-san. It’ll push you to your very limits - to the point where you won’t even be able to maintain your muscle form.”

The blond sighs, “I can’t say I’m surprised, considering how strong All For One is and how I am not as strong as I was during our last battle.”

His expression turns determined. “But I am alright with that result as long as I can stop All For One once and for all. If my last act as a pro hero is defeating him, I will have no regrets.”

Yagi clenches his hands into fists. “I failed to stop him last time, but I won’t this time. No matter what it takes, I will put an end to his tyranny once and for all.”

For some reason, when you hear him say, “No matter what it takes”, you get an uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

Probably because, to you, it sounds like, “Even if it costs me my life.”

At that moment, you suddenly find yourself thinking back to the vision you had of the events following All Might’s last battle with All For One. You remember seeing his worn out appearance and how Nighteye had tried to get the number one hero to retire.

You recall how Nighteye foresaw All Might’s death, and that painful feeling in your chest grows stronger. What if...What if….?

What if the vision you had is of the future that Nighteye saw?

You give yourself a quick mental shake. No, there should still be some time before the events that Nighteye foresaw happen. Considering Yagi-san will be strong enough to fight All For One, it’s doubtful that a full year will pass before that battle, and Nighteye predicted that the future he saw should happen within one to two years from now. So, there’s no way he’ll die in the battle I saw.

…right?

“Y/N-kun? Are you alright?”

It’s the sound of Yagi’s concerned voice that draws you out of your worrisome thoughts.

Immediately, you lift your gaze to meet his, and as soon as you do, you ask, without thinking, “Does ‘no matter what it takes’ mean that you’re willing to die if necessary?”

Yagi freezes at your words before quickly averting his gaze. Rather than say anything, he just goes quiet as he tightly clasps his hands, but you don’t need a verbal response since that reaction is all you needed to see to know what his answer to your question is.

Of course, you’re not surprised since the number one hero is no stranger to self-sacrifice. Ever since your Quirk started showing you visions about All Might, you’ve witnessed firsthand how many times he has sacrificed his time and wellbeing for the sake of others, because he felt it was his duty as the Symbol of Peace.

It’s a trait of his that you both admire and hate, because, while he only ever has good intentions, it hurts you to see him treat himself with so little regard. Why must he constantly put such burdens on his shoulders? Why can’t he allow himself to get the rest he deserves?

Why does he have to do everything alone?

At that moment, your thoughts suddenly turn toward Midoriya who is sure to follow in his mentor’s footsteps since he’s so much like the number one hero. Honestly, you’d say your student is even worse when it comes to self-sacrifice because of all the years of bullying which led to him having such low self worth.

If Midoriya was in All Might’s shoes right now, you have no doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to throw away his life if he thought it would be for the “better good”.

And that terrifies you more than words can describe.

That’s why you can’t let this horrible cycle continue. You have to do something for Yagi’s sake and for Midoriya’s.

So, that’s exactly what you do.

“You can’t die, Yagi-san, not when you still have so much to teach Midoriya.”

Briefly, Yagi looks at you in surprise, and then, his expression becomes pained. “The last thing I want is to leave Young Midoriya without a mentor, especially so early in his journey to become a hero, but-”

“But nothing!” You cut him off. “If you want to guide him, then do it! Don’t let anything get in the way, not even death!”

Your hands clench into fists. “Midoriya still needs you, Yagi-san, not just as his hero but as his mentor. You need to be there for him since there are things that only you can do for him. Your role in his life is irreplaceable.”

“So, please don’t accept dying so easily!” You plead with tears in your eyes. “Not when you have a successor who’s depending on you and so many people who care about you, not because you’re the number one hero but because you’re you! Please treasure yourself more!”

His eyes widen. “Y/N-kun…”

As you’re scrubbing your eyes, Yagi takes a moment to consider your words, and then, his expression softens. “I’m sorry, Y/N-kun. You’re right. Death is not an alternative that I should be so willingly to accept. That’s unfair to you, Young Midoriya, and everyone else who I have been so fortunate to receive love from.”

“I’m no longer just All Might the hero. I’m also All Might the UA teacher and Young Midoriya’s mentor.” He continues, “As Principal Nedzu has told me in the past, I cannot give one job more attention than the rest. I am equally responsible for all of them, so it would be remiss of me to forget that just for the sake of defeating All For One.”

His eyes gain a determined glint as his hands clench into fists. “That’s why, if death tries to sink its claws into me in this upcoming battle, I will fight back with everything I have. I won’t allow Young Midoriya to lose his mentor, especially when I still have so much to teach him, and I won’t cause you, my other students, or anyone else undeserved pain with my death. I’ll keep fighting no matter what.”

Relief washes over you like a tidal wave, causing you to slump back in your seat. Seeing this, Yagi gives you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Y/N-kun. I always seem to be causing you a lot of undeserved stress.”

“If you don’t wanna cause me stress, then take care of yourself, so I don’t have to worry about you.” You huff, “And make sure Midoriya learns how important that lesson is too. Honestly, you’re both way too self-sacrificial…”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose you make a fair point. I promise to be more careful on that end for both my sake and Young Midoriya’s since the last thing I want is to be a bad influence.”

Considering how Midoriya currently is, you think the damage has already been done, but you don’t say as much since there’s still time for things to change for the better.

Instead, you just reach for your teacup and drink the rest of your tea, which has unsurprisingly gone cold due to you completely forgetting about it during your and Yagi’s discussion.

That’s why Yagi decides to pour a fresh batch of tea for the two of you. As he’s doing this, you remember that there’s still something else that you need to tell him.

“Shigaraki Tomura is Shimura Nana’s grandson.”

You’ve been putting it off since it’s not an easy subject to bring up, and you honestly would rather talk about anything else. However, for Yagi’s sake, you need to do it.

Finding your resolve, you take a deep breath and slowly release it. “As I mentioned before, I didn’t see the whole battle, just bits and pieces, so there wasn’t much to glean from my vision. However, there is one particular moment that stood out to me.”

When Yagi’s curious gaze falls on you, you clench your hands into fists. “All For One revealed something horrible that he did, something that will only cause you pain to know about, but I thought if I told you now that he couldn’t use it against you in the battle like he did in my vision.”

A deep frown forms on his lips. “It must be quite horrible indeed for you to look so upset. Although, I can’t say I am surprised since that sounds just like something All For One would do.”

“It’s worse than anything you could imagine, Yagi-san.” You bite your lip. “All For One really hit where he knew you would be hurt the most.”

After the number one hero gestures for you to continue, you take another deep breath before quietly revealing, “Shigaraki is your mentor’s grandson.”

Just like in your vision, Yagi completely freezes as horror slowly dawns his features. “No...it can’t be…”

“I wanted to believe it was a lie just as much as you, Yagi-san,” You sadly reply, “but we both know this is just the kind of thing All For One wouldn’t hesitate to do. That’s why I think he was telling the truth.”

Yagi lets his face fall into his hands. “Yes, you’re right. That’s just the kind of diabolical thing he would do.”

“Master had hidden her son away specifically to avoid this from happening, but it would seem her efforts were for naught.” Yagi trembles. “I’m so sorry, Master. If only I had known…”

Your expression softens. “It’s not your fault, Yagi-san, and I’m sure your mentor would agree. After all, she was the one who asked you and Gran Torino not to go looking for her son, right? You were just respecting her wishes.”

“Even so, I deeply regret that decision.” He sighs, “I should have considered the possibility of All For One finding a way to track down her family and made arrangements so that they would always be protected from him. I should’ve known better than to assume that All For One wouldn’t be able to find them.”

Unfortunately, it looks like you won’t be able to absolve Yagi of this guilt despite how much you want to. No doubt this will be something that will remain with him for the rest of his life.

As you frown at that thought, Yagi pulls his hands away from his face. “Thank you for telling me about Shigaraki, Y/N-kun. I’m sure it was a subject you would have preferred to not discuss, but you did it for my sake, which I am very grateful for. Like you said, it’s far better that I learn this horrid truth here rather than on the battlefield. ”

You frown worriedly. “Will you be alright?”

He forces a smile. “Yes, you don’t need to worry about me. It’s true that this news was a horrible blow, but I won’t let myself give in, especially not after I just promised to overcome everything that’s thrown my way.”

His smile falls. “Dealing with Shigaraki from here on out will not be easy, but for my master’s sake, I won’t fold. I won’t allow him to continue down the path All For One set him on. I will do everything I can to ensure he cannot commit any more crimes.”

Hopefully, things won’t come to that since you know fighting Shigaraki would be incredibly painful for Yagi. That’s why you think it would be better if another hero was in charge of stopping Shigaraki, especially considering how much the villain hates the number one hero.

Of course, you don’t say as much. Instead, you just keep those thoughts to yourself and enjoy the fresh batch of tea that Yagi later pours for you once it’s ready.

As you’re both enjoying the tea, you provide as many details about your vision as you can that you think could be helpful, which mostly entails talking about All For One’s Quirks in hopes that that’ll help Yagi in the long run.

Once that discussion concludes, you decide to take advantage of this private time with Yagi to ask a question that’s been on your mind for a while now. “Yagi-san, do you ever intend to tell Midoriya about the future Nighteye foresaw?”

Yagi quickly averts his gaze. “I didn’t think that would be necessary….”

A sigh escapes you. “As I thought. Honestly, you keep way too many secrets from him. It’ll come back to bite you one day, you know.”

You wag your finger at him. “As your successor, Midoriya has a right to know about those secrets, especially the ones about your predicted death and Togata Mirio. Those are not the kinds of things he should be learning from anyone but you.”

He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose you make a good point, but if we can avoid him finding out at all…”

“Fat chance of that happening.” You huff, “He’ll find out everything eventually, Yagi-san. It’s only a matter of time.”

When he remains unconvinced, you add, “Just give what I said some thought. I’m not saying you have to talk to him right now, but at least, consider doing it in the near future.”

The blond reluctantly nods, “Very well. It is true that you make an excellent point, so I should, at least, try to give the matter some more thought.”

Once that matter is addressed and Yagi returns to his muscle form, the two of you decide to leave the room, so you both return to your regular duties.

As the two of you are walking, you remember one last thing you need to say to the number one hero. “All Might.”

When he turns to look at you, you smile, “I believe in you with all my heart. I know there’s nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it, so if you say you’ll win, I know that’s exactly what will happen.” “That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to feel as worried as I should have when I saw that vision.” You add, “Because I could tell just from looking at you that you had no intention to lose despite everything All For One was putting you through.”

Your smile grows. “Someone like you could never lose to someone like him. No matter what he says, he’s no match for you. I’ve always believed that and always will.”

Surprise briefly dawns his features before that trademark grin of his that you love appears. “Thank you. I promise I will live up to those high expectations of yours.”

“I know you will.” You fondly reply, “You always do.”

#TABF #TABF missing scene #my writing #yagi toshinori #all might #it felt good to properly address this fight #in a way that wouldn't ruin the chances of the summer camp attack happening #plus it gave all might the encouragement he would need #and fortune got to give AFO a big screw you by ruining one of his plans lol #I also wanted to have fortune talk about nighteye and mirio #to reference the changes I made to chapter 41 #also I went back and edited TABF #to show fortune recognizing mirio as a previous candidate for OFA #in the chapter when fortune looks at his profile #and the chapter when tamaki brings him up while he's eating lunch with fortune #they're minor changes #but I wanted to show that fortune did know who he was #I just didn't do it when I first wrote the fic #cause that would mean including what would have been spoilers at the time #I've also edited chapter 34 to show references to this convo #they're minor but definitely there

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freddieslater · 3 years

Text

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Klaus Mikaelson x Lexi Branson (The Vampire Diaries)

Requested by @insidious-wxlf

Klaus eyes the girl standing alone in the corner of the exhibit. He thinks the word "girl" lightly only because her face is surprisingly smooth and unblemished by the age that he's aware she possesses.

He politely excuses himself from his conversation with an over enthusiastic guest. She doesn't mind in the slightest when her agreement rewards her with a pleased smile that holds the potential of a promise of his return. He's not one to keep a promise.

The girl with the locks of golden curls just stands there, head tilting this way and that. Sidling up to her, he notices her even squinting her eyes a little bit with her lips twisted uncertainly.

"You're not impressed," he says bluntly, and knows he's guessed correctly.

The girl doesn't even turn to him. She merely glances with a sideways flick of her sparkling eyes, like bubbles in champagne, and gives a tittering smile. Familiar and infuriating at the same time.

"Now, did I say that?" Alexia responds.

"You didn't have to," Klaus says flatly, hands behind his back and doing his best to keep his face a mask so as to not seem wounded by the slight poking of a sharp dagger in his chest and his throat. "Your face said it for you."

"Well, I wasn't aware that my face had developed the unheard of ability to speak for me. And with my mouth closed, to add further astonishment."

Klaus rolls his eyes and sighs, already sick of their little game. He waves a hand at the canvas in front of them.

"If you're going to come here and silently judge my work, then, do tell, what exactly is it about it that you find so unimpressive?" he asks. More demands, but one never really demands anything of Alexia Branson. He's learned that lesson before. Many times.

Sure enough, she takes an extra moment to answer simply to spite his tone. He clenches his jaw but stays quiet, waiting.

Then she squints her eyes some more, gives another tilt of her head, as if really examining the flaws in the painting. Klaus even finds himself glancing over it uncertainly. Perhaps it wasn't one of his best. He does recall being rather frustrated with it during the process of creation, and there had been a light squabble between his siblings that he had been made to deal with in between. Maybe it reflected a little too much in his work.

Then Alexia says, with an air of finality on her descision, and extreme confidence, "It's too blue."

Klaus stares at her. "It's too... blue? Your problem with this piece is that there is too much... blue?"

"No, not too much of the colour blue," Alexia says, shaking her head, making those curls move with her, fascinatingly. "It's too blue. Sad. You may has well have just painted a big frown on it and titled it, "My Inner Soul"."

She turns to him and he finally sees the grin stretching across her delicately painted lips. A weight is lifted out of his chest and then he's shaking off his disbelief.

"You're mocking me," he scoffs, a low chuckle starting beneath it in his throat. "To my face as well, a very bold move, I have to say!"

It's her turn to roll her eyes now. "Oh, I'm so scared, Nik! What are you going to do? Kill the only person who actually buys your paintings? Now, would that not just be a poorly-thought out business move?"

She's turned to properly face him now, her head tilted again, and that smile still playing across her lips. It's impossible to hold any displeasing thoughts or feelings inside of him when it feels as though she can peer right into the soul that he questions the existence of. She doesn't. She has no doubt that it's in there -- she's told him as such, time and again, despite his protests and attempts to prove her wrong. She's so certain.

He sputters a bit, fumbling over his words, something in which she finds great amusement. And he finds fondness in her amusement, so really, he doesn't mind too badly.

"Now -- that is simply untrue! I have other buyers."

"Mhm." Lexi hums. "But if that's the case, then why have I been granted the absolute privilege of being allowed to remain... well, undead?"

Klaus considers it. In truth, he's snapped necks for lesser insults and grievances.

But he looks at Lexi, and his mind instantly softens his hands to caress the delicate skin of her neck instead. He can see the places where his lips have left love letters, once reread over and again, now tucked away beneath the surface of her skin to be kept secret.

An odd feeling posesses him for a moment longer than he'd like. Similar to the time one vampire got brave and made a grab for his heart, managing to get their idiotic little fingers wrapped around it for just a moment. They had just started to twist when their head had landed on the other side of the room, courtesy of a well-timed Elijah.

It's that feeling. The twisting of his heart, phantom fingers around it like it's some kind of ball for them to play with, just to give the strings a little tug.

It's an aching, hollow feeling right in his chest and down a bit, where no one should be able to reach.

He swallows and draws his eyes away from Alexia's unmarked neck, back up to her still sparkling eyes. She raises her eyebrows at his delay in answering.

"My god," she says, widening her eyes with feigned amazement, "I've actually rendered the great Niklaus Mikaelson speechless. I wasn't sure anything could ever make you stop talking -- if you don't inflate your ego, who else will?"

Klaus' mouth twitches at the corner and he allows the smile to blossom into another chuckle. He shakes his head.

"Precisely, my love," he says, but he is too soft, still caught up in his thoughts, where the desire to be gentle always won out.

Alexia doesn't bat an eyelash. "So, am I going to be walking out of Chicago with a head then?"

She's kidding, of course. Teasing him because they both know that he's never had a single desire for her pain in any form. Even the thought of it makes his gut twist like someone has stuck a dagger in it and forgot to remove it.

"I'd rather you didn't walk out of Chicago at all," he confesses before he can think.

This wasn't how things were supposed to be. Alexia was simply a fellow vampire he stumbled across during a darker period. Many vampires have come and gone through his many centuries, many during much worse times in his life, and yet she's one of the rare few who got stuck in his mind. Her gentleness, the way he softens just by being near her or thinking of her and how she'd react if he made a particularly unpleasant descision.

Finally, she's the one who's caught off her guard. "Oh," she flusters. "Um... I mean, I don't have to go right now. Kind of got forever. So... I can stay."

Klaus nods. "Good. I'd..." he clears his throat, but the words seem to have lodged themselves firmly in there.

Alexia's grinning again, leaning in closer. "What was that? That word you were going to say? You'd...?"

Klaus clenched his teeth again but it's partly to keep his smile from stretching like it wants to.

"I'd advise you quit while you're ahead, dear Alexia, or--"

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" she interrupts. "You sound like your brother when you call me Alexia."

Klaus actually is wounded this time. "Point made. Lexi it is."

She smirks, and says, "Good. Now, you were saying that I should quit while I'm ahead?"

"Which would apparently be always," Klaus concedes.

Lexi laughs, looking rather pleased about it, too. Such cockiness on anyone else would infuriate him. With Lexi, it's more fond exasperation. If anything, it's a good look on her and one he always takes pleasure in.

"I would be very happy if you were to stay for a little while longer," Klaus says, finishing his thought.

Lexi beams at him. She tilts her chin up and takes his arm, surprising him as she hooks it over her own.

"Then it is a very good thing that your happiness actually means something to me," she says. "Now, show me the rest of your paintings. And I want less sadness! Show me your happiest one."

Klaus peers at her for a moment. She just smiles that beautiful smile at him.

"I know just the one," he says, and she gestures for him to lead the way.

#tvd #the originals #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson #lexi branson #klaus x lexi #lexi x klaus #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedit*#insidious-wxlf #okay okay SO #klexi #or we could go with #niklexia #niklexi #their names are weirdly hard to combine!!#but they NEED one because OH MY GOD #you gave me one single request with just their names and suddenly I ADORE THIS SHIP??#this is basically stefan/lexi and klaus/hayley combined in a way #like lexi and klaus would have a similar dynamic to the one that lexi and stefan did #but also klaus and hayley #but also kinda klaus and everyone because this is just how he interacts with people dhxhdhdh #but no seriously #I'm actually going to continue this ficlet because I have Way more planned for this au but I didn't want to make the post too long #so ao3 here I come with the most obscure pairing ever!

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vv3nti · 3 years

Text

BIRD BOSS (part three)

[social media hybrid]

summary: y/n wants to rush her recovery process, putting her hero career on hold for what should have been a simple injury was devastating. she was ready to give. but the number two hero had an irresistible proposition. but he lands himself in a rocky situation as a crush develops on y/n; who quite frankly wants none of his shit. will hawks win her heart or will someone from her past steal it away?

warnings: language!!, angst, fluff, some ooc—sue me, CRACK, and LANGUAGE, pay no attention to timestaps, adult talk??? excuse the mistakes pls and ty

2.4k words

SERIES MASTERLIST

NO. NO. NO. NO. Your eyes widen as they fell upon your boss’ relaxed figure, chatting with your friends. What the hell was he doing here, and why did he look so casual among your peers? There was still time to make a run for the door; no one had even noticed you descend from the bathroom; feigning sickness didn’t sound like a bad idea right about now. This wasn’t the plan; Hawks was supposed to go home and meet you on sunday, not stay and mingle. He was ruining the atmosphere; people were gawking and staring at the pro, bringing unwanted attention to your table. Why would he think, showing up to a mediocre downtown club was a good idea? You didn’t have much time to dwell because Mina exposed your existent as she called you over. She smiled brightly, countering your set grimace. Keigo turned around slowly, a smirk decorated his lips and a glint in his eyes. He knew what he was doing; he found it quite amusing and rather eventful.

“Y/N! Look! It’s Hawks.” Mina gleamed, her drunken state failing to keep her excitement from bubbling over; she was practically bouncing off the floor. The time you told her you’d be working for the pro-hero, she went ballistic, bombarding you with a profound number of questions. Sure, the girl did have a special love for heroes but let’s not forget Hawks’ popularity due to his appearance, which granted him a few extra points in Mina’s book. It took a lot of self-restraint not to roll your eyes at your starstruck friend as you traveled to the booth.

“Yes, I see. What is he doing here?” you emphasized, turning to Hawks, the previous glare returning to your expression. If your eyes had mouths of their own, they would have told him to fuck off in a multitude of ways. You hoped he’d take the hint and leave you be, but to your luck, Keigo either didn’t notice or choose to ignore. You bet on the latter.

After a few seconds of your stare off, Keigo straightened his posture, flashing his pearly whites. “Hello, babybird.”

“Answer the damn question.” That earned you an elbow to the gut from Mina.

“Well, I know I told you to give me the bill on Sunday, but I thought it’d just be easier to take it straight from the source.” He scissored his centurion black card between his pointer and middle finger. He feigned surprise before reaching down on the table, grabbing a white iridescent clutch. “And you forgot this.” Hawks confessed, handing you the bag. You knew you didn’t take a purse to the gala, and you knew Hawks knew you didn’t take a flashy purse to the gala. So what the fuck was this expensive piece of material doing in your hands. “Consider it a thank you for showing up tonight; finding a last-minute date would have sucked.”

The explosive blond spoke up, all attention rushing his direction. “You gave her your card already; a simple verbal thanks would have done.” He snapped with a scowl. To say Bakugou had a distaste for the pro-hero would be an understatement, and he has zero hesitation voicing his dislike. It was painfully obvious Bakugou was envious of Hawks; number two hero, highly on almost all charts, and good looking, he had it all and at the mere age of twenty-three. In truth, you believe he looked up to the wing hero, but even if that were the case, her friend would never admit it.

Keigo took notice of the boy's irritated persona; he wasn’t a stranger to haters, but right now, he’d rather Bakugou not ruin the moment. Absent Mindlessly waving his hand around, Hawks remarked, “Well, maybe, I like to spoil my employees, Ground Zero.” The quick look of surprise on Bakugou’s face satisfied Hawks, as did Mina praising how sweet he was. “I’ve seen you on TV before; your quirk is just as explosive as your personality, too, huh?” He sassed, the snarky response earning a few giggles from your friends.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, grumbling incoherently as he sunk further into the plush seating. If this went on any longer, you swore you’d choke on the testosterone.

You turned towards the booth. “Hey, he’s only messing around with you, Katsuki. Just let it all out by order drinks, yeah?”

The smug expression vanished from Keigo’s face rather quickly, a confused one taking its place. You're on a first-name basis with this guy? He thought, though, he tried to mask his it as best he could when you focused your attention back on him.

“Listen, thank you for the drinks and this.” You lifted the clutch in your hand. “I appreciate it, but I-” The pink-haired girl to your left softly tugged your arm. The desperation in her eyes caused you to look away only to meet the begging stares the rest of the group bore into your figure. Guilt crept up your spine—no, you shouldn’t be feeling this way, but you didn’t want to disappoint your friends. So much for a night off.

You signed, dragging a hand down your face. “Fine, you can stay.”

The night progressed relatively smoothly; it was a surprise to you how well Hawks mixed with your friends. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves in his presence. Well, everyone except for Bakugou, who continued to sulk by himself. His sour attitude prompted you to a stand, reaching your open palm in his direction. Bakugou ignored your offer, but you were persistent and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

“Katsu, please.” A whine pulled from your throat, attracting the attention from the winged-hero talking with Momo, Kirishima, Denki, and Mina. “I want the legendary ‘Lord Explosion Murder’ mix, and you’re the only one who knows the order, c’mon.”

You squealed as Bakugou grumbled in agreeance; you clutched his wrist and started your departure to the bar. The rest of the table paused their conversation, watching you leave. Hawks didn’t remove his gaze until you were entirely out of sight; confusion racked through him again. He found himself wishing you talked about your personal life more because as he’s out with you now, he doesn’t seem to know anything about you.

“That’s the nicest Bakugou gets.” Denki laughed. “And I have to say I’m jealous. What a world, him not hating me.”

“Well, you should’ve snatched him up first,” Momo replied, giggling profoundly when the yellow-haired boy glared. Not that he would ever admit it, but when they first met, Denki had quite the crush on Bakugou. “And maybe he’d be your boyfriend, huh.”

Mina’s entire being jumped in her seat, eyes wide and lips pursed. She slapped Momo’s shoulder sharply, giving her a pointed look, one that a mother would give their child when they’re acting out in public. “Bakugou is not her boyfriend.”

“Maybe if he ever got around to confessing his feelings to L/N. It’s been years at this point.”

Oh, was this interesting? Hawks shouldn’t find this as intriguing as he did; this was his assistant, for fuck’s sake; he should be professional instead of indulging in this drama. But, hey, when has he ever been known to keep things traditional. Keigo deemed his attraction to you a given crush; isn’t it abound to happen to two people who work closely and spend a lot of time together? Right? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t seem to just enough. You’re a drug, and he’s addicted, obsessed, always wondering when he’ll get his next fix.

Mina rolled her widen eyes. The girl was far too biased to even indulge in the conversation, but she couldn’t help but peeve. Mina had her money on Hawks swooping into your life before Bakugou ever got over himself. “A girl can only wait so long.” She huffed, perking up as the explosive blond rounded the table. “Where’s Y/N?”

Bakugou mumbled something about you taking too long to order, causing the group to erupt loudly. He was never great showing his affection around other people, huh?

“You left her up there?”

“By herself?”

“What the hell, Bakubro?”

“What about the Lord Explosion Murder.”

“Dude!”

All noise ceased as Hawks stood up, his chair sliding back against the dark wood. “I’ll go check on her; I need a refill anyway.” The bass of the club drowned the sound of ice rattling against his glass.

You tapped your finger to the rhythm on the beat as you waited, watching the bartender move from person to person. Unfortunately, they were out of orange citrus syrup—to key ingredient to Bakugou’s said drink mix—so you had to find something else to get. You didn’t mind waiting, though. Reading the odd cocktail combinations was quite entertaining as long as you didn’t have to go back and face Hawks.

“Hey.” Keigo’s voice caused you to glance behind you. He leaned over your shoulder to place his glass on the bar, his warmth mixing with your own. Hawks was exceedingly close to your body; you were able to smell his spicy cologne as his front lightly grazed your side. You partially expected him to pull away, put some distance between your bodies but part of you knew he would test the waters. “What’re thinking?” he asked smoothly, eyes grazing the menu. “This sounds good.” Angel Wings was the name of the daiquiri, how cute.

You felt your cheeks begin to flush, this was too far, and you’re intoxicated. Keigo’s usual teasing comments and flirty gestures you could effortlessly ignore, but this was entirely different. There was no room to shuffle away from his figure, for someone occupied the space next to you. Why did he find so much pleasure messing with your head? Truthfully you aren’t surprised; this is what Hawks does; he reels girls in and leaves a trail of hearts in his wake. You’d witnessed it a handful of occasions. Angry, pained, desperate girls trying to either enter the agency building or spam your social media to reach the hero. You will not fall victim to his charms, but as you turn to the side, your eyes meeting his yellow ones, you felt your facade grasping for dear life.

A chillingly squeaky voice pulled you from your trance. “Can we please take a picture with you?” Two petite girls stood feet away, clutching phones in their shaking hands. “Sorry, we just have never had the chance to meet a pro.” You don’t think you’ve ever been so thankful for quirky drunk people.

On the opposite spectrums of things, Keigo internally cursed; he was so close. And although he had no clue what he was close too, it felt right. But thing one and thing two had to show up and spoil it. Before acknowledging the two, he turned back towards you only to see you’d moved away from his touch and started conversing with the bartender. Fuck. Despite his frustration, Hawks equipped his award-winning smile and accepted their request.

“Sorry bout’ that, babybird.” Keigo hummed sheepishly. He knew you dislike the alum of attention he attracts when performing mundane activities, and by the slight squint in your eyes, he figured the distaste settled in you once again.

“Hmm, here.” Your fingers grazed his own as you handed him a fresh drink. Of course, you knew his order. “I'm used to it, gotta take care of the fangirls.” The prior encounter was still fresh on your mind; you cursed yourself for allowing Hawks to get into your head like that. Your walls stood up pretty high, but tonight, he almost made it over the top for whatever reason.

“I'd much rather it be you be one of my fangirls.” And the teasing was back. Classic. “I could always make some exceptions for you, take a few pictures.” He suggested, lips curling into a sinister smirk.

You rolled your eyes, your head lolling to the side. A part of you wanted to play his game, ruffle his feathers a bit, but on the contrary, that would successfully add gasoline to the raging flames. You took a sip of your drink. “My friends really like you.”

Keigo couldn't say why, but the compliment made his heart flutter. He wanted acceptance from your peers. Made him feel like he was doing something right for once in his godforsaken life. Running into you was his golden ticket; Keigo never hesitated when it came to you; he’s always so sure. That’s one reason he keeps you around because as much as you invade his thoughts, you also focused his mind. “Not all of them.” Why would he bring him up? “What’s his problem, huh? Got a crush on you.” Keigo said teasingly, masking the sour taste in his voice.

A stream of air blew from the nose as you shook your head with a small smile. “Aha, no. Katsuki, he…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. The mood dampens. “He blames himself for what happened. He took it remarkably hard, so he’s kind of protective. But no, he does not have a ‘crush’ on me.”

Hawks wanted to ask more questions, he craved to fill the gaps, but he refrained. He wanted you to open up to him on your own will; although he was reasonably comfortable around you, Keigo knew you still put walls up around him. He respected it, but that didn’t mean he’d stop trying. “Either way, he has a major stick up his ass. Popularity charts are gonna be rough on him.”

“I know,” You want Bakugou to succeed as a hero; it’s all he's ever wanted. But his hostile disposition was going to hold him back. “You should teach him the rings,” You joked, partially.

“No can do, I'll be too busy teaching you, babybird.” Hawks was quite the optimist, but you figured he was just trying to make you feel better.

You looked down, stirring your drink. “Tch, whatever.”

“It's true; we’ll be an unstoppable duo!” Hawks beam, waving his hand in the air enthusiastically.

“If I take your offer.”

“Oh babybird,” Keigo paused, inhaling through his teeth. “You signed a contract. You're stuck with me for life and the afterlife.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” With that, you left him standing at the bar. Not only did you want the last word, but you also wished to get back to your friends. This was their night, after all. “Hey, take care of your fan club before joining us.” You motioned to the group of people gawking at the winged pro.

taglist: @therealwalmartjesus @katzurras @noonewouldlisten25 @cathy8taffy

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sparklingchan · 4 years

Text

Checkmate || Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) X Bang Chan

Word count : 14k + ( oops-)

Warnings: A few cuss words , suggestive, mentions of death / murder / beheading and blood.NOT PROOF READ I’M SO SORRY.

Genre : Fluff, angst, romance ,strangers to lovers , Alice in Wonderland au, Royal au(a tiny bit) .

Description: Alice in Wonderland is just a story , or so you were made to believe.

A/N: This story is loosely based on the story of Alice in Wonderland. I always wanted to write Chan in a fictional universe and FINALLY I AM DONE WITH THIS STORY! I have twisted a few facts from the original story to fit my plot so not everything is the same.

Enjoy!

Weekends have had a special place in your heart ever since you were old enough to understand the importance of the last two days of the week in a normal human's life. For a long time , weekends meant going out with friends , partying, camping , eating , relaxing. Weekends meant your mom's scoldings in the morning , the sound of your dad's old radio, your brother's laughter. Weekends meant happiness.

But for sometime now, these definitions have changed. Drastically . Now weekends mean finishing presentations, cleaning your room , washing dirty dishes in the company of the empty corners of your solo apartment. Weekends now mean loneliness.

"Yes ,mom. I have been eating the herbal medicine you sent." You were never able to lie to your mom as a kid or even as a teenager. But the adult 'you' could easily do it. Lying to your mom was as easy as breathing now.

"Are you sure,y/n?" She asks in a stern voice.

You look at your small dining table , at the herbal medicine packet that lies there, as good new. And you let out a tired sigh , pressing your phone closer to your ear.

"Yes."

It had been an exceptionally tiring day at work today. And as you flop down on your couch with your mom still on call ,you wonder why you were feeling this sudden tiredness - all you did today at office was listen to your new boss boast about her achievements and your annoying colleagues kissing up to her as if she were some kind of Messiah.

"Aren't you coming home this weekend?" Your mom's tone now changes. She sounds worried, almost sad, "Dad and I miss you so much. Minho comes home often but we rarely get to see you."

Your eyes fall on the family picture hanging in the wall in front of the couch. It was the summer of your third birthday. Your mom and dad sat on the carpet while you and Minho stacked up legos to make a multi coloured house. The smile on your faces splash a wave of nostalgia towards you and you accept it wholeheartedly.

"I miss you guys too but I don't think I'll make it ,mom. I'm so sorry. " you say with a suppressed yawn, "But I will be going over to Minho's on Sunday so don't worry. We'll facetime you guys then." You feel your eyes get heavier but for the sake of your mom and your empty stomach ,you try your best to not fall asleep.

"Okay, okay. Sounds good. " your mom replies, "See you soon. Love you ,baby. "

You smile at her cheesy yet sweet words. Your mom has always been a fluff ball, just like your dad. But you and your elder brother didn't inherit that sweetness, sadly. "Love you too, mom." You reply.

And then the line goes silent.

You close your eyes, just to rest for a moment before having to cook dinner and working on your next week's presentation. But your eyelids feel like they suddenly weigh a lot more than they did a few minutes ago, like they were made of lead and you couldn't even lift them for a second more.

And before you know it, you've already drifted off into dreamland with your office clothes still on and your empty stomach growling.

For some reason , you'd always been a morning person. You've never had trouble waking up for school or college or work on time, where as your friends and colleagues were all heavy sleepers - they could sleep even through earthquakes.

You remember as kids ,all of your mom's friends would complain about how their kids wouldn't get their asses up for school in the morning and needed to be practically dragged out of bed while your mom just smiled and nodded in response. You probably adopted this habit from Minho ; he might be an annoying idiot most of the time but you have to give him credit where it's due.

And when your eyes open a few hours later, naturally , you expect it to be a bright , sunny morning.

But you're disappointed to see that it's still dark outside.

The lights of your living room are still on and the television is playing some stupid movie in the background , just the way it had been when you came back home from work and switched it on. Rubbing the sleep away from your eyes, you look at the clock on the wall. 3:45 AM, it reads.

"Goddamn it," you push yourself off the couch ,still groggy from your nap, your whole body aching . You grab your phone and office bag and waddle to your bedroom ,in hopes of finishing your much needed nap.

The hallways of your house are dark but familiar so it takes no time for you to find your room's door. Groaning , you close it behind you and walk towards your bed, a homely , comforting feeling enveloping you like a soft blanket. The lights of the room are switched off as usual , and the cold air of the room makes your skin tingle. You smell your signature perfume in the air and the room freshener you use, and surprisingly, a very strange, foreign smell that you are sure you had never smelt in your house before - the smell of grass and mud on a rainy day.

"What the-" you mutter to yourself as your mind finally starts functioning properly again , coming out of your post nap trance and all your senses suddenly switching to high alert mode.

It wasn't raining right now ,nor had it been raining in the evening when you came home so there's no way that this smell was carried in by you. You remember seeing droplets of rain run down the office windows during your lunch break, which means it had rained only a little bit during afternoon. Did someone enter your house in the afternoon?

Your heart starts hammering against your chest. Something feels wrong ,very wrong.

And you quickly realize you were right - because the moment you take a step away from your bed , your feet gets stuck onto something and you crash on the floor. Face down.

"Ow, shit - WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THAT?"

Turns out ,your feet didn't get stuck on a 'something ' , it was rather a ' someone '.

In all honesty, you had never seen a man as handsome as the one that lies on your bedroom floor right now, his hands and feet sprawled out as if he were sleeping on his own bed, his lips parted and hair damp. And if it weren't for his slow , steady breathing and the flush across his cheeks , you'd have almost thought he was dead.

You want to scream. And you do.

You should have called the police the moment you saw him, you think , but you didn't- more like you couldn't.

You are scared obviously, as you frantically check all your lockers and drawers to make sure he hadn't stolen anything. You check his pant pockets but find nothing. You even consider calling your brother but something was stopping you from doing so .

There is something about this man - maybe his extra silky looking clothes , maybe the weird pendant around his neck or maybe just the mere gut feeling that he might actually be the victim, not the criminal - that just wouldn't let you pick up the phone and call the authorities, even though you have their number on speed dial.

"Can I get another slice of bread ,please?" You snap out of your thoughts on hearing his husky, honey-like voice, call out to you, only to realize that you'd been staring at his face as if he were an alien.

Maybe he is an alien....

Embarrassed at being caught red handed, your cheeks flush as you nod your head and pass the man sitting on your dining table,right in front of you, his fifth slice of bread. Damn, he must have been starving.

"Thank you ,miss y/n." He replies with a polite smile, applying butter on the bread with the butter knife Minho had left at your place on your last birthday.

You want to return his smile ,you really do, but you can't find it in yourself to keep your curiosity suppressed anymore. You've never been so intrigued by a living,breathing human before, not to this extent at least.

A few hours ago, when he woke up after you dragged him off from the floor and laid him on your bed, you half expected him to attack you with a weapon or strangle you or threaten you for money but all he did was politely ask if you were the owner of this 'warm and cozy ' house and your name. He even called you ' a kind lady ' when you offered him breakfast and medicine for the slight fever he complained of , out of nothing but pure curiosity and intrigue.

"What was your name , again, sir?" You ask , putting down your chopsticks after deciding your breakfast wasn't that important anymore ,"and where do you come from?"

He sits up straight, the smile on his lips slowly dissolving into a frown. Did you say something wrong?

"I'm Bang Christopher Chan. But I usually go by Chan, " he answers the first part of your question and when he notices your anticipating eyes ,waiting for him to answer the next part , he looks down at his plate, as if embarrassed. "I wish I could tell you where I come from ,my lady ,but I can't and you wouldn't believe me either way. "

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion ; first of all ,this man - Chan - ends up in your room, passed out and sick , secondly he wears such expensive looking ,vintage clothes and lastly, the man speaks as if he were an actor in a Shakespearean play and now he refuses to tell you where he comes from.

He is feeding into your alien theory a little more than you expected.

"Well we won't know that unless you tell me." you reply with pleading eyes, curiosity getting the best of you. He shakes his head and presses his lips together in a firm smile, dragging his chair across the floor and standing up, "I'm afraid I can't do that."

You only watch in awe as he walks towards your main door in strange yet elegant steps. He turns around to look at you, "I express my heartfelt gratitude for everything you've done for me, my sweet lady. You gave me shelter and food and your magical herbs cured my sickness. I will never forget this favour of yours."

Magical herbs? Is he talking about your mom's herbal medicine?

You gulp, not knowing how to reply to his sudden expression of gratitude. With an INTP personality type, you've always found it hard to express yourself to people around you, even if your life depended on it and this time isn't any different either.

"W-well it was my pleasure." You stutter, "But where are you going now anyway?"

He runs his fingers through his silky , fluffy blonde hair and licks his dry lips. "I'm going to look for a friend. He might be able to help me."

"How will you find him? Do you have his phone number or address?" You ask. He shakes his head, "I'm afraid not. What's a phone number, by the way?"

Your eyes widen at his question, your mind running wild with possibilities of what might actually be going on with Chan. You've only ever seen things like this in movies and shows - a random person with no memory whatsoever meets the main character and they set out on an adventure together. And as curious as you were to find out whether Chan brings adventure with him too , you didn't want to get yourself involved in something so messy.

"It's a number via which you can contact people using this device." You say , showing him the led screen of your phone.

His mouth gapes at you , his eyes shaking with curiosity.

Oh this one is a gone case ,you think.

"I'll help you find your friend. What's his name?" You ask him again.

Still in fascination with your phone , he barely whispers his friend's name but thankfully you catch it,

"Lee Felix."

You hate driving . Period. Especially on weekends when the roads are full of impatient cars going off to picnics ,goods trucks trying to finish business as soon as possible , two wheelers which are the location of all the PDA in the world. You aren't used to seeing such happy traffic.

But here you are ,driving this mysterious yet charming man to his friend's place.

Lee Felix ,as the internet tells you , is an owner of a medicinal shop and is pretty well known among people for his homemade medicines and ointments. It only took one tap on your search engine to find out his location.

"So who exactly is this friend of yours?" The car has been quite ever since you left your apartment and you couldn't take it anymore - not when Chan just sits beside you , his fingers tapping on his leg with anxiousness.

He looks up at you , "He's more like a little brother to me , honestly. I grew up with his family - playing with his friends and his siblings. But he moved out of our hometown to do business. He still comes home sometimes but lives here most of the time. "

Now, that's the kind of information you'd been seeking for since the morning. He's slowly but surely warming upto you.

"So you're here to take him home or what?" you ask.

He shakes his head with a grim expression. "No, of course not. I wish I could but he is happy here , tells me he has a lover now and lots of friends. I'm happy for him. And anyway ," he pauses for second , "I'm here to hide. "

You find your heart race at the last word. He's hiding, but from what? From who? Is he a criminal that is trying to save himself from punishment? Or something worse?

Shit. This is not a good idea at all.

If your brother were here , he'd have flicked your forehead so hard it would have hurt for days. Maybe you even deserve it this time.

"From what?" You ask ,your voice only a whisper.

He sighs ,leaning against the window and looking out with thoughtful eyes.

"I really can't tell you, my lady." He replies.

Before you could question him further ,you see a house emerging in the distance and immediately recognize it as Lee Felix 's home plus workshop. Reluctantly, you pull over in front of the huge wooden house.

"How do I open the door ?" Chan asks with an innocent smile when you're about to get out. You let out a small chuckle and put your hand on your own door handle, "Press the black button here and push the door gently. " You demonstrate and he picks it up quickly, joining you as you stand on the porch of this Felix dude's house.

Chan knocks on the door with urgency, and for the first time today, he seems a little relaxed now. Like a weight from his shoulders had been lifted, and you don't have the heart to tell him that there's a doorbell directly on his right.

You hear quick shuffling behind the door and within a second ,the door opens to reveal a man - probably Felix - with bright orange hair and a big smile.

Brothers , you remember Chan's words.

They really do look like brothers as Felix jumps on Chan,embracing him like he had just saved his life. You don't miss the quiet sniffing from Chan and the tears that accumulate in Felix's eyes as they pat each other on the back , mumbling ' I missed you's to each other.

"I was so worried, Chan." Felix pulls away , grabbing Chan's shoulders, " I thought you'd gone to Marmoreal . Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

The name Marmoreal rings a bell in your head ,for sure. You'd heard that place before many times but as you search through your memories and try to find the exact context of that name , you fail to find it. It feels like you'd heard it almost in a dream.

"I just arrived here last night. Wasn't a very pleasant ride ,if you ask me. " Chan says , giggling.

Felix giggles too and then his eyes land on your confused face , as he let's go of Chan.

"And who might this fair lady be?" He asks with a pleasant smile.

Brilliant. Another actor from a Shakespearean play.

"Oh,right," Chan chuckles. " This is y/n, the kind lady who let me stay at her house for the night. "

No,he ended up in your room out of nowhere, you want to say ,but you swallow the words. You didn't want Chan to think of you as rude.

"Hello, Miss Y/n. " he smiles, " You've done us both such favour by housing him. We will not forget this. " Felix says, bowing his head to you.

Awkwardness is what you feel as you force a smile and nod in response,your palms sweating from the unexpected words , "You're welcome,I guess. "

Felix leads the two of you inside the house and you are greeted by a lovely young lady, who looks about your age - Felix's lover ,you assume.She walks in with a freshly baked cake in her gloved hands, her eyes shining the moment she sees the both of you.

"Oh,my dear." She runs to you , " Prince Chan! I have heard so much about you. Felix talks about you all the time. And oh,my, who's this lovely lady?"

Prince Chan .

Prince Chan.

Chan is a prince?

You look at him ,your eyes wide with confusion and doubt and he looks back at you with a nervous expression, like he didn't want the girl to address him as a prince.

"Yeah, " Felix clears his throat, raising his eyebrows at the girl in front of you , as if asking her to keep quiet. "This is Chan and the woman who provided him shelter last night- y/n."

"Oh my apologies," she replies with a smile, probably getting Felix's message, "Hello, Chan, Y/n, I'm Felix's girlfriend, Tracy. " She says as she clings on to Felix's arm and he stares adoringly at her like she is a rare ,precious diamond that no man could ever have but him.

You've seen that look before - in your parents eyes when they tease each other , in your brother's eyes when he talks about his boyfriend , in your ex boyfriend's eyes. You almost feel jealous.

"Hello ,Tracy." Both you and Chan say at the same time and then awkwardly stare at each other.

Tracy giggles.

"Anyway, Chan and I have important things to talk about. " Felix wiggles out of her grip and takes Chan by the arm ," Tracy, my love, would you please see to it that Miss Y/n here is not bored."

And Tracy surely did make sure you weren't bored for a single second.

She takes you into their medicine workshop, showing you the different herbs and fruits and vegetables they use to make the herbal medicine. She shows you the various jars full of these medicines and ointments. Her eyes shine with passion when she talks to you and it makes you realize how happy this makes her.

It is not an hour later,when she offers you a slice of cake and a cup of coffee that you find in yourself to ask Tracy about Chan and Felix and whatever happened back in their hometown.

"Ah,right. Their home." A sad expression falls on her ,as she stirs her coffee, " I wish I could tell you , I really do but unless Felix or Chan ask of me , I cannot do it."

The same response, again and again. "But I'm curious..... and scared." You mutter.

Tracy clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth ,"Sweetie, I know you are and I don't blame you. But it is not my place to decide if I can reveal a secret or not....yet I can tell you this- Chan is not dangerous or anything of that sort. He's in fact the one in danger, in need of protection. "

Shocked, you stare at Tracy ,not being able to form proper words. Your prediction was right, Chan was in fact the victim.

You feel chills down your spine.

"Do you come from that place too?" You ask again.

"Oh no, I wish , sweetheart, I wish but no. I'm from this city itself. Born and raised. " she replies with a slight chuckle.

You want to ask her if Chan and Felix had come from a different planet but you stop yourself just in time when the boys arrive into the workshop.

"I'm afraid we'll have to bid them farewell now, miss y/n." Chan says with a sad smile and you wonder if he said that to console his own self.

"You've been so ,so kind to Chan. I would just ask you to do one last thing for him -" Felix starts, " Can you please drop him at the Levanter hotel ?"

Your forehead creases with confusion, "Why ? Will he not be staying with you?"

"No, I'm afraid not. He'll be easier to find in my house out of all the places. He won't be very safe here." Felix admits, embarrassed.

"Then he can stay at my place. He doesn't have to live all alone." Your mouth speaks out those words without giving a second thought to the idea of Chan actually living with you - you said you didn't want trouble but here you were ,being a big ass hypocrite.

"Well I don't see a problem with that, "Tracy chimes in , grinning, "and besides ,I like to believe that Chan would rather enjoy your company than be alone."

Your cheeks burn red as Tracy yet again puts you and Chan in an awkward place. His eyes are fixed on your face while yours are everywhere but him.

"Its settled then. " Felix says as the couple escorts you and Chan to your car. And just before you drive off, you hear Felix say to Chan, "I think we can trust the lady. Tell her about Underland. Tell her about home."

You love listening to stories. You remember your dad telling you and Minho stories ever night when you were kids and how you found it difficult to sleep without listening to his stories. Stories make you happy, they make your mind wonder about the infinite possibilities in this vast universe and how you happened to be where you were at the exact moment when the story was told.

Stories fascinate you .

With a voice as serious as your dad's, Chan starts, "I and Felix come from a far, far away place called Underland. You humans might know of it as Wonderland because of that one writer who stumbled upon our kingdom one day and decided to write a stupid book about it." He almost sounds angry when he speaks the last line.

"Anyway, I and Felix belong to Underland, which was ruled by the First Great White Queen's descendants for centuries. But everything changed when my grand father - The Last White King passed away. My father were to take the throne by blood right but then a blood descendant of the First Red Queen arrived and claimed Underland as hers. She killed all remaining members of the White Queen's family, my parents, my brothers and sisters," he pauses for a second ,blinking away tears. Your heart clenches with sadness , "But she couldn't kill me; I was just a baby. The youngest of them all. So she banished me to the Enchanted Forest forever ,to live with The Hatters which was Felix's family. In the forest , I grew up with his siblings - Sana, Momo , Me and Felix were inseparable. And we played with the Dormouse , the Cheshire Cat, the White Rabbit , March Hare all day. It was lovely, almost like a dream. Never once did I want to live a royal life or desire my rightful throne back - I was happy. But when I turned twenty , the Queen wanted me to marry her daughter so that she could tighten her claim over the throne. I couldn't do that , I couldn't marry a woman I did not know and did not love. So my friends used their magic and helped run away from the Queen and her Red Knights. And that's how I ended up in your house. "

You blink a few times as everything comes crashing to you at once - his sudden appearance in your room, his weird clothes ,his accent ,his strange walk ,his cluelessness about the modern world , and Tracy calling him a Prince - he is a Prince. A Prince of a place you didn't know actually existed, a descendant of A Queen you'd only heard about in books and movies.

Marmoreal is the name of the White Queen's home , now you remember.

Wonderland was real. As real as you and Chan and Felix and Minho and Tracy. It very much exists .

"Y/n, please do not fear me,I beg of you. You can ask me anything you want but I want you to know that I will not harm you. I am your friend. At least I want to be. " he says , putting a hand on yours as your mind snap backs to reality.

You straighten up.

"Questions , right." you say, still blinking more often than you needed to .

"So the Red queen and the White queen are real? Like they're not just that Writer's idea?" You ask.

"Oh ,they are, I assure you. They were sisters but enemies, which led to the evil Red Queen's banishment centuries ago. Their descendants never got along with each other."

You nod, gulping hard. So the scary Queen with the big head was real. Brilliant.

"And The Hatters , are they the family of the Once Mad Hatter?"

"Yes, they are."

"Aren't they all mad?"

He chuckles, leaning closer to your face, "Darling, they're only as mad as you and I."

Your heart beat gets stuck in your throat , stopping you from asking him anything anymore.

Taking it as the end of the conversation Chan bids you a quick goodnight and heads over to the guest room you had given him.

But he stops just before the door, leaning against the door with a grin ,"Oh, by the way, my lady ,you might not want to skip that herbal medicine on your table anymore."

You frown, "Why?"

"I wasn't lying when I said they were magical - Felix makes them after all."

Oh, what a small fucking world!

The next morning, Bang Christopher Chan claims that he makes very ,very good morning tea that will give you a boost that normal ' human ' tea could never.

"Take one sip and you will crave for more, " he tells you as you provide him with the basic ingredients and watch him from the opposite side of the counter , making this supposedly mind blowing tea.

Now, to be very frank ,you weren't much of a tea person - you've only had boba a few times and the proper ,traditional tea only on the few times that your dad makes some. You were more into coffee. But you didn't tell him that.

You see Chan lean over the boiling pot of water on the gas , adding tea leaves and a little bit of cinnamon and then half a spoon of ground ginger. You observe him , your curiosity bubbling like the boiling water.

"Are you going to add ...magic too? " you couldn't help but ask the question as Chan stirs the mixture in front of him.

He chuckles , a warm , hearty laugh that lights up the lonely and cold corners of your small apartment. His eyes turn into crescent moons and his deep ocean dimples as he walks towards you and softly boops your nose , "Yes, of course! How would it be different from your normal tea otherwise?"

You see him walk back to the pot and then rub his forefinger and thumb together above the mouth of the pot , "Watch this ,my lady." You stare at him with shock as a sparkly , golden dust snows down due to the friction of his thumb and forefinger and gets mixed with the boiling tea.

And when the first sip of the freshly brewed,warm tea touches your lips and travels inside your mouth, you feel an explosion in your brain that you'd never felt before. You feel like there are literal fireworks in your head ,burning and cracking and fueling your energy levels. You want to run out on the roads and scream on top on your lungs for no goddamn reason.

"Chan, I didn't think I'd say this ,but this is the most delicious beverage I've ever tasted." You say , booping his nose like he did before, " Thank You."

In the evening , you take him out for shopping after calling Minho to cancel your plans with him. You told him that an old friend of yours was visiting from Australia and that he would be crashing at yours for the next few days. Minho didn't care much , as usual ,and all he said was, "Don't get pregnant." You remember rolling your eyes at his annoying remark.

So now here you are, scrolling through your phone while Chan tries on different clothes in the trial room.

"I do not like the shirt that shows my arms!" He yells from inside as the employees of the store giggle.

You sigh, " It's called a tank top,Chan. And I'm buying it whether you like it or not, it's summer for God's sake!"

You hear him mumble something under his breath and then the door of the dressing room creaks open to reveal a very different Chan. You can't help up but gawk at his perfectly toned arms and the very evident biceps that you did not expect to be there. You gulp hard. With his tousled hair and perfect smile and gorgeous eyes , he looks like a Disney Prince, the ones you used to obsess over as a child.

He is a prince, you dummy, you remind yourself again. Prince of Wonderland . (Underland, whatever)

He awkwardly hugs his arms around his body as the cool air from the AC grazes his bare arms ,his cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

" Hey, chin up !" You grin , and walk toward him.

He presses his lips in a line and mutters ,"I look ugly."

"No, you do not look ugly ,Christopher. You look anything but ugly ," you glare at him, "You look amazing. Just like... Park Chanyeol. "

His forehead creases and you see a ghost of jealousy in his eyes, " Who is that? Your lover?"

You laugh out loud, patting his cheek softly. " No, he is a...famous person. In our world. Just like you are of your kingdom."

You decide to take out Chinese food for dinner and even though you want to ask Chan if he was okay with that , you don't. Because he probably doesn't know what China even is .

"Do you want me to carry that bag for you?" Chan asks ,pointing at the take out bag on your lap as the both of you settle down in the backseat of the cab you had called. You wince as you realize how badly your feet hurt from all the shopping and snacking.

"No , thank you. Plus you have enough things to carry yourself." You reply, eyeing the tons of bags he carries, containing clothes and shoes and whatnot.

The drive to your house is long , owing to the fact that the city becomes more livelier at night - a scene you rarely get to see with your own eyes anymore, thanks to your stupid job. The cab driver plays a slow, romantic song and you automatically find your eyes scan Chan's face, looking for something that could help you relate to the song booming through the speakers.

But all you see is worry.

"Chan, are you alright?" You ask him, placing a hand on his arm.

He looks over at you , his eyes shining like the city lights that you hadn't seen in so long, " You're a very kind person ,my lady. I do not know how I will ever repay you for this; any of this! "

You feel a warm feeling spread from your chest, coursing through your veins and under your scalp and your ears.

"You can repay me by making that tea for me everyday. " you reply with a soft smile.

Chan scoots over closer to you ,then puts his head on your shoulders, " Well then I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I take a short nap - I owe you this one too."

You blush and look away from his captivating gaze ," Fine, whatever. Just make the tea for me. "

You know you want to add something but you swallow those words and repeat them only in the company of your own thoughts.

Thank you ,Chan , you think as you look out the car window ,cherishing the beautiful streetlights and the tall buildings and the neon signs of shops and the gentle pressure of Chan's head on your shoulder , Thank you for making my weekend less lonely.

Chan is a man of his word, you can guarantee that - An honorable , honest man who almost seems too good to be real sometimes.

As promised , he'd make you tea every morning for the next two months before you go to office while he spends most of his time in your house, trying out different things to keep him occupied while you were at work - learning how to use your spare laptop , cooking tutorials on YouTube , videocalling with Felix , practicing magic on your plushies, online window shopping because he apparently loved the way people in your world dressed.

He'd wait for you every evening with another interesting thing he had learnt and wanted to share with you , and a plate of freshly cut fruits that he prepared beforehand. Then you'd both make dinner together and spend the rest of the evening talking and laughing and gossiping .He would tell you about Underland and it's castles and magic and you would tell him about your world and how a stupid picture on the internet could go viral in a split second.

On weekends, you'd make a hearty breakfast for the both of you and then clean the house together,which Chan never once complained about. By the time evening comes, you would have already chosen what movie to show him while the popcorn cooks in the microwave. Or sometimes you'd spend the day at Felix's or sometimes drive down for a small picnic at a park.

Slowly but definitely, Chan becomes a part of your everyday life , your source of comfort, your escape . And he ,in turn , finds a caring friend in you , a teacher , a person he could lean on . Knowingly or unknowingly , you become his escape too.

It is on one such Friday night that Minho calls you during your movie session and you excuse yourself from a weeping Chan ( the movie you chose was Titanic) ,walking towards your own room.

" What's up?" You say into the phone as you jump on your bed .

"Are you seriously asking me that? Y/n , it's been weeks since mom or dad or I saw you. You keep cancelling plans for your Australian friend. Do you think I'm stupid?" He yells at you and you move your ear away from the speaker. Gosh ,talk about being so loud and annoying.

"He's coming home after years, Min. I can't just leave him here."

He sighs, "What kind of a friend stays over for two fucking months. " then adds ,with all seriousness, " is this some Christian Grey shit going on?"

You laugh - you have to ,even though you know your brother is pissed off ," Dude, do you even hear yourself ? I earn ten times more than that Anastasia bitch did. I don't need a sugar daddy."

"Then what's going on with this guy ? Tell me the truth ,y/n . You know I'll believe you." His voice now softens.

You sigh, rubbing the crease between your eyebrows.

Not this time ,you wouldn't believe me, you want to tell Minho.

But then decide that if you can't tell him the truth ,you could at least tell him half the truth.

"Look, Minho...my friend is not here for a vacation. He's here to hide. He's in possible danger. " you whisper to him.

"What kind of danger? Y/n,what if he's running from the police? What if he's in trouble with the government?" He asks,his voice filled with concern.

You hated the fact that he was so similar to you . And he had the audacity to call you adopted for so many years. Asshole.

"No, silly. Not that kind of trouble. He ran away from his engagement. The bride's mother is a bitch apparently ,trying to force him for his money and fame. "

You hear Minho heave a sigh of relief from the other side and naturally, you relax too.

"Well then if you can't leave him alone ,bring him along to our house. I'd love to meet this Australian guy in person."

And that was the end of the conversation.

When you live with someone , you find new things about them everyday - today is the day you find out that Chan looks exceptionally attractive in a tight black polo t-shirt and simple jeans. His blonde hair is pushed back a little, his forehead glowing under the bright Sunday sun and he wears a watch that Tracy and Felix had gifted him last week. Handsome as a Greek God.

"How do I look ?" He asks you as he scratches the back of his neck, smiling at his reflection in the mirror.

He's gained confidence .

"Like a Prince." You say, standing beside him.

Your eyes are focused on your reflections in the mirror,the close proximity of your bodies and the way you both look like any other couple in the world, makes you feel overwhelmed. You see the few millimetre gap between his hand and yours and if you reach out a little bit, you could easily lace your fingers with him.

"And how do I look?" You ask him with a small smirk.

He scans your image ; you wear a simple floral summer dress with short sleeves ,along with a pretty wrist bracelet and a simple pendant around your neck. You catch him blushing.

"Like a Princess. " he replies.

You badly want to hold his hand in yours. But you don't.

The drive to your Brother's place is filled with questions and replies and a few careless teasings thrown here and there.

"I hope your brother doesn't hate me for keeping you occupied all the time. " Chan comments when you turn to Minho's apartment street.

You shake your head, " No,no. Of course not. Minho is not like that."

Your brother has lived with his boyfriend, Jisung for about five years now . You want them to get married soon but they always make weird excuses about it. So you just assumed they enjoy this live in relationship without the pressure of marriage and children.

"Hey , y/n, oh my god! Long time ,huh?" Jisung hugs you tightly the moment you enter their living room ,his big toothy smile permanently plastered on his face. Minho stands behind Jisung ,his arms crossed over his chest and his critical eyes focused on Chan. You smile and jog up to your brother, wrapping your arms around him. His familiar scent makes you miss home and your parents and your old room. "Stop being so stuck up,Min." You whisper to him as Chan and Jisung introduce each other and Minho eyes them suspiciously.

He chuckles and hugs you tighter ,pressing a small kiss to your head. You grin as he pulls away.

"Chan,meet my brother Minho, " you bring Chan to stand in front of Minho , "And Minho ,this is Chan." Minho observes the way Chan walks - elegant and smooth and the way Chan talks , like he were a dude from the Victorian Era yet he wears modern clothes and uses a phone and air pods. Everything about this man is mysterious yet Minho couldn't find anything to hold against him. Perhaps he is being too hard on the poor man. He also notices how lovingly Chan gazes at you , looks out for you in the smallest possible ways and you look at him with the same adoration and concern. Were you two dating? You didn't say anything about that though.

So he asks you after dinner ," Do you like Chan?" The question comes out as natural as any other question Minho has ever asked you. You look down from his balcony at the streets and cars and people below then your eyes fall on your brother and the wine glass in his hands and on Jisung and Chan who chat inside the living room over dessert, having found a common interest in music making and lyrics writing.

Your blood turns cold - not because Minho had asked you that question but because this is the first time you're actually considering the possibility of that being true. It scares you.

You think about a similar incident that had happened almost ten years ago - when you were in middle school and Minho was in high school. You had a crush on your cute classmate but he chose your friend over you. Even at that tender age,you were heartbroken. No one at home noticed your sadness or disinterest in everything those days but Minho did - he always does.

"I don't know ." You lean against the railing of the balcony , "I don't want to think about it."

"Why?"

"Beacuse we do not belong together. We're from different worlds. " you whisper , "And I'm not sure if he feels anything like for me."

Minho frowns at you then flicks your forehead so hard that it stings.

"You keep suppressing your feelings all the time, y/n. You wouldn't know if he likes you or if you belong together if you don't tell him." He says.

You do know that you do not belong together. You do know that he may never like you back. But you don't mention it to Minho.

That night , as you are driving back home and Chan is sleepily looking out the window,you ask him , "Chan, there's something I have to ask you."

Chan sits up straight ,his attentive eyes focused on your nervous ones. He could sense your turmoil since you stepped out of Minho's house. He nods ," Go on."

"Um...actually, Jisung's cousin is getting married on Wednesday. Would you like to be my plus one for the ceremony?"

You'd never seen Chan smile so wide before, his eyes practically disappearing in the process. His cheeks tinted red and his hands tapping on his thigh .

"Do you want me to?" He asks. He hopes more than anything that you say yes.

" Hell yeah,dude! " You reply, chuckling.

He has never hugged you till now , you realize, as Chan jumps and wraps you in a warm embrace ,even as you are driving. Your heart hammers against your chest and your cheeks turn brighter than his own.

His smell fills you with a comforting ,homely feeling and you just hope he never lets go of the hug.

Remember when you said that Chan looked really good in a polo t-shirt and you thought it couldn't get any better? Well you take your words back now.

Your hands go limp by your sides when you see Chan walk out of his room , as you stare at him from the small crack of the door of your room. He looks ethereal. He wears a black suit with a pink, silky shirt inside paired with his locket and his watch. Nothing too fancy and yet you feel your knees growing weak below you.

You suck in a deep breath,looking at yourself in the mirror and trying to gather enough confidence to walk and face him. You wear a pink net shirt with black palazzo pants, accessorized with silver earrings and a rose gold ring on your thumb.

"Okay, come on ,y/n." you encourage yourself, your heart beating fast.

You had not really expected him to drop his jaw on the floor the moment he sees you but he did and it makes your heart flutter and cheeks red.

He offers you his hand, "You look gorgeous ,my lady."

And you slip your hand in his ," So do you ,your majesty."

The wedding venue is not really far from your apartment so it takes only about 30 minutes for you to reach there.

And rest assured, you both had turned all the heads in the wedding that night. Wide eyes and gaping mouths and silent whispers of jealousy, you noticed them all. You felt a little bad for stealing the spotlight from the bride and groom but you secretly wanted to show Chan off too.

"Attention grabbers." Minho had teased you during the wedding ceremony as the bride and groom took their vows , earning a pinch from you in reply.

The rest of the evening goes by smoothly and before you even realize it, Jisung pulls you and Chan to the dance floor when a slow,romantic song comes up.

"Uh. I don't know how to dance." You admit shyly as Chan offers you his hand.

He chuckles and you notice how deep his dimples really are this up close.

"I can so don't worry about it. Just trust me. " he says, his eyes scanning your face

Smiling, you take his hand and put your other hand on his shoulder while he drapes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He indeed is a good dancer because soon you find yourself gliding around the dance floor effortlessly, flowing with the music and drowning in Chan's intoxicating eyes.

"This isn't so bad though." You comment when the lights are turned low and you see all the couples around you in their own bubble,doing their own thing, just grooving to the soft music ," I could get used to it."

Chan pulls both your arms and wraps them around his neck ,his hands finding a comfortable place around your waist.

"You should come to Underland some day. We could dance there all night. No one would disturb us." he whispers back,moving your bodies gently to the music.

Your smile fades , " I wish I could,Chan. I desperately do. "

He looks into your eyes and leans in closer, making your heart thump fast. Faster than it ever has.

"You can. You can come and go whenever you want, I promise you. " he says.

You nod at his efforts of making you feel better but you know that when he finally goes back to Underland, your heartache would be inevitable. You are so deeply ,madly and truly in love with the man in front of you that you will not be able stand a day without his warm presence in your otherwise dark and cold house. His absence would absolutely destroy you so you simply bury your face in the crook of his neck , breathing in his smell , enjoying his hands on you and sketching this moment in your mind forever.

"I'm going to miss you when you leave." you mutter in a silent voice as he runs his fingers through your hair , "Don't go,Chan."

You don't know why you're suddenly getting so emotional about him leaving when you always knew it would happen some day.

"Then come with me ,y/n." He whispers into your ears.

You pull away just enough to look into his eyes and then shift your gaze to his oh-so kissable , plump lips that you'd spent so many nights dreaming about.

Is this the right thing to do?

You no longer care.

He leans in first ,pulling your body towards him and softly yet hastily pressing his lips against yours.

Oh the bliss of having to kiss the man you've longed for since forever.

You're not even surprised when his lips fit perfectly in between yours as your whole body turns warm under his touch , like it had been waiting for him for a long time. And when you hold his cheek to control the pace of the kiss , you realise how much this means to him. How much you mean to him.

"I love you, Chan." You whisper after he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours.

He grins," I love you ,too."

The wedding ends shortly after but you guys stay back to wait for Minho and Jisung while they bid farewell to all of Jisung 's family and relatives.

"Be quick. " you tell Chan when he rushes into the boys washroom while you wait outside, your mind still replaying the intimate moment you had on the dance floor ( and Minho and Jisung teasing you about it later on). You shake your head ,smiling like an idiot.

Your beautiful thoughts are interrupted when someone- a tall ,muscular man wearing a peculiar red tuxedo - walks past you, bumping his arm harshly onto yours.

"Ow,dude,what the fuck?" You wince ,rubbing your arm as the arrogant asshole walks into the bathroom, "Piece of shit." You say when he doesn't even bother looking back at you.

You are about to go back to reminiscing your kiss with Chan but you hear a Chan yelling from the bathroom, his voice is as crisp and clear as the air in the mountains.

Your whole body goes cold.

"Get away from me !" You hear him yell and before you could stop yourself ,you feel your feet running into bathroom , pushing past the main door that clearly reads 'Male'.

"Chan? What's wrong?" You ask, your voice laced with urgency and adrenaline pumping through your blood.

What you see inside is something you'd never expected to see before but you were in love with a man who came from a place you didn't even know existed so this doesn't come as a big surprise to you. If Chan weren't in immediate danger, you might as well have been fascinated by it.

You see - Chan crouching on the floor , blood running from his nose and his hands covering his eyes , as if he's hiding. You see - the red tall asshole leaning against the wall, staring at Chan. You see - three very peculiar creatures surrounding Chan , shaped like the rummy cards with spades, diamonds and whatnot drawn on them and holding spears in what you assume to be their arms.

You almost regret coming in when all of them look at you with wide ,surprised eyes.

"Y/n! What are you doing here?" Chan gets up and walks toward you ,his lips quivering with fear.

The card creatures walk toward you,their spears pointed toward you as they growl something under their breath. You back away slowly.

"Hey! Stop it! She has nothing to do with it. Don't attack her." Chan yells at those things and thankfully ,they listen. They turn around and stand beside the asshole in the red suit.

Chan runs over you , tears starting to form in his eyes, "You shouldn't be here , y/n. Go back,now!"

You look into his eyes , your heart breaking at the sight of seeing him so in pain ,so vulnerable. It's like you're hurt ,too.

"D-did they do t-this to you?" You ask,pointing at his nose.

He blinks for a second then nods with a sigh ," That's why I'm telling you to leave ,okay? Y/n, sweetheart, please leave.Now." His voice is basically begging you and all you can do is stare at him and the others with horror.

"They found you. The Red Queen found you." You mutter to him,as he holds you by your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry ,y/n. I really thought...we had time. I really did. " his voice cracks as more tears stream down his face.

"We don't have all day long , Chan. Your future wife and her mother have been waiting for a long time." The man in red says sarcastically, "You've kept them waiting long enough."

You glare at the man then turn to Chan, who's a sobbing mess by now.

"They're going to get you married?"

The man in red scoffs, " He should be lucky if that's all they do. And knowing the Queen , she is very angry with him. He will not have it easy."

"Will they...execute him?" You ask ,running your hands over his face ,rubbing the mixture of blood and tears. Your heart shatters.

"No, the young princess is very fond of him actually. They will get married after he serves his punishment."

You see Chan wince in your arms as you pull him up in a crushing embrace. Probably the last one ever.

"I can call Minho and Jisung. They could easily take care of these bastards." You whisper into his hair, blinking tears away.

He clutches into you as if you were the only thing keeping him completely losing his mind.

He shakes his head, " No, don't, please. I cannot let more people get involved with me."

You pull away from the hug, just like you had on the dance floor, but it's different this time - more painful .

"Is there anything I can do...to stop this." You ask again ,desperate to not part from the man you've grown to love so bad.

He kisses your forehead,then holds your face in his hands. "I do not want any harm befalling you ,or your brother and Jisung or Felix or anyone of my friends in Underland, which is why I have to go and face my faith. I'm so sorry ,my love."

You let the tears flow.

Why was the Universe so unfair to people who deserved to be happy together? Why did the universe always favour those who mean ill to others?

"I love you ,Chan , remember that. " you say , " I always will."

He smiles through his tears, "and so will I. Always. I don't care if I am married or you are married or whatever, you're my princess till the end of Earth and till the end of Underland."

The asshole in red clears his throat, glaring at the two of you. Chan pulls away from the embrace and walks back to where he was originally when you came in.

You see all of them taking turns to drink from a vial with a purple liquid in it.

"Farewell,my lady." Chan whispers as a tear drop rolls down his face and falls on the floor with a soft splat. And in the blink of an , he is gone ,leaving behind nothing but a puff of golden smoke and his tear drop on the floor.

That's when you realise how real all of this is. And realise why exactly you didn't like the story of Alice in Wonderland as a child - its because the story is not a typical fairytale where the prince ends up marrying the princess, and because some day or the other, Alice had to leave everyone behind and come back to her real world.

You feel like it's been an eternity since you have been walking through the crowd of people in the wedding , people looking at you with disgust and fear, while you look for your brother or Jisung.

You enter the main hall and scan the room , sniffing away your tears and rubbing your bloody hands on your shirt.

You are a mess.

Finally ,you spot Minho in the far corner of the room ,speaking with a few guests with Jisung by his side. You sigh in relief but your body responds in the form of sobs.

You rush towards him and pull him by the end of his shirt, "M-Minho."

Jisung and Minho turn around ,their eyes widen at your crying, shivering , bloody sight .

Jisung immediately wraps his coat around you.

"Hey,what happened?" Minho demands as he pulls you in a hug ,and you sob into his neck, " Where's Chan?"

You feel Jisung rub your back soothingly.

"T-they got him ,Min. They took him and they punched his nose and it was all bloody and horrible and he was crying. Those things were so scary and ..." you say in between sobs, "..they'll punish him for running away and then marry him off, Min. I couldn't protect him."

"Who is them, y/n ?" Minho ask, rubbing your tears with his thumb.

"The Red Knights."

Jisung and Minho share a look of confusion with each other but they don't push you to explain your words.

"Okay,let's go home. We can talk there okay? Nothing will happen to Chan. We'll save him."Jisung says .

You shake your head , "No, we can't go home. We have to go to Felix. He's the only one who knows what to do. You guys can't save Chan without magic."

They want to believe you and whatever you say and they're worried about Chan too ,afterall both of them were so fond of him but they find your words rather hard to digest.

Nevertheless, your brother drives you to Felix's house.

His house once made you feel happy and complete but now it makes you feel horrible, like the freezing cold sensation you experience when you play out in the snow for too long.

And as you sit around his dining table , telling him about the incident and then him further explaining the whole story of you and Chan to Your brother and Jisung , you feel horribly empty.

"I'm so sorry ,Felix. I should have done something. I should have called out for help but I was so...scared. " you say , Tracy rubbing your back in comfort.

"Its not you fault, Y/n. Those knights are scary and the red man you talked about, he is the Queen's personal guard." Felix says ,"You're lucky he didn't do anything bad to you."

Jisung stares him blankly.

Minho paces up and down the room , his face twisted in confusion, " So you're telling me that the stupid story of 'Alice in Wonderland ' is true and Chan is from that place and you too?"

Felix hums in response.

"Bloody hell ", Jisung murmurs under his breath then adds , " so how do we go to that place and find him? I mean how do things work there?"

"Oh uh,no, we are not going anywhere. I will go . You are staying at home ,safe and secure!" Minho says to Jisung.

You frown in confusion.

"Wait, you believe it? You don't think we're all mad?" You ask.

They shake their heads.

"I trust you , y/n. You may be a pain in the ass and a crybaby but you aren't stupid or mad,as a matter of fact. We believe you ,of course." Minho shrugs.

You don't know if he's poking fun at you or if he actually believes you, but knowing Minho ,he rarely ever jokes around in situations like this.

"But how can we save Chan from there? Do we challenge the Queen and her claim on the throne or what? " you ask Felix.

Felix sighs , " It's not going to be easy . At all. That woman is dangerous...crazy even. She killed off Chan 's entire family , you think it'd be that easy to save him from her?"

There is genuine hatred and disgust in his voice when he speaks of the Queen. You'd only ever seen the portrayal of the First Red Queen in the movies and that woman was enough to piss you off . You couldn't imagine how someone from the same family tree could possibly get any worse.

"What are our options?" You ask ,tapping your fingers against your leg, a habit you'd picked up from Chan. You didn't realise it until just now.

"We cannot defeat her with physical power so dueling challenges and other such things are cut out. So that leaves us with either breaking him out from prison or being witty enough to fool the Stupid Red Head into letting him go " , He says . " and mind you, the Queen is very easy to fool because she's very ,very dumb but her daughter aren't. So we need a full plan to get him out."

You nod in agreement.

"Might I suggest something," Minho chimes in after giving much thought on whether he should speak up or not.

"Yes,please, of course." Felix replies.

"I think that the more important thing right now is to go to Wonderland - I mean, Underland- and as you mentioned earlier, talk to your friends and family. We can make a plan after we reach but first we need to know the severity of the situation there. "

Minho has always been smart but you don't want to admit it out loud - not in the presence of other people at least .

"Fine , yes. We must leave soon," Felix turns to Tracy , "Tracy, sweetheart, you will have to stay here and look over the shop . Jisung ,as Minho said,will stay back too. We don't know how long it will take but I promise I will be back."

And with that , you leave the two couples alone to bid their goodbyes and walk out to the porch, breathing in the cool night air.

"I promise I'll find you , Chan. I will find you and save you." you mutter into the air.

Funny things love makes one do.

The vial with the purple liquid feels cold in your hands as you uncork it .

"Do I pour it all in?" You ask nervously.

Felix stands on your left while Minho on your right, both of them holding the same vial in their hands.

"It doesn't matter. Just a drop does the work too." Felix shrugs.

You see him pour all the contents of the vial into his throat and then squint his eyes at the taste.

Minho and you share a look before doing the same.

And then your vision is fogged with a golden puff of smoke as you feel your body falling down a long, neverending , bottomless hole.

You've only ever heard about Underland from Chan and Felix ,and only ever seen this place through their eyes ,but now that you're actually here , it feels surreal, if you put it subtly.

The crisp and fresh air in the Enchanted forest runs chill down your spine and you hop over wood logs and thorny bushes with continuously moving leaves. Minho stays close to you, his hand never leaving your arm while his eyes try to absorb his surroundings.

Felix walks in front of you two , not wavered by the scene in front of him. And why would he be anyway,this was his home ,his domain.

"W-where are we,Felix?" You ask in a soft voice .

"We're in The Tulgey Wood . We're going to my house." He replies with a slight nostalgic tone.

The Enchanted Forest is so breathtakingly beautiful that it almost feels unreal to be walking right through it. The purple sky above you ,the rustling leaves around you , the trees that seem to follow your every movement and flowers that seem to have actual eyes, everything welcomes you rather warmly although you have a feeling you are yet to see the crazy side of this place.

"Well , I had expected you a little earlier, Felix." A sharp voice says from somewhere within the bushes, startling you and Minho and he jumps in front of you ,as if to protect you.

"What's that?" Minho asks,unable to mask his own fearful eyes.

Felix chuckles , " Don't be scared. This is my friend ,the White Rabbit. "

You hear shuffling sounds from the bushes and out comes the most cuddly looking rabbit you've seen in your whole life, hopping on his back limbs and wearing a waistcoat and carrying a stopwatch.

A waistcoat and a stopwatch....

Minho stares at the creature with awe while you bend over to take a closer look at it.

"Hey ,young lady ,back off!" The rabbit threatens you , squinting his eyes at you. And you immediately step back, blinking your eyes nervously.

"It's alright, she's our friend. Chan knows her too. " Felix says, crouching down to pat him , "This is y/n and her brother ,Minho. They're here to help."

At the mention of Chan's name , The Rabbit's eyes widen and he slumps down into Felix's arms and starts sobbing.

"Oh,my dear Felix , I'm afraid of what has become of The Prince. When we heard that the Knights brought him back , we were all so ...lost." he says as Felix cuddles him in his arms, "Dormouse and Cheshire have sneaked out from their duties of the Queen and gone to visit him . They say he looks scared to death. The Queen out him in a prison. With murderers and thieves and whatnot."

Your whole body goes limp at his words, your annoyingly vivid imagination creating those pictures in your head. You blink your tears away.

"How can we save him?" You ask in croaked voice.

The rabbit looks at you sadly , " Let's go to the girls first. They can help you."

"Who is he talking about?" Minho asks.

"My sisters," Felix replies , leading the way deeper into forest , "Come on, we're almost home."

The Hatters' live on a clear patch of land in Tulgey Wood , surrounded by trees for as long as the eyes could reach , in a huge house beautifully built like a Victorian top hat.

You were breath taken. And so was Minho because you could literally feel him hold his breath as you guys enter the house.

"Oh ,my gods , is that you Felix?" A high pitched female voice thunders from above you ,while you stand in what looks like the Study of the house. Your hands brush over a brown diary kept on the desk and the pot of ink sitting beside it. ' Medicinal Documentation ' the diary reads.

"Yes, it seems so. " Felix replies with a grin.

Your eyes fall on the steep spiral stairs in front of you that go up to the other floors of the house and you see two girls jogging down the stairs, big smiles plastered on their faces yet the sadness in their eyes cannot be hidden.

They are a tad bit shorter than you are , and they must not age more than Minho and as they jump on Felix ,squealing with excitement, one can almost immediately see the resemblance in the siblings' appearance ; bright orange hair , toothy smiles, and big ,sparkly eyes .

"And who might these lovely people be?" The shorter of the two girls asks ,as the white rabbit clings onto her long skirt.

"Oh,this is y/n and her brother Minho. They know Chan and want to help him." Felix introduces, " Y/n , Minho meet my sisters - Sana and Momo."

"Of course..miss y/n. We've heard about you." Sana ,the taller one ,walks up to you and bows her head lightly, "We're so grateful for what you're doing for the Prince, sweet one, we really are."

If Felix, Momo , Sana , Chan and the annoying ( but cute) rabbit were put in a Shakespearean play together , it would be a massive hit. Their accents are so good and elegant and graceful that you wish you could learn it too.

You smile at the compliment , "Please don't thank me. I haven't saved him yet. "

"Oh, enough of these formal courtesies, " the shorter girl, Momo , holds your arm and leads you up the stairs, "How about we talk over tea?"

The group reaches the top most floor of the house ,overlooking the beautiful forest through the window as you are made to sit around a long table .

Sana and Mina serve you a cup of tea while the White Rabbit passes you some freshly baked cookies.

"Wow,this...this tea is wonderful." Minho compliments when he takes a sip from his China cup , "Is this what Chan used to make for you ,y/n?"

You nod, as those memories dance around behind your eyes , " He was very good with it."

"Oh he always has been good at everything, I tell you ," Momo starts , " Sword fights ,archery, horse riding ,poetry , cooking, too bad a prince like him had to live with mere Hatters like ourselves."

"Hey,we weren't always this poor. " Sana adds, "This is all the Second Red Queen's doing, gods curse her!"

You scowl , " What do you mean? I thought she only harmed Chan's family . "

Sana let's out a woeful sigh while Momo and Felix look at each other with sorry eyes.

"I wish she'd only done that ,truth be told." Sana says.

"Yes, but instead she ruined everyone's lives who ever crossed paths with her." Momo says, "Our father was the Royal Hatter for Chan's family - the White Queen's descendants. And our mother was the Royal Physician . We lived a happy life , living in a big house near the palace in Marmoreal . "

"Marmoreal was the Summer Palace for the Royal family ,not very far from the capital town of Witzend. One such summer , when Prince Chan was only a year and a half old ,the banished heir of the Evil First Red Queen arrived in Marmoreal and her Knights butchered the royal family and killed every living creature in sight. Her dragons set fire to our house and the palace and the nearby villages. It was...horrible , to say the least. Only a few people survived , which included our family and the Young Prince. The Queen commanded us to take the infant away and never show up in front of her again and so we did - for a long time." Momo then looks over at Sana ,signalling her to continue telling the story.

"But that was until the Queen's only daughter - Princess Scarlet's 18th birthday celebration. We had gone to the parade fair in Witzend, just near the Queen's castle. No one knew us properly or Chan so we were safe. But the Princess saw Chan and fell in love with him...madly. She pursued him every chance she got and when she couldn't succeed , she used her mother's powers to force an alliance. Her mother was hesitant at first, given her history with Chan's family but then she too decided to force him into this alliance for her political good. And initially , Chan had to comply. But on the day of their wedding announcement, he escaped into your world."

"Through my rabbit hole,if I may add." The White Rabbit mumbles. You purse your lips, letting the story in slowly , word by word ,letter by letter. And when the realization sinks in,you purse your lips to stop yourself from crying.

"And I couldn't protect him. I am responsible for what happens to him." You whisper.

Everyone looks at you with disbelief.

"Hey, no! That is not true!" Felix says,almost angry ," You're the reason he was safe and happy for all those months. If not , if he were with me or worse,alone, he wouldn't last a week out there. You saved him, y/n."

"It's true, y/n. Our friends work in the Queen's royal kitchen and they've met Chan a few times in the prison - he only ever asks about a woman named y/n." Sana says.

Your heart drops into the deepest pits of your stomach. You didn't know what love really meant until you met him and although a stranger, in an unknown place , he still trusted you, believed you , cared for you , loved you.

You have to save him.

"Okay , anyone has any plans? Any ideas?" You ask ,after composing yourself.

"I don't have one but I really want to suggest we move this meeting to the medicinal garden in the backyard. That place helps me think. " The White Rabbit offers,scratching his fluffy ears.

As if something in your brain suddenly clicks , like a gear falling into place in a machine; Your eyes widen as you slam your hand on the table.

Everyone jumps up , startled.

"What's wrong ?"

You look over at the Rabbit and pat his head , "You are a genius."

"Huh?"

"You said your friends work for the Queen ,right?"

"Yes?"

You drag your chair away from the table, jumping to your feet ," I have a brilliant idea."

When the next morning arrives , you find yourself walking to the town of Witzend with The White Rabbit , Minho , Felix and his sisters by your side.

"Here,y/n, take this," Momo gives you something just before you enter the castle of the Red Queen. "You'll need it."

You gaze carefully at the shining vial in your palm.

"You know when to use it." She says.

You nod.

The Red Queen that you remember from the movies and the few excerpts from the original book of Alice in Wonderland that you'd only ever read once, you had expected her descendant to look a certain way too - big ,swollen head , scary eyes , loud voice.

But the woman sitting on the throne directly in front of you is definitely not what you had expected. At all. The Queen is a small woman ; and by small you don't mean skinny and short - she's literally small. She must not be more than three feet in height , you assume , but her features and face is that of a fully grown adult in her 40s. A human being who'd suddenly shrunk ( proportionally) like a raisin.

You wonder how someone so small could hold so much evil in themselves.

"Your majesty, " you bow down to her and so do the people standing beside you , scared yet worried for Chan. "It's nice to finally see you again."

You see a familiar gaze behind the throne, and you immediately recognize him - the Queen's personal guard - the asshole who had punched Chan bloody.

He smirks at you.

You curl your hands into fists.

"Yes? And what is it that you want from me?" The Queen asks, not really caring about the matter at hand. She picks at her cuticles while chewing her bottom lip.

Hesitant, you look at Felix asking for help.

Behind you , you could hear murmurs from the people waiting in line for their turn to put forward their complaint in front of the Queen.

"Your majesty, this is Miss y/n. She's come a long way from home to see you." Felix says ,his voice as gentle as the wind on a winter morning.

The Queen rolls her eyes, running her small hand through her red hair , " What can I do for you?"

That's the fakest thing you'd heard all day.

You clear your throat and pick up all your courage to speak, "I want your help to look for the man I love, your majesty. He's ...missing and possibly hurt I believe. "

" Why are you here instead of asking the Police to help you?" The Queen demands.

"Oh,because I'm afraid you're the one who has him."

The Queen stops picking at her cuticles, and raises her head to stare at you with her small , googly yet intimidating eyes. You realise now why the people were so afraid of her - the Evil curve of her lips and her deadly stare are enough to make you want to drop everything and run back home.

"What do you mean ,young lady?" The Queen asks, her interest now focused on your words.

A collective gasp runs through the throne room , starting from the citizens, then passing on to the Queen's staff and her card shaped Knights. They seem surprised at the Queen actually showing an interest in something for the first time.

"I'm talking about Prince Chan, your majesty." You say.

The Queen's eyes widen as you hear the room fill with murmurs and gasps and silent cries. How long had it been since a person dared to even mention Chan in front of the Queen?

"Mother,what is this woman talking about?!" You hear a loud shriek from somewhere beside the Queen .

And only when you squint your eyes hard enough can you actually see her ; the Princess of Underland who was hilariously so small (even smaller than her mother ) that you almost wanted to giggle. Now don't get me wrong, you weren't body shaming her or anything , but you'd never seen a person so terribly small in your entire life until now. You could only imagine what it would look like if Chan happens to marry her for real one day.

"Don't worry daughter , " the Queen gets up from her seat and walks up toward you, her guard close behind her , " Chan is only yours. No one else's."

Just when you're about to respond , you see two huge fishes - almost as tall as you - twirl up to the Queen and offer her a cup.

You'd never expected to see actual, living fishes out of water or wear clothes or hold trays and bowls or walk on their tails, but here you are .

"Wrong timing ,idiots!" The Queen screams her face red with anger yet she snatches the cup from the tray and gulps down all it's contents at one go.

What a peculiar woman.

"Go away now." The red asshole growls at the poor fish as they rush away from the scene.

You smile at the Queen as she stands in front of you , not even reaching your knees properly .

"You,girl, what do you want?" She demands.

You feel Minho wrap a reassuring arm around you , eyeing the woman in front of you with a hatred filled gaze. Felix stands close by your side.

"I want Chan to be released from prison , and be given his rightful throne back . That's all." You say.

The Queen scoffs , "His weak and worthless dynasty ruled over this excuse of a country and the useless people for years. I am only trying to make things better."

You can feel the disapproval of the citizens around you at being called useless.

"And? Do your people think you're doing a good job?" Felix asks.

You see numerous heads shake in a negative response,and you can slowly feel the tension in the room rising.

The Queen points her left forefinger at you while the other hand is on her waist , " You want the truth , peasant girl? So here it is - I do not care about anyone . I care nothing of this country and its citizens and its creatures. None of my ancestors ever had. We just like to sit on that extremely uncomfortable throne and enjoy the money and power we get from controlling these worthless citizens. Oh and I wish I could relive the screams of The White Royal family as I killed them. One by one."

The Queen gasps in realization of what she'd just said while the room falls completely silent for a second before the princess yelps , "Mother ,what is the matter with you?!"

The princess looks horrified as she runs up to her equally horrified mother.

You smirk - the plan of pouring in the truth potion in the Queen's tea had taken so less effort , thanks to the sweet Dormouse and benevolent Cheshire Cat and Felix's mother's medicine diary.

"Oh I hope you burn in hell . A whiny, good for nothing girl. You can't even fight your own fights without dragging me in. And as far as Chan is concerned , I don't care about you marrying him. I only wanted to secure my claim over the throne by forming an alliance with a person with actual rights to this kingdom." The Queen clamps a hand over her mouth, stumbling back from the shock.

The princess let's go off her mother,betrayal clear in his eyes.

"So you admit to your crimes?"

"Yes." The truth comes out as natural as those lies she'd fed the citizens and the princess and her servants and the Knights for years.

From the corner of your eyes , you see The Princess trying to sneak past everyone and run out of the throne room , guilty of her own wrong doings but Felix stops her with a firm grip on her tiny hand , "Where do you think you're going, little one? Didn't you threaten to kill my whole family if we didn't hand Chan over to you?"

The Red Knights close in to capture the Queen and her personal guard in their unbreakable grasp , giving up their oaths of protecting the Queen - their duty is only to serve Chan from now on.

Sana steps in now , turning to address the people who are witnessing this unusual incident, "My fellow lovely countrymen, as you can see right before your eyes and hear through your own ears , your Queen has intended nothing but to harm you and our kingdom for all these years. She means no good and never will - the true heir to the throne now lies injured and chained in her dungeons. What do you suggest we do?"

"Behead her!" "Free the Prince!" "Finish off the Reds!" "Be done with her guard too ." "Crown Prince Chan."

The room thunders with all sorts of suggestions and you make an eye contact with the White Rabbit ,who nods at you and you nod back ,smiling from ear to ear.

You've done it , he wants to say , you've freed The Prince.

The rooms in the castle were beautifully designed, but were in a terrible condition since most of the rooms were never used really and the Queen didn't feel it was important to get them cleaned regularly.

You had asked the White Rabbit to find some servants to get one of the rooms quickly prepped as the Red Knights carried Chan from the prison and into the castle - his birth home. Sana and Momo cleaned his wounds the moment he was laid down on the soft bed, changing his clothes and then softly pulling the covers over his body to keep him warm while he rests.

The White Rabbit brings you an apple but you don't eat it - you just sit by Chan's side ,praying desperately that he wakes up soon. You wouldn't be able to swallow a single grain of food until then.

You run your fingers softly over his arm ,drawing random patterns and spelling out your names on it.

"Please wake up ,Chan." You say in a whisper , scanning his calm yet beautiful facial features. "I found you ,Chan. I am here."

Your fingers find their way to his and naturally as ever ,wrap themselves around them.

Suddenly, Chan stirs in his position , a low groan leaving his parted lips. You stare wide eyed at him as he slowly opens his eyes, your hands still tightly intertwined.

"C-chan?"

He turns his head toward you , a lazy smile dancing on his lips and his eyes focusing on your face , which he'd yearned to see every second he spent in that horribly dark dungeon.

"Are you really here, y/n? Or am I finally going mad?" He asks you.

You lean in closer ,brushing a few strands of hair from his face.

"You're only as mad as the rest of us." You reply, "Welcome home ,your majesty."

Groggy and weak ,Chan pushes himself up in a seating position. "How did you deal with the Queen? Where is she? " He takes your face in his hands , "Did she hurt you?"

"She couldn't lay a single finger on me. And now she's locked up in the same dungeon as you were. She'll be given to the slave trader soon ,along with her daughter." You say. "Who knew a simple medicine and a few good friends could be enough to defeat a tyrant ?"

He giggles , pressing his forehead on yours. "Did you meet everyone else ? Momo? Sana? My friends?"

You nod with a grin. You'd come to adore his friends and family so deeply in a single day. You would hate to part from them.

"Thank you, y/n. I owe you everything. " he sighs, his breath fanning your face , "I love you so much I think it's going to drive me crazy!"

You chuckle at his cheesy words , "You're welcome. But I need compensation for all of this. An ' I love you ' is not enough."

You were joking ; hearing him confess his sincere love for you is more than enough but you liked playing with him. He looks very cute when flustered.

"Then what would the pretty lady desire?"

"You."

He shakes his head , leaning down to capture your lips in his plump ones.

This kiss was even better than the first one that you guys shared on the dance floor , mostly because you know now that even if he's taken away from you or you are taken away from him , you'll always find each other , in every world , in every universe. He pulls you up on his lap despite him being injured , and you let him.

You put your hand around his neck, pulling him closer and closer and closer . At one point ,you could no longer tell who he is or who you were. The only thing that mattered was that you loved him so much , you could deal with a hundred Red Queens for him. And you know he'd do the same for you.

"I have one last favour to ask of you ,my love." He whispers against your lips ,pulling away from the kiss. His red cheeks and sparkly eyes are a sight to behold ," I want you to stay here with me. Please."

You grin , knowing he'd say this and you were well prepared for it. Convincing Minho to let you stay was so much easier than you had expected really. All he did was shrug with a smirk and say, " Just don't get pregnant." In reality, all Minho really wanted was for you to be happy and healthy and he knew living here with Chan would make you the happiest.

"On three conditions." You reply to Chan ,who is staring at you like he'd seen a human like you for the first time.

"Okay. What are those?" He brushes your cheeks with his thumb.

"I can visit home whenever I want."

"Agreed, obviously. You're not a prisoner, y /n."

"Then I also want to put up a small shop of my own in the main market square. I will not be wasting my time on stupid politics- that's your job."

"Agreed. I will help you with it whenever I can. What's the last condition?"

You smirk and lean your face closer to his. "Kiss me one more time."

And he does.

You smile into the kiss , wondering now that ' Alice in Wonderland ' might not have been that bad after all. She had a choice to stay or go back and she chose the latter. You had the same choices too , but you chose to stay. It wasn't about a happy or a sad ending ,after all. It was about the choices.

And as Chan holds your waist firmly, deepening the kiss , you know you've made the right choice too.

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