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forever-rogue · 3 years

Text

Afterglow - Part 6

A/N: Honey Bee finally made the smartest decision of her life in the last chapter and now...time to deal with the fallout. Thank you guys for supporting and loving this story too! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: None

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Spitting out the toothpaste into the sink, you groaned slightly when you realized that you had left your mouthwash back on your desk. Tilting your head under the tap, you got a mouthful of water and swished it around in your mouth, trying to get the last bits of toothpaste out.

When you were satisfied with the lackluster brushing, you quickly splashed some cold water onto your face to wake yourself up. But it was no use - you still looked as tired and dragged out as you felt. There were dark circles under your eyes, your lips were chapped and cracked, and the joy you normally held in your eyes was all but gone. You had been going through the motions for the last three, feeling more like an empty shell than anything else.

But you felt liberated - free. More so than you had in a long time. That in itself made your current struggle worth it.

Grabbing your toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush, you stalked out of the bathroom, ready to slink back to your office before anyone else arrived.

Looking furtively around the hall, you walked the short distance to your own office, almost making it to safety when you heard your name being called softly. Groaning inwardly, you cleared your throat and turned around, plastering on the best smile you could.

"Ally," you said softly, "y-you're here early!"

"I was just thinking the same thing," she joked, and while you could tell she meant no harm, it still caused you to panic slightly. She was well aware of you calling off your engagement, hell the whole world seemed to know, but she never seemed to pity you for it. Her eyes flicked to the items in your hands as a warmth crept into your chest and blossomed over your whole face, "I'm meeting a client early this morning because it was the only thing that fit into his schedule. Are you..."

You remained silent for a moment, hanging your head before letting out a long sigh, "look, I've just been staying here since things ended with Chad. I'm trying to find my own place, but its been a bit of a difficult go. Turns that a lot of people don't want to rent to you if you happen to have supposedly wronged Chad Williams. It seems like everyone knows him."

She reached out and gave your shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze. Meeting her eyes, you found a small smile on her face, luckily not one of pity, "I'm sorry he's making things miserable still. I'm guessing your parents are out of the question?"

"Absolutely not an option," you admitted with a stiff laugh, "my mom seemed okay at first but she and my father quickly came to the conclusion that I was in the wrong and making a horrible mistake. They insisted I was just going through a phase because of nerves. When I told them I was sure about my decision and wasn’t going back, they all but...disowned me. Imagine the shame I’ve brought upon them in their minds...they’re so old fashioned. Maybe they’ll come around one day.”

"Yikes," she said as you nodded, "can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I never liked him," she admitted softly, causing you to almost give yourself whiplash as you looked over at her, "there was just something about him that was off. I think - I know, you can do so much better."

"Thank you," you said as you laughed lightly, trying to hold the tears that threatened to well up at bay, "I hope so too."

"I mean it," she insisted, "you're kind, smart, pretty, and you've got a good heart. What more could anyone ask for?"

"Apparently a dutiful, quiet little wife..."

"Very funny," she teased, "why don't you come and stay with us? While you get your own place? We've got an extra bedroom that's not being used, and it's much better than staying here. Have you been sleeping on your hard old couch?”

"Yes..."

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, "come over when you're done for the day. We'll get the room ready for you. Anna will be happy to see you again too. And you know what, it's not an option, its a demand. Just come over tonight and we'll get you settled. I'll have Anna pick up some wine for dinner and everything."

"Ally, you're much too kind..." you said as her phone stared to ring. She looked at the screen and a big smile spread across her visage as her wife's name popped up on the screen.

"Speak of the devil," she laughed lightly, "tonight! No if, ands, or buts!"

You could only nod as she walked away, chattering excitedly as she went to her own office. Before stepping in and closing the door, she gave you a grin and wave that was enough to cause a single tear to roll down your cheek. It had been weeks since anyone had even shown you an ounce of kindness; most people had decided to scorn you instead, blaming you for everything that had happened. Wiping the warm drop away, you stepped foot into your own office, stashing your toiletries away for what you hoped would be the last time. Hopefully that everything you'd finally be able to have a proper, long, hot shower and sleep in a bed, two luxuries that you had been greatly missing.

Pulling out a dress from the small wardrobe, you slipped it on, vowing to stop your little pity party. Sure, things weren't ideal right now, but you were still so much better off than others. That was something you did not take for granted.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Men really can be the worst,” Anna laughed, almost snorting into her wine as you held up your glass in a mock salute, “can you imagine being that pathetic and trying to sabotage someone you supposedly loved? I think it speaks volumes to his character.”

“The longer we were together, the more I realized that it was never about love, even if that’s how it started out. It was always about appearances and trying to please everyone else. It was getting so tiring.”

“I can only imagine,” Ally gave her your leg a small pat as you downed the rest of your glass, “but at least you’re free now. It’s easy to fall into routine and not realize how unhappy we’ve become. We get used to just staying on one path. Usually it takes something big to make us realize what we’re doing isn’t what we wanted in the first place.”

“Okay Dr. Ally,” Anna teased her wife, “we’re not at the office. But I agree...I am curious, and happy, as to what caused you to realize that you deserve more.”

You felt the blood draining from your face almost immediately as you swallowed nervously, mouth dry. You weren’t about to delve into the memories and dreams that had been plaguing you over the weeks, becoming increasingly more frequent the closer your former wedding date had approached. Frankly, you hadn’t even admitted that to yourself yet, not out loud anyway.

How were you supposed to tell yourself, let anyone else, that the reason you realized you deserved was better because you’d been dreaming of your high school boyfriend again? It had been twenty years, twenty long years without him - there was no reason you should have even given him a second thought. Yet...here you were. Still hung up on Frankie Morales, the boy that had earned your heart...and then brought it into a million pieces. You knew, you would be the first to admit, that it wasn’t all his fault, that you were to blame to an extent as well, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Ever since the day that you had run into him again, a day that should have been like any other, he’d been living rent free in your mind. Even if you hated him, even if you were still mad at him after all this time. You couldn’t help but wonder - what if. What if.

What if he had come to California with you and you’d both stayed there? What if you had waited for him while you went to school and he was in the military? What if he’d come back to you long ago? Would you still be together? Would you be married to him? Would you have a daughter or son that took on both of your best qualities? Or would you have eventually fallen out and broken up anyway, only to loathe each with every fiber of your being? Would you have stayed together?”

What if. What if. What if.

It was that haunted you for so long now.

“Umm,” you snapped back into reality and pushed the thought of the boy you had loved out of your mind. You set the glass back down and made a small, noncommittal sound, “it was just a lot of things. The more real things became with the wedding planning the more I realized that I didn’t want this. It was at my last dress fitting actually, that I realized I couldn’t do it.”

“That must have been quite a wake up call,” Anna’s eyes widened as she imagined the scene as you nodded, taking the almost empty bottle of wine and pouring the remainder into your class.

“It was,” you admitted with a long sigh, “you should have been the poor dress maker. I almost ran out on her. But you know, even though things are far from perfect right now, I would still do it all again.”

“Cheers to that,” Ally held up her class, and the two of you clinked yours against it, “now to bigger and better things. You can, and will, do so much better.”

“Thank you both,” just being in their presence, let alone their home, had you feeling infinitely better, “I don’t even know where to begin to thank you.”

“What are friends for?”

“I, however, do have some more good news,” Anna was proud of herself as the two of your gave her an inquisitive look, “I spoke to my friend who is a realtor today, no connection to Chad or anything, and he said he has a perfect little house available! It’s a little on the outskirts of town, a small, quiet neighborhood, but that it would be perfect for you. It’s not big, just a little two bedroom, one bath, but it’s all been redone recently, and it’s quaint. He showed me some pictures and I think you’d really like it.”

“You did...you did this for me?” you felt another wave of tears sting at the back of your eyes as she nodded.

“I’m not trying to push this on you at all, or anything of the sort,” she promised, “but we were talking and it just came up and I thought of you. I thought I’d just tell you in case you were interested...you are, of course, welcome to stay with us however long you want.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” you said softly, “truly. I’d love to see the place. If you like, I’m sure it’ll be great. And honestly, it would be nice to get out of the city and be a little bit out of the way and I don’t need anything much. I just want a place that will feel like home...my own place.”

“Obviously it comes with the stipulation that we will get to help decorate and pick out furniture if you move into it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” you agreed, “it’s going to be nice getting my own things and having it be truly mine.”

“A fresh start,” she agreed, “I’ll tell Elijah that we’ll stop by tomorrow and take a look? How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you agreed, feeling your heart finally feel warm again, as a wave of calm washed over you, “absolutely perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next two weeks were a whirlwind of moving, although you technically didn’t have much to move, furniture shopping, unpacking, and organizing your new home.

The house was cute, an older little home that had been recently renovated with a small yard and a perfect spot for a garden. You could already picture yourself gardening once the cooler autumn and winter months were over.

It wasn’t huge, but it had a spare bedroom you decided would serve as a home office and occasional guest room, although you figured you weren’t going to have many of those considering how easily everyone had cut you off. It was open, warm, and inviting, and it was perfect for what you wanted. It had brought up the idea of maybe adopting a dog or cat to keep as your friend. It had made you think of something that Frankie always said: anyone who wasn’t willing to share their home with an animal was as good as heartless.

It served as a sharp contrast to your former living situation; everything in the apartment you had shared with Chad had been cold, dark, and minimalistic. Nothing about it had ever felt truly homey, more like an ornate display at an art museum you were afraid to even look at. Chad had never wanted an animal of any sorts, not even a goldfish, claiming that it would take up too much time, too much space, and he just didn’t want something to take care of.

But your new home was the polar opposite, it was romantic and airy and filled with items and trinkets that made it feel like a home. A little animal friend would fit in perfectly. You were fitting in perfectly already.

You’d even made it a point to go around the neighborhood and introduce yourself to people. Your justification was that you had literally nothing to lose, your family had turned their backs on you, your ex-fiance had taken almost all of the so called friends you’d had, and were left to your own devices. In the worst case scenario, you’d have met a few unsavory people, and in the best case scenario you’d get to know your neighbors and maybe make a few friends.

Something in the stars seemed to align, as your neighbors turned out to be kind and welcoming, and you were sure the cookies you offered them weren't a deterrent either. They were mostly either older couples, or small families, a few roommates that lived together. The normalcy of it all was endearing, and to know that you had a place that you were welcome was enough to let your heart rest easy.

The only mystery that remained was your next door neighbor, the one on your left side. Whoever it was had been missing, gone or something, since you’d moved in several weeks before. While trying to maintain a respectful distance, you’d kept an eye on the house to see if you could spy anyone coming or going, see a car...something. But you never did - not even seen so much as a porch light flicker on. It seemed odd, especially in this neighborhood.

One afternoon, in the middle of unpacking the new bits of furniture for your living room and rearranging everything for about the tenth time, curiosity got the better of you. Maybe it was because you were in the middle of watching some true crime documentaries as you worked but you just felt...nervous. You were concerned about the health and safety of this mysterious neighbor that you hadn’t even met. You’d hastily wiped the sweat from your brow before rushing over to the neighbor on the other side of the seemingly nonexistent neighbor.

Unfortunately, much to your chagrin, the other neighbor, an older widowed man by the name of Eddie, who happened to have an adorable dog that you decided you’d offer to take on walks, was just as clueless as you.

He said he’d seen the man, at least you narrowed it down to that much, come on and go on occasion, but that he kept odd hours. He commented that he must have worked evenings or something, because he wasn’t around much at that time and it was always quiet during the day. Apparently it wasn’t odd for him to be gone for days at a time, or at least for no one to notice him. At least he’d be a quiet neighbor if he ever appeared again. But the older man hadn’t seemed too concerned, so figured there was nothing to worry about. You ended finding out that he was likely around your age, with dark hair. That was about all that Eddie knew; he said the man whose name he couldn’t even remember had always kept to himself since he’d moved in a few years ago.

You’d thanked him, given the small fluffy dog a few pets and trudged back to your own place, arms filled with various baked goods, including a delicious smelling loaf of banana bread. Eddie had proudly declared that he had taken up the hobby of baking in his retirement and he always had been plenty to share. You made a mental note to store that little piece of info away for future use.

And yet still, even as more days passed, you still didn’t see hide nor hair of the mystery man. You’d gone to work each morning, wondering if maybe you just missed him and you had conflicting schedules. You didn’t know why you even cared so much, or what drew you to solving this mystery, but you were just inexplicably invested.

One evening, as you were watching some Netflix and unwinding with a glass of wine, browsing the adoptable animals at the local shelter, it hit you. It was like the proverbial lightbulb had been switched on and you came up with a brilliant idea. When you’d moved in, you’d taken some fresh, homemade cookies to everyone in the small cul-de-sac - why didn’t you just make some for him?

It was brilliant, you thought to yourself as you set the wine glass down and almost tossed your laptop to the floor in excitement. You would make your favorite cookies, soft, gooey chocolate chip ones you fancied so much, get them all safely in a container and drop them off when you felt for work in the morning. If they were gone by the time you came home that would mean he had to have been there.

Yes, you thought to yourself, this is brilliant. No one could turn down a plate of fresh cookies.

So you’d spent the rest of the evening, bouncing around the kitchen excitedly, pouring your heart and soul into the every little step it took to make the perfect treat. By the time you’d gone to bed, excited and worn out, the little package was sitting on your counter for your to grab on your way out. This was going to be it, you just knew it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You woke up early the next morning, even before your alarm went off, a smile on your face despite being tired. You almost stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that this was the first, the first time in what felt like a small eternity that you woke up like that. It was a good feeling, and you hoped that you would be able to hang onto it.

Once you’d showered and done up your makeup and hair to your liking, you slipped on a pretty golden dress. It always made you feel pretty, the color bringing a slight bit of joy into your heart. You always felt confident and good in it, and you decided it was just what you needed. If your last session ended early enough, you even planned on stopping by the animal shelter to see if you made a connection with any of the adoptable animals. It was going to be a good day. You could feel it in your bones.

Once you were ready to go, you grabbed your pre-packed lunch from the fridge, along with your purse and the package for your mystery neighbor. Almost flouncing over to his porch because you were buzzing with energy, you hopped up the steps and set it on the front porch and center, in the middle of the doormat, topped off with a handwritten note introducing yourself. The mat was a generic one, and you did a little look around to see if you could find a name or any personal touches around the porch. But there was nothing - no clue as to who it could be. It was no matter, you told yourself, you would have your answers soon enough.

Giving the neatly wrapped container one last fond look, you headed to your car and off to work. Hopefully you’d be busy enough to keep your mind occupied. It was silly to get so invested in something so trivial and yet...here you were. An eternal dreamer and optimist at heart, just like you always had been, even as a teenager. Even if you had to suppress that side of yourself for some time, more so with each passing year, you were still the same girl underneath it all.

The day felt like it had like it went by in a blur as you saw several of your regular patients, feeling like you were finally able to help them properly and give them your undivided attention. It went so well that you did manage to finish up early, which meant you could have your fun and go look at animals. You knew it would be a challenge to meet different pets and not be able to take them all home, but you were willing to give it the old college try.

You hadn’t bothered to stop home and change, opting to go straight to the shelter.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you'd gotten there and started looking at the different dogs, you knew it would be hard.

So many of the sweet dogs came up to you, some wagging their tails in nervous excitement, some just beside themselves, but others were more reluctant, sitting and observing you. You went up to as many as you could, keeping a respectful distance from them and offering them your hand to sniff. A couple of them give you a few licks, letting you reach in and pet them, but getting distracted as soon as they spied other people. Sweet dogs, all of them, but those weren’t the ones for you. As you walked through the various dogs, you were disheartened to find that you didn’t seem to have a connection to any of them. You hoped they would go to good homes soon regardless. Maybe it wasn’t your day to find a companion, which was totally okay with you. You’d just come back some other day and make sure that one of them got a home in your adobe.

But as you neared the end of the last row, you stopped when you spotted a small dog, small for being a pitbull that was, sitting in the corner of her kennel, a sad, dejected look on her face. She was a pretty thing, light tan with white marking on her sweet face, but her eyes contained a deep sadness.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you said softly as you didn’t even hesitate to drop to your knees, dropping on the floor of the kennel, sliding a few fingers under the barrier keeping you from her, trying to coax her to you. She observed you with keen interest, but remained rooted in her spot, “you are so pretty! I bet you’re just as sweet too, aren’t you? I can tell…”

“She’s very sweet,” one of the shelter’s volunteers, a young boy by the name of Lucas that had let you in, said as he walked up to you, “but she’s really shy. She’s less than a year old, but she’s already had a go of it.”

“What happened to her?” you asked gently, keeping your voice down so you wouldn’t startle her, “she looks so sad.”

“She was abused by her former owner, sadly. They found her when they went to raid the owner’s home, apparently he was a small time drug dealer on top of it,” he explained and you made a small in the back of your throat as you just looked at her. It made your heart break to know that this poor animal, and so many others like her, were being abused for no reason - not that anyone, person or animal, should ever have been abused, “it’s made her shy, but she does warm up to people.”

“What’s her name?” you asked as she moved ever so marginally closer to you. You smiled at her, giving her an encouraging little nod.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy,” you called softly as her ears perked up slightly. It suited her, you decided, a soft pretty name for a pretty girl, “hi sweet Daisy. You are a big lovebug underneath it all, aren’t you?”

She turned her slightly to look at as you offered her a small, reassuring nod.

“How about Miss Daisy Mae?” you asked her and you got a glimpse of her tail wagging ever so slightly, “yeah, I think that’s perfect too. May I pet you?”

It was silent, completely so sans for the other dogs in their kennels as you attempted to gain her trust. You didn’t want to scare her off, but you wanted to see if you could get her to come closer. Lucas told you could stay as long as you wanted, and you decided that you would do just that, plopping onto your bottom as you gently spoke to her. You spent some time sitting there, talking to her about anything and everything, and slowly, inch by precious inch, she came closer to you until she was just a few inches from your hand. When you moved your hand and she didn’t flinch, you gently petted her muzzle, tracing over it delicately with a few fingers.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you mused quietly and she gently rubbed her head into your hand, “but you’ve got so much life left to live. So many happy things to come. Would you like to come home with me and see? I have a big bed that I have all to myself, and I could really use a companion to take up some of the space. Would you like to help me?”

She made a small sound as she looked up at you, her tail wagging ever so slightly. That was enough to convince you that you were making the right decision. Giving Daisy one last gentle touch, you slowly pulled your hand back to keep from startling her and jumped to your feet. She was yours, it hadn’t taken much to figure that out, and you were going to make sure she came home with you.

Telling her you would be back in a little bit, you went off in search of Lucas, to tell him to get you all the paperwork so you could bring her home with that day.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as Daisy was all yours, you’d set her up in your car, draping a big, soft blanket over the backseat for her. You were glad you kept one in your car for whatever occasion called for it; this was the perfect time. As soon as she seemed to realize what was happening, Daisy’s eyes had lit up and she already seemed like a different dog, her tail going softly, but nonstop as she stayed close to your side.

You’d stopped by the pet store on your way home, bringing her in with you as you stocked up on the best dog food, treats, several big fluffy beds (one for each room of the house naturally), and let her pick out several toys. Whatever she wanted she got, honestly, and before you knew it before pushing a huge cartful to the counter to the pay. Daisy, now in a pretty yellow collar and leash, followed closely by your side, a little stuffed bear in her mouth. This felt so right, so natural, almost like you had meant to find her. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had felt this much joy in your heart, and you hoped the feeling would never go away.

“And this is where we live,” you told her as you pulled into the driveway, pulling up to the garage and turning off the car. She stood up and went to the window, looking out eagerly. Your break broke a little when you realize she probably never got to run and play like any puppy should, but you vowed to change that. You got and opened the door, not even bothering to stop her as she jumped out and started to sniff everywhere.

Sighing contentedly at the sight of the happy dog, the one that had quickly turned from nervous to optimistic, you started to gather everything out of the car to bring inside. Daisy came back to your side, following you with keen attention as you opened the door to the house and let her explore.

It wasn’t until your last excursion to the car to bring in the last of the toys, that your attention wandered back to your MIA neighbor. When you studied his house, you noticed that all the lights were off, and there was no car in the driveway. The package you had you left for him was still right where you had placed that morning. A small, dejected sigh left your lips as you quickly dashed over and retrieved the package. It was only slightly heartbreaking, but you knew it wasn’t due to any fault of yours. But still...you couldn’t help but wonder. Who was he? Where was he? Maybe one day your questions would be answered, but at least for now you had your new friend to keep you company. Just as you thought about her, you heard a small, almost tiny bark from your door as Daisy poked her head out and looked excitedly at you.

“Coming sweet girl!” you promised her as you ran back over to her. This day was decidedly not a waste in the slightest, you reminded yourself, you had a new friend and that was more important than anything else.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Several more days passed, and Daisy adjusted to life with you without a hitch. She really was the sweetest girl you had met, and she had won a big spot in your heart, and bed, almost instantly. Gone were the cookies you had baked for the neighbor you thought might not actually exist, eaten with some milk as you watched Netflix late into the evening with Daisy snoozing next to you.

Something though, whatever little stubborn streak you had, told you to keep trying.

So you did.

That night you dragged yourself back to the kitchen and repeated the painstaking process of making your now neighborhood famous cookies again. He was going to get these cookies come hell or high water. This time Daisy joined you in the kitchen and watched your every move intently, as you walked her through the process, giving her your best impression of some lofty Food Network chef.

Just as you had previously done earlier in the week, you prepped everything and stuck the same note on the top, making sure it looked perfect. Even if it ended up as another batch that you would eat, you wanted to go through the efforts and ensure it was perfect.

The next morning, you herded Daisy into the car, allowing her to come to your office with you. She had been enjoying coming to your office and greeting your clients, being a good girl and laying on her bed while you worked. Many of them seemed to find her comforting, and as thought she could sense when they needed something, which she probably did, she’d often go to comfort them with wet kisses and nuzzles. Ally had suggested that you look into her having certified as a therapy dog, which you decided was a perfect idea.

You wandered over to his porch and left the little package again and turned to head off to work. Whatever was meant to happen would happen. So if he didn’t come and get the cookies, so be it. You’d stop worrying about it and let it go.

When you got home that evening, you brought everything inside and let Daisy into the backyard to roam around before her dinner time, when you looked through the front windows to try and see your neighbor’s porch. You huffed when you came to the conclusion that you were at just the wrong angle to be able to see anything. Stalking out the front door to get a better look, you sighed deeply when the package was once again there. What had you really expected? You’d struck out for weeks now, the man was an enigma to yourself and everyone else around, it was a far cry that you’d ever really see him.

Grumbling at yourself for being too hopeful and optimistic, you trudged over to his porch, ready to take the cookies back again and enjoy them for yourself. Maybe you could bring them, and Daisy, over to Eddie and see if he would enjoy them and the dogs would get along. It wasn’t terribly exciting, but it was something anyway.

You bent down to pick up the small container, ready to head back home and get on with your day. But just as you swooped up the container, you heard the door unlock, causing you to jump back in surprise, dropping the container and letting it clatter to the ground. You took a step back and looked up, finding the door open, but the screen closed. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out the person on the other side but found it almost impossible.

“H-hi,” you stammered nervously, hoping the person wouldn’t think you were stealing or snooping around, “I-I moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago, and I was just...I made cookies! I was going to introduce myself but I hadn’t seen you or anything, so I figured I’d leave them for you. They-they’re not old though, I made this batch last night.”

Nothing but silence met your ears for several moments as you nervously picked up the container to display it for him. You were nervous suddenly, terrified that you had somehow offended him, or...something.

“I-I’ll get going,” you said as you set the cookies on the bench that was near the door. Unsure why you felt the need to keep speaking you gave him your name, letting it linger in the air for a moment, “I live right next door, so I guess maybe I will see you around. Yeah...well, umm...goodbye!”

But before you made it off the porch, you heard the screen door open, and swing shut. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ready to turn around and make a proper introduction when you heard your name whispered so quietly, that you thought you might have imagined it. That voice...that soft, gentle voice caused your heart to skip a few beats. You knew that voice.

Turning around slowly, you came face to face with the man that had been on your mind for weeks. You brought your eyes up to the man’s face and a small gasp of surprise left your lips.

“F-Frankie?” except this wasn’t the Frankie you’d known. No, this man was tired looking, nothing but sheer exhaustion on his face, dark circles, parched lips, no trace of facial hair, his hair flattened from what you knew was a signature hat. This was a different man, a world weary man, a man who you never intended on seeing again. But you knew that voice, you knew it so well, you’d recognize it anywhere, even after all this time. But there was something about him, how he was looking at you that broke our heart.

He remained silent as his dark eyes watched you, wondering how and why on earth you’d ended up as his neighbor. It was like some force was at play, some weird thing that kept bringing the two of you together.

He remained silent as the two of you looked at each other, his eyes quickly flicked to your left hand. You straightened up when you noticed that and got ready to walk away, unsure of how to feel in that moment. Once again, your life was thrown in a complete tailspin.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to find any words.

But before you could leave his porch, his hand went to your wrist, taking it gently in his large hand as you immediately turned around and gave him a wide eyed stare.

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you looked at him in silent question, and he did the same.

This was Frankie - your Frankie. After all these years, he was still yours.

Before either of you could say anything, he gently grabbed your face and studied it for a moment before crashing his lips onto yours. It took a moment for you to react, and for a few beats before you kissed him back, not even having to think about it. But just as quickly as it had started you came to your senses and while part of you was screaming to continue to kiss him, the logical part of your brain took over and you pushed him away from you. Immediately realizing what you were doing, he let go of you and took a step back.

“Don’t,” you insisted sharply, your voice crackling on the singular word, “don’t. You don’t get to do that. I shouldn’t have done that. Not anymore. Never again.”

Before he could say anything, you dashed away from him, running back over to your house. This had to be some sort of weird dream, surely life couldn’t be throwing another challenge at you. Surely you’d been through enough.

Surely you weren’t neighbors, after all this time and years, with Frankie Morales.

Life couldn’t be that cruel...right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @secretsweetscollectionblog @sheridans-dynamos @rogerfxckingtaylor @queenbbarnes @persephonesnebula @spacedustmazzello @queenlover05 @ah-callie @blushingwueen @thisis-theway @el-lizzie @rosetophighlander @rae-gar-targaryen @hiscyarika @readsalot73 @huliabitch @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd @beepbeepsephy @gooddaykate @scarlettwitcher @nerdyknightwritersblog @choicesarcade @arrowswithwifi @everythingaboutnothingstuff @24kgolden @suckerfor-fanfics @bestintheparsec @pedrosdoll @winters-buck @javihoney @aeryntheofficial @hail-doodles @engineeredfiction @aeryntheofficial @asgardianvamp21 @keithseabrook27 @karmezii @dearspacepirates @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou @shameless-pope @paintballkid711 @mrpascals @lv7867

Frankie Taglist: @misslolasworld @annathewitch @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mrscrain-x7 @jaime1110 @lokiaddicted @prettylittlegoldfish @heythere-mel @mrsparknuts @mrpascals @agingerindenial @knittingqueen13 @wickedfrsgrl @rogueonestan @i-ship-it-ironically @lv7867 @heyitmelexie @lordmotherofcats @godohammers @stitchers-in-stitches @none-of-your-bullshit @ghostwiththemostbitch @computeringturtle

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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btxtreads · 3 years

Text

Let Me Move You

CHAPTER SIX: MY TIME

↳ Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader

↳ word count: 1.7k words

↳ rating: G

↳ genre: fluff???

Y/N gulped as she stood in front of the white building, hands fidgeting with the blazer of her school uniform. Her eyes fell to the boy with unkempt blonde hair by the glass doors, digging his foot on the cement floor—hands in his pockets and lips formed into a pout as he tilted his head up to the sky. His eyes darted around until it fell on her, shooting her a small smile before zoning out once more. Y/N pushed down her nerves and walked forward, shooting the boy another smile.

“Hi!”

The boy shot his head over to her, eyes blank before straightening up and smiling slightly.

“Hello.”

“By any chance, is this Choi Dance Company?”

The boy shot her a look before stepping aside and gesturing at the big banner behind him.

“I don’t know, is it?” The boy hummed.

“Ah.” Y/N winced, smiling as she wrung her hands. “Do you study here?”

“Yep.”

“Ah,” Y/N nodded awkwardly. “Do you, uh, know where I can find Choi Yeonjun?”

“Yep.” The boy answered, tilting his head.

Y/N blinked, opening her mouth to reply before a loud voiced called out from inside the building. Another, much smaller, boy appeared with a bright smile as he shoved the doors open.

“Niki, I think we’re gonna have to take a little bit longer.” The other boy grinned.

“Why?”

“Heeseung-hyung forced Jay-hyung to take a shower. You know how long that would take.” The boy shrugged before turning over to the girl. “Oh, hello!”

“Sunoo, why—“ The blonde boy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Did you at least tell them to hurry up?”

“Jay-hyung will probably move slower to annoy Heeseung-hyung. You know how it is.” The other boy shrugged.

“We’re gonna miss the movie!” the blonde, Niki, sighed angrily before turning back to Y/N. “Yeonjun-hyung has a class right now in room 5, third door down the left side of the hallway.”

Before Y/N could reply, the boy pulled the door open and stomped away—screaming Heeseung-hyung! Jay-hyung! at the top of his lungs. The other boy, Sunoo, just shot Y/N another bright grin, bowing down hastily before running after Niki. The girl sighed, running her hands through her hair before stepping into the building.

The school was well-kept. The white walls were decorated with lights and big block letters that said DANCING. The faint sound of pop music was playing on the overhead speakers at the reception. Tags indicating separate dance rooms were posted at the side of the entrance to a big hall, leading to a long strip of glass doors.

Finding room 5, Y/N peeked in to see a class of teenagers doing advanced and complicated dance moves. The loud boom of a song she heard on the radio resonated past the door. At the front of the room stood a tall man with pink hair and blonde highlights. His brown eyes were sharp, following each and every student as they moved. He crossed his arms, lips pouted in thought as the music blasted. He straightened up and spoke, pushing himself off the mirror and began walking around and clapping to the beat—mouth moving rapidly until his head shot over to the door. As he locked his eyes on the girl, his eyebrows raised.

“Shit,” Y/N cursed inwardly as the boy shook his head with a chuckle.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall and strode back over to the stereo. The music stopped and he said a few words before the teens rushed out of the door with their bags clutched in their hands.

“K-hyung, Hanbin-hyung, hurry!” A boy hissed as he rushed past. “We’re late for the movie—Niki’s gonna murder us!”

Y/N gasped as the boy accidentally bumped past her. Two boys followed out, the other one crying out to the rushing teen.

“Taki, slow down!” the other one cried, rushing past Y/N to chase the younger down. “Hanbin, come on!”

“Sorry about that,” the seond one, Hanbin, apologized, a bright smile on his face. “Niki and Taki really wanted to watch this movie.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Y/N said, her eyes falling onto the pink-haired male inside the room who was immersed on fixing something in a drawer. “I, uh, think you’re friend is in the shower room with a Jay-hyung and a Heeseung-hyung.”

Hanbin nodded understandably, smiling and thanking her before rushing towards his friends. The pink haired boy inside turned his head over, locking gazes with the girl once more before smiling and waving her in. Y/N steeled her nerves and straightened out her hair and skirt as she stepped inside, eyes widening as the room was surprisingly cold.

“What brings you here?”

Y/N snapped her head towards the pink-haired boy, who was back in his previous position by the mirror. Instead of a sharp glare, his plump lips were now tilted up in an amused smirk—fox-like eyes full of mischief as he tilted his head and allowed his gazed to roam her face.

“Oh, uh—Hi. I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.” Y/N introduced, voice confident as she continued. “Are you Choi Yeonjun?“

“Yeah,” Yeonjun hummed, winking. “Are you signing up for a lesson?”

Before Y/N could reply, Yeonjun gave her a once-over with a smirk.

“I hope so.” He hummed, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t mind spending a few days a week with you.”

Y/N felt her face burn red-hot as Yeonjun shot her a small wink. She blinked, wringing her hands once more before clearing her throat.

“Oh, uh, no. Not a lesson—but I was looking for you.”

Yeonjun suddenly stopped, eyes narrowing in hesitation. His teasing smile dropped as he pushed himself off of the mirror. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he looked at the girl suspiciously.

“Were you?” He answered. “What can I help you with?”

Surprised by the cold tone, Y/N gaped as she looked back up at him.

“Well?”

“Well, uh, I’m starting a dance team and we’d love to have you as our choreograph—“

“No.” Yeonjun sighed, turning abruptly to open a nearby drawer once more.

Y/N blinked as he took a shirt and strolled over to a backpack at the back of the room, ignoring her altogether.

“Wait, but we’re joining the Hit It dance compe—“

“Not interested.”

“Will you let me finish—“

“No.” Yeonjun rolled his eyes, zipping up the backpack and making his way back to the drawers at the front of the room.

Y/N sighed as she followed behind him determinedly.

“Point number one, we are a budding dance team that—“

“Look,” Yeonjun sighed as rummaged through the drawers. “I’m not interested in dancing anymore.”

“You work in a dance school.” Y/N dead-panned as the boy turned to her with a sarcastic smile. “Besides we have strong determination and a will to win.”

“No thanks.” Yeonjun hummed once more, pulling a hoodie out of the drawer and pulling it on.

“I promise this will be worth your time,” Y/N sighed, willing herself to look away from the small patch of skin that appeared when his shirt rode up.

“Stop wasting my time.” Yeonjun quipped back making Y/N groan.

“Okay, fine. Point two—“

“You know, determination is nothing in dance. You need to have talent and skill.” Yeonjun said, turning over to the girl and giving her a once over. “Your posture sucks, you don’t even know how to explain a dance team, and you definitely seem like you don’t even know how to find a four-count.”

Y/N blinked in surprise as Yeonjun made his way back to the backpack, following him fiercely with an angry sigh.

“Look, this is your chance to bring yourself back in the game. It must have been hard for you after you got your injury.” Y/N explained, making the boy freeze. “It’s your chance to get over your trauma and recover—“

“Get out.”

Yeonjun turned to the girl with a glare. Y/N blinked in confusion.

“What?”

“Get out. I told you, I’m not dancing anymore, and I really don’t have time for this.”

Y/N clenched her jaw and crossed her arms. Yeonjun picks up his bag and starts to walk to the door before she huffed.

“Fine, we’ll go get someone else to choreograph, then.”

“Good. Now, get out of my studio.”

“When we do get someone else and inevitably win, you’ll find out and you’ll go crazy because you had a chance at fixing up your dance career, but didn’t.” Y/N smiled sarcastically.

She did a mocking bow as Yeonjun turned over to her, nodding over at him before walking past. Y/N heard him curse under his breath before a hand wrapped around her wrist to tug her back. She whirled around to be face-to-face with him, his steely glare set on her and setting her entire being on fire.

“You’re not a dancer—why is winning Hit It so important to you?”

“Honestly?” Y/N asked, pocketing her hands. “I need it for my college applications. I messed up and now my whole life plan depends on this competition.”

“Time to change plans, babe.” Yeonjun snorted. “Just quit.”

Y/N sighed, her eyes darting over to a chart on the wall next to the door.

Yeonjun’s Room 5 Class — Monday-Wednesday 4-5PM

He has a class tomorrow.

Y/N smiled with a shrug and an amused chuckle.

“I don’t quit, babe.” She replied back, tone mocking as she saluted him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, tomorrow?” Yeonjun furrowed his eyebrows.

Y/N didn’t reply as she walked over to the door and left, a parting salute as she shot him one last smile behind the glass door before stalking away and leaving him alone in the middle of the studio. Yeonjun’s gaze fell onto his schedule by the door, shaking his head with a chuckle. His phone suddenly rang loudly, making him jump as it broke the silence.

“Hey, Hi. What?” Yeonjun rushed out as he answered. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

After a moment of hesitation and a determined girl leaving a lasting imprint on his mind, his quirked into a small grin as he closed the lights and made his way out.

“Hey, Tae?” He grinned, biting his lip as he leaned on the doorframe, watching the girl trot down the street. “By any chance, do you know anyone in your school named Y/N L/N?”

Maybe, just maybe, Choi Yeonjun finally found that something worth his time.

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 15

first time reader - click here

TW/SUMMARY: Is bad humour a trigger? Cards against humanity. Loki in the wild. Chaotic Tony, chaotic Reader. Team bonding, a gag chapter lmao

My beta is babey 🥺 @miscmarvelwritings

If someone had bothered to ask me what kind of relationship I had with Tony, it would've made my brain glitch. In the weeks we spent fucking, sciencing and hanging out with the Avengers, it never once crossed my mind. We had fun and it was easy. Unlike both of our lives, it didn't require much mental energy for us to get what we wanted from each other. For me, it was easier to ignore my skin aching for Tony when he was already spending so much time on me. I wasn't sure if it would ever be enough, really, so taking exactly as much as he was giving was my best bet.

We built things in his workshop with Pete by our side and it wasn't awkward. The spiderling said he was happy as long as we were happy and didn't mind it too much when Tony got handsy. The man had at least some morals and stuck to kisses, ass-slaps and lewd comments which made Peter snort and fake-retch sure, yet the boy never displayed any real discomfort. It was endearing. He really became the little brother I never thought I would have.

The sex was fantastic, to say the least. We fucked on just about every flat surface on the residential floors. Steve caught us once, although I am almost hundred percent sure Tony staged it all on purpose. The good Captain didn't even blush, instead just silently closed the door behind him as I stared in his face, gripping Tony's head with my thighs.

The weather grew dreary yet both of my parents still stayed out of New York. Mother went back to Canada and dad continued his never-ending party on the West Coast, conquering California and living his best life. My house was dark and cold, and I started hanging around the tower more often than ever. If I wasn't with Tony, I was busy catching up Wanda and Bucky on pop culture, teaching Thor how to bake cakes and doing other meaningless, domestic stuff. The Avengers tower bustled with life at all hours and there always was someone...

I never felt lonely. It was such an unusual experience. Comfort and reassurance was always one room away. Be it Thor with his gratuitous amount of physical affection or his brother's incredibly witty, dark humor, I never had to stay one-on-one with my thoughts for too long.

Personally witnessing Bruce's coming out of his shell was the highlight of my life, no lie. I was so used to the quiet, mousy Banner that my brain refused to acknowledge his amazing sense of humour at first; I wasn't sure if he was joking or ... Or what? Truth to be told, Brucie-bear was as snarky as Tony,Loki and Stephen. The sorcerer had started visiting more often too, under the guise of tutoring Wanda, but all of us saw the way he lingered in the communal areas after their study time came to an end.

If loneliness was a sickness then the tower's inhabitants and frequent visitors were beginning their recovery journey.

"Have you guys heard about Cards Against Humanity?" I asked one evening once the movie credits began rolling. Wanda was squished into my side with her legs in her brother's lap; Clint laying atop both siblings like the trash bag that he was. And I meant it fondly.

On the other side of me, I had Bucky and Loki, who had begun to discuss their respective collections of sharp and pointy things once they deemed the movie lacked action. Legally Blonde and action, did they really think..? Nevermind.

"Yes, and if you're offering, the answer is yes," Clint mumbled, reaching for his second pack of Cheetos.

We gathered in a circle as I brought the shoebox that had the original deck plus a couple of expansions. This was beginning to look interesting. "So, I have the special Avengers edition right there..."

"Say no more," Clint even abandoned his snacks. "But I'mma put on the episode of Lucifer I missed. Multitasking," He winked, wrestling the remote from Pietro. We waited patiently as they finished the obligatory round of horsing before settling down for the game.

I explained the rules of the game, choosing to disregard Loki's scoffing and Wanda's doubt about the quality of the humor in the game. We played a few rounds with me explaining some of the deeper pop culture references. At a point where all of us were engrossed, laughing and poking fun at each other, more of the Avengers parked themselves on the couch.

Stephen, Tony and Bruce evidently had been sciencing, all three men having had their safety goggles perched forgotten atop their heads. Sam, Natasha and Steve - probably sparring. All three of them brought the smell of soap and laundry detergent to the room. All of the newcomers observed us with mild interest, periodically glance at the TV.

It was Wanda's turn to be the card Czar. I had to take a moment to finish my last giggling fit.

"Okay, the white card goes..." She paused dramatically. "I never truly understood blank until I encountered blank." With that, she poked the timer app on her phone. The sixty second countdown began.

I did a quick inventory check. Then I snorted. I had to quickly stuff two knuckles in my mouth, biting down, to attempt to silence the hysterical fit of laughter I was on the brink of. Loki was definitely going to stab me but the opportunity was too good to pass. No fear, we die like men.

"Ooh, she's got something," Clint teased, having noticed my shaking shoulders.

The timer beeped. Naturally, Loki went first. He wore a mildly disgusted smirk. "I never truly understood parting the red sea until I encountered third base," The trickster caved and began chuckling.

Somewhere behind me, Sam and Tony began cackling while Stephen and Steve groaned loudly in mild distaste.

"Press F to pay respects," Pietro clapped Loki on the shoulder with a sympathetic chuff. "I raise you - I never truly understood licking things to claim as your own until I encountered the clitoris," The young avenger struggled through laughter, followed by everyone else this time.

"That's a keeper, ladies," Sam's rich baritone quipped.

I laughed along, inwardly preparing for the inevitable. "Yikes," I whispered, side-eyeing Loki. "I never truly understood daddy issues..." I trailed off, hearing Bucky and Steve beginning to tease Tony. "... Until I encountered Loki, the trickster God."

The room drowned in a sea of laughter, Tony and Clint busting a gut so hard they fell over. Said trickster God was less than amused, however, glaring in my direction with the force of a pissed off bee swarm.

"Ow, that's cold, Princess, that's just cold," Clint squeezed out.

"Loki," I abandoned my stack of cards, crawling over Pietro and Bucky on all fours, settling prettily on my knees in front of Loki. Making my very best puppy eyes. "I love you, with all my cold black heart. And you're technically the patron saint of fun and shit, so that means you must approve of this very clever joke," I pouted, batting my eyelashes.

"Baby girl, I think you're laying it on too thick," Tony gasped, slumping on the couch, holding his sides. Everyone kept laughing, now at my feeble attempt at placating the upset Loki.

Who, by the way, looked a bit spooked. Subtly but surely, the raven-haired Asgardian leaned away from me.

"Don't be mad, I'm too cute to be mad at," I finally snorted, pat-pat-patting him on the shoulder. "It's okay, you can join my club. We have hot old dudes and cookies."

That broke it. First, the corner of his mouth twitched. Then, Loki looked away. I saw the storm before it crashed; with a weird noise of his own and his cheeks puffed out, Loki joined in on the shit-fest, howling full volume and doubling over. I followed suit, until all of us were writhing around on the floor. We'd stop and then someone would make another remark and it would go into another round again.

"Menace," Loki scoffed at me, smiling. "And for the record, the hottest old dude, as you put it, would be me." That said, he went back to calmly waiting for his next turn. "I'm about a thousand years old."

"Thor's older," Bruce noted thoughtfully.

Loki scoffed. "That man cannot chew with his mouth shut. If that's considered attractive, I'm leaving this forsaken planet."

That struck a thought within me. One that was brewing a long time, to be honest. "Thor is the god of himbos," I said with the same tone as "Eureka!".

"Shit, you're right," Sam exclaimed, following with another, weaker fit of laughter meanwhile Bruce had to be the one explaining the term to the poor, poor, clueless members of the Avengers.

I need to find a way to award them some kind of points for learning the gen-z lingo. "Patrick" stars maybe, since they lived under a fucking rock?

"Princess, never a boring day with you around. You don't half-ass this shit," Tony's warmth reached me as he shuffled around on the couch, sitting directly behind me. I leaned my back against his legs.

"I'm not a clown," I shot back. Tony stiffened. Dramatically flailing my hand I announced: "I am the whole god-damn circus!"

As the game progressed, we found out that Clint was That Guy - meaning, the dude every CAH group had, the one who grossly overused the "Bees?!" card and made Star Wars references whenever humanly possible. The only even slightly funny joke was about a lightsaber up the ass, in the end all of us finding out that Bucky knew a little too much about modern sex toys - "Hey, I saw one on Amazon, I'll send you the link, Birdman" - to Steve's open-mouthed horror.

What Loki lacked in references he made up in wit. The play on "During sex, I like to think about genetically engineered supersoldiers" had Bucky scrambling to switch places with Wanda whilst Loki himself was attempting to shoot bedroom eyes at Steve. It was a mess.

Bucky's own play had Steve abandon all pretense at being in any way appropriate as he struggled for air. "The Avengers new rules prohibit using Mjölnir as a dildo." Me and Tony became somewhat of a messy guffawing octopus of limbs for a moment after the super-soldier said it.

"Don't. Tell. Thor!" Strange gritted out, hiding his laughter behind a palm, uncharacteristically having lost his stuffy attitude. By god's will the man was attractive when he smiled.

As time ticked, each one of the starting players had attracted a newcomer. There weren't enough cards for everyone to play (Tony had, of course, ordered additional ones but they wouldn't arrive until the next day) so people kind of whispered and pointed at what they thought would fit.

Natasha conspired with Wanda, Sam went to his bird-bro, Bruce was forcefully dragged by Bucky to his side. Surprisingly, Steve teamed up with Loki which made Pietro stick his nose up in the air and promptly declare he needed no backup.

I already had Tony on my side. The genius wasn't of much help, however, he simply annoyed me out of my skull by randomly giggling and making immature jokes. It should've alarmed me that Stephen was eager to join me and Tony - usually he just butted heads with anyone who had any opinion whatsoever.

I was left bewildered upon discovering the wizard liked drama as much as the Kardashian clan and was quite competitive at causing the most shit.

My clown crown felt threatened.

"This one," Tony poked at a card in my hand.

"If you think that's funny, your intellect is obviously overestimated." Stephen dismissively waved a hand. "This one," It was unmistakable whom the trembling finger belonged to. It pointed at a card on the other side.

"Wizards are just hilarious," Tony seeped sarcasm.

"Try me, Beyonce," Stephen murmured darkly.

That was just background noise to me. I had all my undivided attention on the TV, my last two functioning brain cells focused on the scene unfolding right in front of me. The Lucifer episode, the devil and his insatiable thirst for honey. The timer buzzed but I was still drawn towards Tom Ellis dipping two of his fingers first in the honeypot, then in his mouth, all the while looking like a damn snack himself. Illegal. I've never simped so hard for a fictional character.

A golden glow snatched a card out of my grasp, levitating it.

"Girl, what the hell?" Wanda saw my face and attempted to revert me back to earth. "Someone turn off the TV, there's not enough water in the tower to quench her thirst."

"Hey, did you two just - don't ignore me!" Tony whined, managing to tug on my hair and attempt to reach for the card now held in Stephen's grasp, simultaneously.

"I don't blame her," Clint mused. "That right there is one very fine dude."

I shook my head, clearing any untoward thoughts. Focus. "First of all, Bird, you're a dude. That there," I pointed up at the TV. "Is a man. A Man." I emphasised, getting a jealous poke in the back from Tony. "Second of all..." I turned towards Stephen. "The quaffle, the snitch and the AUDACITY OF THIS BITCH!" The last of my sentence was pitched. The sorcerer had raised his arm, clutching the card, and I struggled to reach it.

"What... What did you just say?" Stephen was laughing, not at all phased by me climbing him like a tree to take hold of what's mine. Tony was actively helping - or, trying to. One-handed. The other hand attempted to snatch the rest of the cards from my grasp.

"And that's an F on teamwork," Bucky's sarcasm was complemented by Steve's famous Captain America Is Disappointed In You look.

"Uhh... Guys? What's going on?" Peter's timid voice leaked confusion.

"Hello, friends," Thor boomed, drowning out the boy's questioning noises.

"We're playing a game. Cards Against Humanity."

Wordlessly, Peter towed Thor along with him to find a spot amongst us. And even if Thor didn't get any of the references, he still was good fun. His laugh was infectious. The way he cheered for every winner was incredibly wholesome. Golden space puppy. The urge to immediately pet Thor and give him endless pop-tarts was strong in me.

Loki was one dramatic, vengeful bitch. "Women get turned on by the Devil himself"? I was ready to throw hands with the trickster. Everybody's laughter drowned out any cursing I might or might have not directed towards Loki who looked far too satisfied with himself. I was going to substitute the sugar for his tea with salt one day, mark my words.

I wouldn't admit it over my dead body, but the way he got back at me for the daddy issues joke was kinda funny. Okay, very funny. It was fucking hilarious. I admire a clever man.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #avengers team x reader fluff

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

Text

Drinks For Two

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,800 Warning: None Author’s Note: That premium scene from Book 1, Chapter 2 at the bar from Ethan’s POV

Catch up here.

_______

The raucous cacophony surrounding Ethan that evening at Donahue's is not enough distraction from his traitorous thoughts, much to his annoyance. Ordinarily, the small bar serves as his sanctuary, a blessed transitional space between the harsh demands of the job and the tranquility of home. On most nights, he prefers the place silent enough to enjoy his drink in numbing peace. Upon entering the place and seeing the crowd of intoxicated, uproarious interns, however, Ethan kisses that fantasy goodbye.

He decides to stay anyway because lord knows he needs a drink after the hell hole of a day he had. Ethan, ever the optimist, even finds a silver lining in hoping that the mindless, drunken chatter will keep him from reliving it. When that fails, the riotous noise is nothing but that: noise.

Ethan takes a swig of his drink, savoring the pleasant burn in his throat.

“I don't want your opportunities or your charity. I want my patient to get better.”

Memories of fiery, bright eyes flood him, unbidden.

“And if that's not everyone's priority at this hospital, I'd rather you fire me now.”

Righteous, impassioned anger had colored her face as she spat the words at him with a vehemence that had given him pause. And all after he had placed a precious learning opportunity on a silver platter for her taking? Who the hell did this intern think she was? The nerve, the gall, the idiotic insolence of that brash, silver-tongued, headstrong girl...

Ethan loses steam.

That passionate, fearless, intelligent and rather pretty girl.

A slew of less professional adjectives inundate his awareness before he can stop them. Inwardly groaning, he throws back another drink.

An eruption of cheers and wolf whistles mercifully pulls him from his thoughts. Ethan doesn't need to look to know it's coming from the surgical interns, the rowdiest of the bunch by default. Add to that scores of cheap alcohol and the galvanizing promise of competition a game of dart brings, and they are downright unbearable.

When he does spare them a glance, he is greeted by the sight of a burly, good-looking surgical intern dipping a brunette backwards before planting a scandalous kiss on her lips.

“Get it, Lahela!”

“Traitor!”

God, how Ethan hated PDA.

A whirl of green fabric and glossy brown hair is all Ethan sees as the recipient of the kiss straightens herself, slightly woozy and gripping Lahela’s muscular arms for dear life. It is only when she shifts on her feet that Ethan catches a glimpse of that distinctive smile— the very same he had seen all day, both in person and in his recollection. Lilac Allende, pretty face bright and eyes sparkling, grins at the surgical intern as he whispers something in her ear.

And then, like a stroke of lighting, her eyes meet Ethan’s for the briefest of moments.

Ethan glances away too quickly, his slight annoyance tapering into sheer irritation. His mood deteriorates when he finds his glass empty though he doesn't get the opportunity to order another because mere seconds later, he can see a hazy shape in forest green approaching.

Stubborn as ever, Ethan determinedly avoids gazing her way. He foolishly thinks this will be successful until she is right at his side and practically impossible to ignore. This, of course, does not escape her notice, officially deeming her the most frustrating person he's ever met.

“Something wrong, Dr. Ramsey?” she asks and he can practically hear the cheeky grin in her melodic voice.

As his eyes take in the full force of the outfit she is wearing, he mentally determines the only thing that is wrong are the thoughts the revealing number invites. He makes a conscious effort to keep his eyes on her face and not on the tortuous path her daring neckline sets. Ethan loses the battle for a millisecond because his eyes fall on the black, lacy contraption peeking from her blouse (if he can call it that), the sight a sweet kind of torture. Feeling like an absolute ass, he fixes his gaze on hers, convinced he can still salvage both of their dignities by saying something vague.

“Just noticing how… different you look out in the real world.”

Dr. Allende looks as though she doesn't believe him and she opens her mouth, perhaps to brashly tell him so. Luckily, Reggie slides over to their side of the bar.

“What'll it be?”

She becomes distracted by the question and Ethan privately thanks Reggie's impeccable timing. Dr. Allende pensively chews her lip as she contemplates his empty glass. Ethan pauses, promptly telling himself this is to humor her while also satisfying his own curiosity and not because of the vision that is her bottom lip, made swollen by the pressure of the bite.

“Scotches, neat,” she finally tells Reggie, with a confidence that almost earns her an impressed nod.

In their silence, Dr. Allende cuts him a look that is almost bashful, despite all the bravado she displays. Her posture is ramrod straight and Ethan can practically feel the nervous energy radiating from her. With a bolt, he realizes she is silently extending an olive branch. A truce from their previous encounter at Edenbrook.

“Why neat instead of on the rocks?” he asks, his own quiet way of accepting.

“The ice changes the flavor,” she returns at once, shoulders relaxing visibly.

“Right answer.”

A ghost of a smile escapes him and she takes this with evident satisfaction, returning it with a smug smirk of her own. The crowded, ebullient bar suddenly becomes stifling to Ethan as he holds her gaze. To make it worse, someone decides that is the best moment to play an Al Green song on the jukebox.

Reggie returns with their drinks, saving him again.

“You know I can't be bribed into favoring you, right?” Ethan keeps his face masterfully impassive, his voice expertly controlled as he says this, the first thing he could think of to deter from it all.

“I think you already favor me.”

God, she is good. That clever little quip is enough to inspire a quiet laugh from him, the sound almost foreign to his ears.

“You keep believing that,” he returns almost at once.

This, in turn, makes her match his laughter. Before he can squash it, Ethan feels a proud jolt of satisfaction at being the one to cause the sound.

Reggie returns, noticing their empty glasses. The loaded grin he flashes Ethan leaves no doubt the older man caught the exchange.

“Two specials,” Ethan says, ignoring this. “Thanks, Reggie.”

“Only for you, Ethan,” his old friend returns with a chuckle, his eyes moving over to Dr. Allende before he moves away to prepare his order.

She sends him a curious look. “You're on first-name terms with the bartender?”

“He's an old friend. I come here most nights.”

Ethan can see her considering the statement quietly. “You don't have anyone waiting at home?”

Ethan hesitates, marveling at her tone, easy and casual as though she was asking for the time. Shifting in his seat slightly, he consciously refuses to look for any meaning behind the question.

“I'll come here even when I do,” he responds after a long pause. “I need some buffer between the hospital and the world. An airlock.” Briefly, he thinks of Harper and the many arguments that became too constant in the last months of their relationship.

“Don't take the job home with you, Lilac.” He's not sure why he utters the advice, but it is gone from his lips before he can stop it. Vaguely, he realizes that is the first time he calls her by her first name.

Dr. Allende doesn't seem to notice. She considers him, biting the inside of her cheek. “I'll keep that in mind…” she says, “but you didn't answer my question.”

Ethan decides then that sharp perceptiveness will be his demise.

“No. Nobody waiting at home tonight.”

There is no reaction because his order arrives.

Grateful, Ethan offers her the dark liquid. “Here, try this.”

Dr. Allende accepts the drink wordlessly. She swirls it around in the glass before taking a careful sniff. Ethan almost rolls his eyes though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't amused. Seemingly satisfied, she downs more than half of it with spectacular skill.

“Well, how's it compare?” he prompts, unable to keep that insistent need to know what she is thinking at bay. The way she assesses the empty glass between his fingers, her jaw working as she collects her thoughts only adds to the allure.

She meets his eye with a grin. “That's amazing!”

When he finds no indication of dishonesty on her face, Ethan allows another wave of self-congratulatory smugness. “Either you're sucking up to me, or you've got surprisingly refined taste for an intern. ”

The lopsided quirk of her lips leaves him entirely too charmed for his liking. “I'm surprising in a lot of ways.”

“You'll have to prove that.”

The words are redundant for she had been doing just that from the very instant he met her.

Eyes locked on hers, he raises his glass. “To your intern year. In the hopes you don't completely blow everything you've worked your whole life for.”

Dr. Allende scrunches that freckle dusted nose of hers. “Morbid,” she comments, though not without a signature smile. “I like it.”

Their glasses meet, the clink of the crystal lost in the revelry around them.

An upbeat pop song he is too old and too prideful to know the name of booms through the speakers. It is met with approving cheers from the drunk crowd. Over the hubbub, the sound of her name reaches them.

“Lilac!”

It is from a group of interns at the other end of the bar. Ethan briefly recognizes the short, bubbly one as the intern who pulled him away from his furious rant earlier that day.

“Are we dancing or not?” she yells over the music.

Lilac turns to Ethan who only waves his hand dismissively, encouraging her to go. As she turns to join her friends, she halts, turning to consider him quietly.

For a wild moment, Ethan thinks she might ask him to dance. Drink in hand he selfishly considers what it would be to dance with her, bodies close and lost to the beat of the music. Where might her hands be on his body as they moved? Where would his be? He vanishes the thought with more determination than necessary, though the heat that flares from his neck to his face is impossible to ignore.

Perhaps realizing she is not quite so brave, Lilac shoots him one last smile and simply says, “Good night, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Good night, Dr. Allende.”

________

Author’s Note: Who could have put the Al Green song? Hmm.

Thank you for reading!

At the risk of committing to an ambitious endeavor, I really want to do as many of these as possible. I think my next one will be from the Dolores chapter.

_______

@dulceghernandez | @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing

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inkedstarlight · 3 years

Text

Bittersweet: Chapter Ten

Summary: It's the first Christmas in six years where the three Archeron sisters will all be celebrating together, and Nesta struggles with feelings of guilt. Also her new neighbor gets on her nerves, making things a little awkward during their Christmas celebration. Notes: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: brief mentions of self-harm and depression, PTSD Bittersweet Masterlist

She stared into the water’s depths. Most pools were crystal blue, lapping quietly under the sunshine. This one was different. The water seemed to be thicker, like it was heavy. Dark like an ocean during a storm. Violent, unceasing. But confined neatly in the underground walls of the pool.

Nesta’s toes were at the edge as she stared into the water with a contemplative stare. She could barely see her reflection on the pool’s surface, for it was distorted and translucent and almost ceasing to exist. No matter how hard she squinted her eyes, she couldn’t tell what she looked like to everyone else.

It was silent around her. So quiet that the only audible sound was her shallow breaths. Just Nesta and the water and the night. She closed her eyes.

But all serenity was lost when hands pushed her from behind, launching her into the pool face first.

She had been right. The water was heavy. That was the first thing she noticed as she sunk lower and lower into the pool, struggling to keep afloat. Nesta squinted her eyes open but it was dark, as if she were alone in space among nothing but stars.

Except there were no stars below the surface. There was nothing down here.

Nesta tried to use her arms to propel herself upward, to no avail. Her limbs were moving in slow motion, her kicking legs barely moving an inch. She tried and tried and tried, but she only kept sinking downward instead.

Her throat constricted with terror as she realized she wasn’t going to make it.

Nesta’s feet hit the bottom of the pool. She raised her eyes skyward. Somehow, she could now see what awaited above the water’s surface. The water above was no longer opaque; she could easily see through it as if it were a normal pool. But she knew it was anything but. Nesta noticed that, despite the transparent surface, the black water that directly surrounded her still remained. It was like she was trapped in a bubble of her own darkness, light unable to protrude within.

A shadow reflected off the pool's surface as a figure approached the edge. Her mother stared down at her. She looked so far away, but Nesta could see every pore of her being. A twisted smile played at the curve of her mother's lips.

“I told you no one would ever love you.” Her voice was muffled, but Nesta heard it as if it had been shouted into her ears. The words rang in her head, echoing what her mother had said over and over again.

Nesta clutched her wrist instinctively, squeezing tight and feeling nothing. Her lower lip trembled, but no tears escaped her eyes.

You were right, Nesta tried to say. But when she opened her mouth, she only inhaled water. Nesta choked as she felt it drip into her lungs.

A dark figure stepped beside her mother.

“It was your fault,” Tomas sneered down at her. An empty bottle of whiskey was in his hand.

I know, she tried again, only allowing more water into her mouth. Nesta clawed at her throat as if she could release the water that was burning in her lungs.

Her father appeared next.

“You're the most selfish person I know,” he accused. Disappointment was written all over his face. “You are useless to this family."

Nesta agreed. She choked on another mouthful of water.

Then, she came to the edge of the pool. Her hair was a mousy brown. It could have been beautiful if it weren’t twisted in knots full of neglect. Nesta could nearly see every bone in her body. Her teeth rotting from starvation, her skin bumpy with acne. She was fragile, but her eyes could destroy. Her arms were exposed, red crisscrossed cuts visible all over. It was like looking at Death itself.

“You don’t deserve to live," the girl's voice - Nesta's voice - was cold and unforgiving.

This time, Nesta didn’t say anything. She didn't have to.

She just opened her mouth and invited the water to fill her lungs. A small, haunted smile played at her lips as she drowned.

Everything turned black.

The water went still.

Nesta awoke with a gasp only to be blinded by the bright light of the morning. Sunlight peered through the half-closed blinds and into her dusty bedroom. She looked down to see that the sheets were tangled up around her sweaty body, the comforter thrown completely off the bed. A quick glance at the clock told her it was just past eleven.

She noticed Iroh staring at her from the foot of her bed as if he were waiting for her to wake up. She patted the empty space next to her and he immediately slinked his way closer to her. With a quick nose-boop and a lick on her chin, he purred as Nesta gently stroked his impossibly soft fur. She tried to control her breathing as she comforted Iroh.

Her night terrors were getting worse. She’d always had them, sure, but they’d never been this frequent - nor this vivid - since her undergraduate years in college. Now, they were happening nearly every night. Often enough that Nesta didn’t even bother to try to sleep some nights. She was scared to see what her consciousness had in store for her when she conceded to sleep.

Nesta wiped off the sweat on her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head ached painfully, most likely due to the millions of thoughts that were constantly circling in her head. She checked her phone and groaned when she noticed the date. She’d completely forgotten today was Christmas.

With a heavy sigh, Nesta managed to heave herself off the messily made bed. With a quick look at the sheets, she noticed the wet spot on the pillow, most likely from tears that were shed throughout the night.

Pathetic.

Opening her door and padding to the kitchen, Nesta noticed the wreath Elain must've hung on their door. It looked like a massive flower crown rather than a wreath. It screamed "Elain."

Before Nesta could make her way to the fridge to take a couple sips of whatever the fuck kind of alcohol they had, something else caught her eye as she passed the front door.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Elain!” she called out for her sister, her eyes still on the door, unwavering.

Elain popped her head from the kitchen archway. Her cheeks were covered in flour, and she was wearing her chef hat. She looked adorable. “Merry Christmas, sleepyhead! What's up?”

Nesta pointed to the very obvious new locks that were now on their door frame. “Did you install new locks on our door?”

Elain followed her gesture and seemed to hesitate. “Er, no... not exactly.”

Nesta tapped her foot on the floor and waited for her to finish.

Elain raised her hands in surrender and sighed. “Okay, okay. Cassian may have come by early this morning.” Nesta’s mouth dropped to the floor. “I tried to pay him but he said it was a Christmas gift.”

Elain must've seen the anger on Nesta's face. She knew – both from what Nesta had told her and the behavior she’d noticed – that Nesta wasn’t exactly a huge fan of Cassian. Sensing that Nesta was seconds away from stomping her way to Cassian's apartment, Elain called out, "Nesta, just wait - "

But she was unable to finish her sentence. Nesta was already storming out the door and up the stairs to the third floor.

Air whooshed in her ears as she climbed up the stairs. She was pissed. No, that was an understatement. She was livid.

Why the fuck did Cassian find the need to insert himself into their lives beyond the “family” dinners they attended? She had no interest in seeing his face outside of Feyre's house. She didn't want him to interfere with her and Elain's lives. It wasn't like they needed help - she certainly didn't need his help.

What’s he playing at?

As she approached Cassian's door, a thought wiggled its way through the angry cloud in her head.

Nesta wondered... wondered if she would have been this bothered if she hadn't awoken to that nightmare this morning. Would she even pay Cassian any mind? Would she perhaps be thankful for what he did?

She scoffed inwardly. No, her moodiness was Cassian's doing. He was responsible. And he was going to pay for pissing her off.

She banged loudly on the door, not a care in the world if she woke up his neighbors.

A few seconds passed before the door opened, revealing Cassian. He was wearing a white tee and low-hanging, grey sweatpants, hair sticking out in every which way. His eyes were red with exhaustion as if he’d only gotten an hour or two of sleep. Dark purple shadows were under his eyes. Gods, he looked horrible.

It was then that Nesta remembered what she’d overheard from Rhys and Feyre’s conversation the other night.

He's not the same.

Do you even notice how lost your own fucking brother is?

I don't want to lose him.

In all honesty, Nesta forgot that Cassian had been in the Marines for five months. Maybe it was because he - along with everyone else - hadn't even mentioned it since meeting Nesta.

On the other hand, his physique was certainly a reminder of the time he served.

But Nesta blocked out her sister and Rhysand's conversation. She wouldn't allow herself to have an ounce of sympathy for this man.

Nesta didn’t waste a second as she shoved a twenty-dollar bill in his face. “Here.”

She was prepared to storm away from him right after, but she paused as he looked down at the money with a puzzled expression. “Uh, what –“

“For the locks,” Nesta explained impatiently. You dumb oaf, she wanted to add.

Cassian looked up from the money and raised a brow at her. Shaking his head, he extended it back to her. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s not a request,” Nesta seethed. “Take the damn money. I don’t want your charity.”

“Charity?” he repeated, baffled. She noticed that his hand tightened around the money he held.

Nesta only narrowed her eyes in response.

He sighed and leaned on the doorframe, realizing that this wasn’t going to be an amicable conversation. “It’s not charity.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“No,” Cassian told her, finality in his tone. He was getting frustrated. Good. “It’s a friendly gesture because I was the one who broke them in the first place.”

They both glared at each other.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Nesta spat, craning her neck just to be able to glare into his eyes. Gods, he was tall.

“I never asked you to be my friend,” he growled impatiently. His voice was getting louder. Sighing, Cassian tried to compose himself. “Rhys – who will more than likely become your brother-in-law – is my brother. That means we,” he gestured between them, “are going to see a lot of each other, whether you like it or not.”

Nesta chewed her bottom lip in contemplation. She wasn’t quite sure what it was about Cassian, but there was something that just… irked her. Maybe it was his arrogant attitude or the way he taunted her or the way he reminded her of herself. Either way, he was a thorn on her side and she wanted him out of her life. But she knew that wasn’t quite a possibility, unless she decided to up and leave her family again.

That wasn’t an option though. Not this time. Not again.

“If I could get your brother out of my sister's damn life, I wouldn't hesitate for a second," Nesta snapped. "But for some reason, Feyre likes your fucked up family. So just stay out of my fucking way, okay?”

She didn't care how cruel it was. She wanted to get a reaction out of him.

She wanted him to hate her.

Cassian stared at her speechlessly for a moment. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words, but decided against it. He turned away to close the door in her face.

Nesta scoffed at his back, just loud enough for him to hear.

Cassian stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to face her once more.

“You know, I thought maybe we could be friends,” he laughed humorlessly. “I thought the locks could be a peace offering. But then you opened your mouth and Gods, was that just a fucking treat,” he spat out before taking a step closer to her. "Insult me, that's fine. But insult my family again, and I'll make the time we spend together a living hell."

Nesta’s fists clenched tightly at his words. "You've already done that."

Cassian shot her a smirk. "What can I say? It's pretty entertaining to watch you lose control."

Ugh!

“Gods, you’re insufferable!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Nesta," he sang before slamming the door in her face.

“Fuck you," she told him, but it was too late. Cassian had already gotten the last word in.

It wasn’t until she got back to her apartment did she realize that the twenty-dollar bill had been slipped into the pocket of her jacket.

She cursed Cassian all the way to hell.

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

It was about five o’clock in the evening when Elain and Nesta drove to Mor and Aurra’s house; they took turns hosting every once in a while. It was dark outside, the lampposts on the side of the street providing a soft, yellow glow. In its light, the flurries of snow were visible as they floated down, down, down. The radio was on, a Christmas tune playing quietly in the background. Elain was staring out the window, dessert in lap, as Nesta drove.

Nesta was tapping her thumb on the steering wheel when Elain turned to her.

“You know, we haven’t spent a Christmas together in…” Elain trailed off as she tried to count.

“Six years,” Nesta finished quietly. She didn’t need to do the math. No, she knew exactly how many years ago she’d lost her family.

A contemplative silence grew between them. Nesta shifted uncomfortably, her words hanging in the air.

“Well,” Elain murmured, turning to look at Nesta. She reached across the center console and took the hand that was resting on Nesta’s lap. “I’m happy we’re together. I… I hope we spend the holidays together even after this year.”

We will, Nesta promised silently. She wasn’t sure if it was a promise to herself or to Elain. It didn't matter because she had every intention of keeping it.

They turned onto Mor and Aurra’s street and pulled up to their driveway. There were several cars parked next to each other. Nesta recognized Feyre and Amren’s car. Her eyes slid to the one next to Amren’s. She recognized it from her building’s parking garage. Cassian.

Elain began unbuckling her seatbelt when Nesta stopped her. “I, uh… I actually wanted to give you your gift here,” she explained, biting her lip. “Privately.”

Elain smiled. “Okay.”

Nesta handed her a poorly wrapped box. “I suck at giving gifts, as I’m sure you remember,” she prefaced.

Elain giggled. “How could I forget? That was the best part of every Christmas,” Elain remembered fondly. “Feyre and I would always look forward to getting your gift. Remember that one year you captured all those fireflies in a jar, but when we opened them on Christmas Day, they were all dead?”

Nesta nodded with a little smile "You thought I did it on purpose. You kept screaming 'How could you?!'"

Elain burst out laughing. "I was quite the dramatic."

"No," Nesta murmured. "You're an empath, and I love that about you."

Elain's eyes widened in surprise, but it was quickly replaced by a smile that could melt hearts. "Nesta, I - "

"Just open the damn gift," Nesta joked. Elain conceded, but not before leaning over to plant a small kiss on Nesta's cheek.

Anxiety filled Nesta's stomach as she watched her unwrap the box with a delicacy only Elain could possess.

“It’s…” Elain’s brow twisted as she inspected it. "Cookie cutters?"

Nesta nodded in confirmation. She'd found them online the other week. They were pink plastic formed into different kinds of flowers and very clearly made for kids. But Elain loved pink and flowers, so Nesta was quick to add them to her shopping cart.

"I know that you don't bake cookies that often, and I know they look like they're made for kindergartners, but - "

"I love it!" Elain squealed, clutching them to her chest. "I've never had cookie cutters before!"

Nesta held her breath. "You don't have to pretend like you like them. I have the receipt."

Elain turned her body to her and gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm not pretending. They're from you, and I love them."

The sisters hugged each other before gathering their things and heading to the house.

It was boisterous inside. Christmas music played on the speakers as everyone chatted and laughed with each other. Right as Elain hung her jacket in the closet, Azriel approached her with a smile. She grinned up at him, cheeks flushed as if she'd had a few drinks. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the living room.

As Nesta walked past the foyer, she saw Cassian talking with Azriel at the bar area. He seemed to sense her stare, because his eyes met hers in just a matter of seconds. She quickly looked away and approached Amren.

"You're looking cute," Amren complimented her as a greeting. Nesta was just wearing a grey knit sweater and dark jeans, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders. She didn't often wear it down.

"You look hot," Nesta shot back with a grin. Amren was always stylish in her clothing. Tonight, she had on a long-sleeved black velvet dress, adorned with a ruby necklace and earrings. "Cute" didn't quite do her justice.

Amren reached behind her and grabbed a full wine glass to hand to Nesta. "Here. You're going to need this."

Nesta gratefully accepted, taking a gulp or two before leveling a stare at her friend. "What does that mean?"

Amren shrugged. "There's always some sort of drama on the holidays. Especially with you and Rhysand in the same room. What's with that?"

Nesta snorted. "I have a feeling my dear sister shared a little too much information about me to her wonderful boyfriend."

"Rhysand can be difficult," Amren agreed, taking a sip from her wine glass. "He just wants to protect people he loves. But with that being said..." Amren leaned in closer and whispered, "He's being a fucking asshole, in my personal opinion."

"Cheers to that."

Just as Nesta was about to tell Amren about her interaction with Cassian that morning, a loud shattering noise interrupted them. Nesta looked to the other side of the room where Elain was staring down at her broken wine glass that had fallen on the floor. Mor came over with a broom and paper towels, and Elain apologized over and over again. Mor just laughed it off and reassured her it was okay.

Everyone resumed their conversations, but Nesta noticed Cassian was frozen in place, his eyes still on the shards of glass that were pooled in dark red wine. He didn't look as though he was breathing, and she saw his hands shaking at his sides. His face was pale like a ghost. He looked... haunted.

Nesta took a step forward but stopped when Rhys walked up to Cassian. He leaned in close and whispered something. Cassian's stare didn't falter, but he nodded absentmindedly at what Rhysand had said. Then, Rhysand guided him into the hallway. And although they disappeared from her view, Nesta found herself continuing to stare in their direction.

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

Nesta was sitting on the couch after dinner, her third glass of wine in hand, when the cushion next to her sunk with someone’s weight. She looked to the left to see Cassian sitting beside her.

Rhysand and Cassian were gone for about fifteen minutes before returning to the festivities. They both came back looking better, though Cassian remained quieter for the rest of the night. No one mentioned their brief absence.

"I know you saw."

Nesta barely heard his whisper as everyone gathered around the tree in the living room. No one was paying attention to them.

"I don't want your pity."

She didn't even look over to him as she responded. "Good. You don't have it, asshole."

Nesta could have sworn she saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.

As everyone began opening gifts, Nesta moved to the armchair that sat in the corner. It had been a long night, and she was utterly exhausted. She observed as everyone traded gifts. Since Nesta had already given Elain her gift, the only other person she needed to give a present to was Feyre. Luckily, Elain's present for her was arriving late so Nesta didn't have to worry about opening that in front of everyone. She'd assumed that no one else would be expecting a gift from her, nor would they give her something. She'd assumed correctly.

It was nearing nine o'clock when only a few gifts remained under the tree. Nesta's heart stopped when Rhysand handed a present to Elain. She knew he hadn't gotten her one, and that was fine. She didn't give a fuck if Rhysand liked her or not, much less if he gave her a Christmas present. But to make it so apparent in front of everyone? To deliberately not give her a gift? Could he be more of a dick?

Nesta willed herself not to turn red with embarrassment as Elain began opening the gift. She didn't even want to know if anyone noticed.

Elain thanked Rhysand after unwrapping the customized cookbook stand. It was fucking engraved with Elain's name on it. Engraved.

After the final gifts were given out, Nesta looked down at her lap to see what she'd received. Feyre had gotten her a $20 gift card for gas. And that was it.

She didn’t belong here. It was like they were sending the message to her in all caps.

But then Amren threw something at her. And it wasn’t a softball toss – no, she chucked it at Nesta. Caught off by surprise, Nesta just barely caught the neatly wrapped package. She merely looked down at it before raising her eyes to where Amren sat.

Her friend was smirking and tilted her chin at the gift, silently demanding Nesta to open the damn thing.

Everyone watched with curiosity as Nesta opened her gift. She held up what was inside and inspected it.

It was a homemade bracelet. The kind that six-years make for their friends. Only, instead of multi-colored beads, they were just black. And instead of the words "BFFs Forever" or some shit, it said, "Amren is my best fucking friend."

Nesta stared at it. Then she laughed. Not a fake one. A real, loud laugh. A sound she hadn't made in months. It was brief, but it took everyone by surprise.

She grinned across the room at Amren, whose eyes were full of mischief.

Thank you, Nesta mouthed.

Whatever, bitch, Amren responded with a wink.

Everyone around them began to clean up the wrapping paper that littered the floor. Nesta remained seated. She put the bracelet on and admired it.

If Nesta had looked to where Cassian was sitting quietly on the other couch, she would have seen the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

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

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fang-wolfsbane · 3 years

Text

Transformers Generation One: A Seeker's Triangle: Chapter 05: Adjustment

The drive back to the squishy being’s home had been strange. First Starlit Meadow had learned that Zett’s species were known as ‘humans’. Adjusting to driving on the pavement road wasn’t all that different from Cybertron, which in itself was a release, but after being forced to stay in her newly scanned alternative mode in what Zett called a ‘garage’ was beginning to get on her nervous system.

The first couple of nano cycles had been fine, but after awakening out of what she could only assume had originally been stasis lock, hunger had begun to gnaw at her. She didn’t know how long it had been since she had consumed energon and sitting in this human’s ‘garage’ was working her up more than she liked.

When she had first tried transforming back to her bipedal mode, he’d asked, no, begged, her not to, claiming that he didn’t want to risk her being found out. The thought of that was annoying enough, but she chose to take his word for that. She had to stay out from underneath the Autobots’ radar, at least until she could figure out what to do next.

Zett had a point in her staying in this ‘car’ mode that he’d called her current form. She didn’t have a reflective surface to overlook her said car mode, but from the Earth vehicle she had scanned, she could assume that her frame had followed its usual protocol to turn her into an exact copy of her scan, save for the colouring. No matter which form she took, her colour scheme always stayed the proud black and green she had known since the moment she’d first learned the name of her two colours.

Every morning Zett came into the garage, bid her farewell to attend the Earth version of an academy, then he’d return at night after attending to work on the site he’d found her at. She wasn’t sure if Zett was keeping her a secret from the Autobots like he had promised to do but considering that she still remained incognito in the small, cramped wooden room, she could only assume that he did. Even if the Autobots had won the war against the Decepticons, there was no chance that they would simply leave a stray Decepticon out in the open. They would have dealt with her, one way or another.

Each day that passed, the only indication of time passing being Zett’s visits, seemed to take longer and longer. At first she had planned to wait, to lay low to try and come up with a plan, but her tanks were churning, demanding to be filled. When she had requested Zett bring her some energon, he only looked at her like she had lost her processor. She hated that look. It was the same one Astrotrain had given her once when she had snapped at him to keep his servos to himself when he thought she’d give him what he wanted because she was the only Decepticon femme at base. He had backed off, only after she had to show what her arm blades were capable of.

She should have checked them, ensured that they were still locked firmly into her arm plating, but that would require transforming, something she didn’t have the energy for. Whilst waiting on Zett to return, babbling on and on about how his day was, she took stasis naps in an attempt to conserve what little energon she still had within her. she contemplated forcing herself back into stasis lock to try and conserve more but thought it to be useless. If she did that, she’d be nothing more than an average car, as Zett put it.

She didn’t tell Zett about her thoughts on conserving what she had, but when he told her that not everything moving on the road was an Autobot or Decepticon, questions had popped up one right after the other. She must have spent a good amount of time asking him about his planet, which Zett had decided to sum up for her through video files he called documentaries and homework.

Earth was strange. There was no doubt in her processor about that, but the way Zett spoke about it, Starlit Meadow couldn’t help but find it interesting. She missed Cybertron, just like any other Cybertronian that had possibly gone off planet at some point in their functional life, but there was no use in longing for a planet she had no hopes of returning to. If she ran out of energon, then she definitely didn’t have any hope.

Letting her processor wander, Starlit Meadow felt ashamed of herself for not noticing that Zett had returned, rolling up the metallic garage door as he did. Usually the wide door made enough noise for her to at least be aware of his presence, no longer detectable by the systems she had forced herself to shut down in an attempt to conserve what she had.

“Hey Star. How are you holding up?” Zett asked as he rolled the door back down behind him, a rusted maroon coloured barrel beside him. From the sound of it, there was something inside, possibly a fluid of some sort. It stunk.

Shifting her sideview mirror, she caught sight of the human. If it weren’t for the concerned look on his face, she would have laughed, if she could manage more than a dry chuckle. He must have noticed her eyeing the barrel with her mirror when she didn’t respond because the next moment he was pushing it over towards her, leaving behind a steel-curling screeching noise as he did. She would have scolded him for it, but only watched instead, her curiosity getting the better of her, especially after what he said next.

“I brought you a little something. A little pick-me-up if you will,” Zett said once he had the barrel right beside her. “I know its not exactly that energon stuff you need, but I figured that since you’re, well, a car-”

“Transformer,” she felt herself correcting before her CPU registered her words as they played through her radio. An interesting device, one that she had thought about using to try and contact her old teammates but absolved from in case the Autobots were monitoring radio frequencies.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, since you won’t let me ask someone for help, and said that your kind needs this ‘energon’ stuff to survive, I might have had an idea. You see, when the Autobots set up base here, the government let them have stuff like oil and that kind of thing, so maybe it’s the same thing? I don’t know exactly, but this is the best I could think of,” Zett rambled on, barely able to keep her attention as he scratched the back of his helm, no, head, he had told her when she had asked about the strange covering he called ‘hair’.

“Get to the point,” she said, groaning inwardly upon realisation that she might have used the energy she needed to talk where she could have been conserving it.

“Hn? O-Oh, of course. I, uh… do you remember when I found you almost a week ago?” he asked, taking her silence as confirmation. “Well, I found this old oil barrel and thought that maybe you could… you know, drink it?”

“Oil?” She would have arched an optic ridge at the strange word if she had been in her other form.

“Yeah. I know you said you’re not a car, but it is still something cars use to get around. I thought that maybe it could help, at least until we figure out a way to get you some energon.”

She went quiet once more, this time for longer as her thoughts ran through her processing unit. Finally when she spoke, her voice was a bit more strained than she would have liked.

“Why are you doing this?”

This time it was Zett’s turn to go quiet. At first she thought that she might have fallen into stasis lock and was merely imagining his presence before his hand touched her side window. Her mirror readjusted itself so that she could see his face a little clearer. Due to her lack of fuelling, her vision had resorted to its basic function, making her see everything in a dark red hue, and not the once bright colours everything had originally been when she first onlined on this planet.

“Because… you’re my friend,” Zett said, a small smile spreading across his lips as his hand moved over her red-tined window, brushing away a spec of dust that she’d previously ignored. “That and you looked like you needed help. Something tells me you’re the stubborn sort that even if I went to the Autobots and told them were you were, you’d be out of here before we make it around the corner and the only way I’d see you again is when you come to kick my ass for it.”

She didn’t bother confirming or denying his assumption, leaning more towards the former guess herself.

“Anyway, I know its not the energon you need, but maybe it could help. From the looks of it, no one’s going to claim it anymore either. It’s probably been abandoned for more than a year already.”

Letting a sigh reverberate through her systems, Starlit Meadow put the last of her reserve tanks into forcing herself to transform into her bipedal mode. Usually when a protoform went through their very first transformation, it tended to hurt, only because their joints and mechanisms weren’t used to the process. After at least a stellar cycle of practice, the pain faded, never to be felt again, except apparently on a near empty fuel tank.

When her doors had shifted into her arms and her back end of her car form returned to a pair of legs, Starlit Meadow hunched over in the garage, the wooden building feeling even smaller than before as her hunched back touched the ceiling. How humans could stand living in such small spaces, she didn’t care to know, even if it was big compared to them.

Looking over to the barrel, she wasn’t all that keen on tasting this thing Zett called oil, but considering her situation, it was either go to the Autobots and hope to be helped or swallow her pride with the oil and hope for the best. This time she chose the latter option.

As much as it pained her, Starlit Meadow was relieved to see that at the very least, she still had the blades on her arms, something she had ever since Megatron first found her. The relief she felt was comforting as she used the one on her right to slice the top off the barrel.

The liquid inside was thick, and black, not at all the bright pink she was used to seeing in cube form whenever rations were divided up amongst her former team. She tried ignoring the smell as best as she could, wishing she’d chosen to disable her ol factory sensors as well.

From the corner of her optics she knew Zett was watching her, anxiously awaiting her reaction. She hesitated then tossed back the thick liquid in a big gulp, nearly gagging at the taste. She nearly snapped at the human that he was trying to clog her fuel lines when her tanks grumbled with the need to consume more. Before she knew it, she had swallowed half of the barrel’s contents. It wasn’t energon, that much was certain, but it was still comforting, filling.

“How is it?” Zett asked, taking a step towards her, although judging by the smile on his face, he seemed to be pretty well informed that his decision might have just helped her after all.

“Horrible,” Starlit Meadow admitted, finding a smile on her own lips as she looked down at the human, watching his facial expression fade at the realisation. Before she knew what was happening, she found her servo reaching over towards him, taking a gentle hold of the shoulder that she could crush so easily with a simple flick of a digit. “But… edible, as you humans say.”

Zett’s smile returned to his lips, the moment a pair of words she thought she’d never ever say again crossed her lips.

“Thank you.”

#A Seeker's Triangle #Astrotrain #Autobots #Chapter #Cybertron #Decepticons #Fanfiction #Generation One #Megatron #OC #Original Character #Starlit Meadow #Transformers #Transformers Generation One #Transformers Generation One A Seeker's Triangle #Zett Oakwell

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 11 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Ah, brotherly love! Or LOVE, depending on how this goes.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

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Read on AO3

Read it here!

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“Where have you been?”

As he was shutting the door, Rus caught a glimpse of their current Dog guard. He cringed, his tail drooping to tuck between his legs and Rus had no doubt that if he had a tail of his own, he’d be doing the same thing. Blue wasn’t very tall, but he packed a lot of punch per square inch and from the bright, erratic glow of his eye lights, he was very tempted to send all that punching right in Rus’s direction.

Rus turned to him, clutching his backpack to his chest, pins jangling and digging in. There wasn’t time to come up with a real plan and he didn’t exactly want to go with ‘hung out with strippers then ended with sitting on Edge’s lap’, so deflect, deflect, deflect it was.

“what i was told to do,” Rus tried, “staying out of trouble. i…i was reading a book.” Hey, it was true and only left out a few key details.

Instead of soothing his brother, Blue only seemed angrier, a hectic flush of near sapphire staining his cheekbones as he snapped out, “Reading a book?!” The last word soared up to a level of shrill that threatened to shatter the glasses on the little minibar in the corner. “Are you mad? Look at you!”

Rus glanced down at himself, shit, how could he have forgotten the state of his shirt? He looked like he’d taken on a part-time job as a chimney sweep. In a burst of inspiration, he said, “i…lit the fireplace, the room was cold.” Rus laughed, a touch raggedly. “i guess i need practice, it was harder than i thought.”

“You would have been warm enough back here!” Blue retorted. “It’s been hours! I’ve been sitting here, waiting and wondering, near out of my mind worrying! I asked the Dogs to bring me to you or to bring you back here and none of them would do a thing!”

“maybe they didn’t want to bother me. what were you doing, then?” Rus flung back, his own shamed guilt curdling into anger. He turned away from his brother’s accusing face and went to the closet, stashing his backpack roughly inside and ignoring the clothing hanging within. “red seemed to think you had something awfully important to talk about that both of you assumed i didn’t need to hear!”

Stupid of him, Rus cursed inwardly, as if he wasn’t keeping his own secrets about last night, secrets that he himself revealed existed with his foolish breakfast table apology. Rus hunched into himself as he waited for Blue to throw that one at him, wildly trying to come up with an explanation his brother would believe. Only Blue said nothing and when Rus risked a look at him, his round face was crumpled in upset.

“We do…we did! It’s not like that, Papy.” His brother took a hurt, hitched breath and his sudden misery only made Rus’s sinking guilt worse. He hated fighting with his brother, Blue always worked so hard, did so much for him, and here he was doing…what…with Edge? He wasn’t even sure, but what he did know was his brother who’d cared for him, bandaged his hurts, made sure he was properly clothed and fed since Rus was old enough to remember was near tears because of him. “Little brother, these people are—” Blue broke off, biting back whatever he’d planned to say. He scrubbed a hand over his face and Rus suddenly noticed Blue had changed his clothes into something simpler, his own clothes from the day before. Blue sighed heavily into his hands and when he dropped them from his face, he was calmer, “I was worried, that was all. I’m sorry I snapped.”

Rus swallowed hard, trying and failing to swallow away the swell of his guilt. His brother probably wasn’t wrong to be worried, but all he said was, “it’s okay, bro.”

Seriously, of course Blue was fucking worried, two days ago someone shot up their shop, yesterday he’d been kidnapped, had it only been yesterday? It seemed so much longer, days, weeks, since he’d been tied to that chair, bruised and terrified, wondering if he was going to die. He sank down to one knee and hugged Blue, took comfort from like he couldn’t yesterday.

His brother hugged him back, short, strong arms circling his neck, holding him tightly. Rus only vaguely remembering ever having to look up to him, he’d been taller than his big brother for ages now. Blue’s wordless murmurs of comfort became a barely audible whisper, “We mustn’t assume they can’t hear us.”

Oh.

Rus gave him a tiny nod, felt his brother sigh as he murmured, low, “We need to stay together as much as we can, to stay safe, do you understand?”

“yeah.” That must be why Blue wasn’t questioning him about what Edge let slip this morning, he was afraid of who might overhear. Rus couldn’t help being relieved at the reprieve even as his guilt threatened to strangle him. He wasn’t used to keeping secrets from his brother, not about anything. He’d explain soon, Rus told himself, he would. First, he’d use whatever time he had to figure things out for himself.

Blue finally pulled away, his eye lights suspiciously shimmery. “Now! Change your shirt and come along with me. Dogamy showed me something earlier that you might enjoy.”

“dogamy?” Rus asked, confused. Some of the clothes in the closet were in his size, he realized, and he hastily changed, this time a soft lavender pullover, before following Blue to the door. He tried not to think about what the sheer quantity of clothes might mean.

Blue nodded “He’s the leader of the Dogs around here, or so they tell me.”

“So… you got to meet the top dog, huh,” Rus said teasingly.

Worth it for the way Blue grumbled out with familiar, exasperated fondness, “Don’t start. Come along, now.”

This time Blue led the way down the hallway. Neither of them looked back at the shadow they picked up, the sound of paws on carpet as their latest sentry followed along. Blue gave no sign of his discomfort past a certain stiffness in his shoulders. The trip seemed a lot shorter than any other, to a door with a strange symbol on it. Blue pushed through it and they went up an echoing concrete staircase, easily the least elegant part of the building Rus had seen so far. Probably meant for maintenance people or even in case of fire…and he stopped that thought right there, he didn’t want to be thinking of fire in any capacity for some time.

At the top of the stairs was a heavy door with a push bar and it took both of them to push it open, but once they stepped through, out into sudden fresh air—

Well. No wonder Blue was so eager to show him.

It was a rooftop garden, arbors of cooling greenery overhead and a winding stone path leading through overflowing planters and pillars covered in winding ivory. Rus followed the path to a bench and sat, breathing in the smell of plants and soil that he’d been missing.

“this is nice, isn’t it,” Rus murmured. Hardly up to his brother’s standards when it came to gardens, but without the need for the high fences surrounding it. To his professional eye, it was all a bit of a hodgepodge; whoever set this up didn’t have much of a sense for design, or perhaps they simply didn’t care, and already he was itching to move things around a bit, arrange them into a more aesthetically pleasing form.

It was no surprise that his brother seemed in agreement of that. “Nice,” Blue sniffed, “It’s so overgrown and chaotic it’s a wonder it hasn’t wandered off down the side of the building on its own! The hanging baskets need clipped back and the drainage for the roses is so poor I expect all the bushes have root rot.” His distaste brightened into determination, “but I think we can improve it.”

“spruce it up, you mean.”

“Papy,” Blue groaned, but there was laughter beneath it. Underneath the bench was small tool caddy and Blue dragged it out, snagging a pair of gloves. It seemed he meant they should work on it now and suddenly, no idea appealed more. For all that opening the shop was his brother’s idea, Rus genuinely enjoyed the work and he’d honestly been missing it. There wasn’t much he could do about the way their shop and garden were being neglected, but there was no reason to let these atrocities continue. He grabbed a pair of his own gloves, rolling up his sleeves and got to work.

By the time Rus looked up again, sweating through his shirt and aching a bit from effort, most of the containers close to the door were trimmed and weeded, and several transplants moved to where they could be both aesthetically pleasing and benefit from the sunshine. Honestly, the rainbow was all good and well, but tossing a bunch of different flowers into one pot did not an arrangement make.

Rus peeled off his gloves as he climbed to his feet. He pressed both hands to his spine as he stretched, groaning in relief as the joints popped. A quick glance showed Blue was still hard at work, unclipping the hanging baskets to shape the unwieldy stems. Rus left him to it, wandered to the side of the building where the breeze was stronger. He braced his hands on the waist-high ledge, peering down. Past the neon glow of the sign, the street level was busy, Monsters on the sidewalk going about their business.

The Dust Bowl was too small to allow for any empty spaces and despite the overwhelming presence of the strip club, there were plenty of shops lining the street and their products became less salacious the further away they got. No Humans were in sight, but that was no surprise. Any Humans who drove through here were seeking an extremely specific product that was sold on street corners, often invited into their cars and back to a hotel room, or at least a quick park in a deserted back alley. His brother certainly tried but he couldn’t keep all the gossip from Rus’s hearing, and he knew some Monsters were unable to get paying jobs on the surface, reduced to prostitution themselves to the Humans that so often despised them.

That made Rus think of Mona, her generous kindness and her gentle smile. He really hoped that wasn’t something she had to do, that Edge meant it when he said he took care of his people.

Across the street something caught his eye, disrupting that line of thought. Rus frowned a little as he studied the car that was a tad too luxurious to fit in this neighborhood. It was parked across the street from the club and there was someone sitting in the driver’s seat, though he couldn’t make out anything about them from the distance. Not one of Edge’s people, he was sure, they’d have gone into the parking garage, so who—

*We know it’s there.*

Startled, Rus whirled around with a choked gasp. The Dog that followed them up here was behind him. None of the Dogs had ever spoken to him before but there was no mistaking that woofy accent.

“you know?” Rus asked uncertainly.

The Dog nodded, impatiently brushing back a floppy ear that fell over one eye. *Stay in the club, pup. Safe here.*

“i…yes, i will,” Rus stammered out. He turned away from that ominous car and looked back out at the rooftop, at the plants they were working so hard on. “but. is it really safe up here? couldn’t they hurt—” Us “…the garden? i mean…all right, this sounds ridiculous, but i’m not sure, a bomb? like a molotov cocktail, i’ve seen movies.”

Dogs couldn’t properly laugh, but this one’s tongue lolled out in a doggish grin. *Not Blaze, too blunt, no finesse. Couldn’t anyway.*

He stepped up to the ledge and held out a paw, gestured patiently for Rus to do the same. He did, confused, pressing out as though pushing an invisible wall and when his hand reached the edge of the building, he stopped with a startled cry. There was nothing to see, but he could feel the buzz of protective magic and the fierce intent behind it.

“spells,” Rus murmured. Edge did mention they’d been weaving plenty of protective spells over the club.

*Yes, many,* the Dog agreed. *Keep you safe, pup.*

Pup, honestly, now there was yet another nickname that he did not need.

“i do have a name,” Rus said, exasperated,

*Yes.* Another doggish laugh. *Flower shop.*

“oh, for—” Rus laughed himself, helplessly, “rus, you can call me rus.”

*Rus,* the Dog said agreeably. He didn’t offer a name of his own and Rus didn’t press. Obviously, he hadn’t reached Blue’s level of rank with the dogma around here. Something to strive for.

Rus went back into the garden proper, casting a last uncomfortable look back at that car and the watcher inside. They really were trapped in here, Rus thought unhappily. Little wildflowers plucked from their freedom and tucked into a pretty vase and the very idea of once again being imprisoned after a lifetime underground chafed, this time to a much smaller area even if they could still see the sunshine.

Trapped, and there wasn’t a thing Rus could do about it.

Instead, he snatched up his gloves again and got back to work. Rus didn’t have his brother’s skills with growing, but he liked to think he brought his own talents to the party. Time passed and Rus was finishing up trimming a bed of lovely but overgrown miniature roses when a voice spoke up behind him.

“You two have been busy.”

Rus tried to whirl around and stand in the same motion and instead toppled off his perch on the side of the planter to the ground with a painful thump.

“honestly, what is with you people always creeping up on me!” Rus grumbled, casting a glare in the direction of his frightener. Edge, who was standing by one of the arbors and likely had been for some time, stalker that he was proving himself to be.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Edge said, not quite contrite.

“you…you didn’t.” As if his soul wasn’t hammering in his rib cage. Then it throbbed wildly for another reason entirely. Edge must have showered, and he’d changed out of the sooty wreck of his suit into tight slacks and another crimson button up shirt. Only this one was undone halfway down his sternum, showing off a wealth of scarred collarbone and ribs that seemed to point in the direction of his sleek belt buckle and lower. He looked casually posh and temptingly handsome.

And here Rus was, sweaty, unwashed, and probably filthy from face to foot.

Angel have mercy.

Rus scrambled to his feet, rubbing at his poor, abused tailbone in awkward flusterment. Welp, if you couldn’t go for pizzazz, may as well go for bluster. “your garden isn’t in very good shape, you should find a new gardener. maybe try one who’s seen a plant once or twice before you hire them on.”

Edge glanced around them as though the garden just sprung up in that moment and he was only now noticing, “To be honest, I hardly remembered this was up here.”

“don’t let blue hear you say that,” Rus warned, “he nearly wept when he saw the state of your roses.” The poor things were in awful shape and Rus was very sure he’d heard his brother muttering words he hadn’t even thought Blue knew under his breath. Rus looked down at the ones he’d been tending to; the sweet-smelling blossoms with curled velvety petals were hardly larger than a knucklebone, “you seem to like your roses.”

“I do like certain flowers.” The words were much closer than expected and Rus looked up, newly startled to find standing Edge right next to him, the sneak, so close Rus could see the faint sparks crackling in his eye lights as he slowly ducked his head. Rus knew it was coming and somehow still couldn’t brace himself for the feel of Edge’s mouth against his own, coaxingly soft.

Oh. Oh, this was—he couldn’t think, not with Edge so close to him, the smell of him, the heat of his body, his mouth. Rus swallowed down a whimper, tipping his head up and let his teeth part. There was a flicker of a tongue over his own, coyly enticing, and Rus followed the invitation, shyly exploring Edge’s mouth with his own, tasting the heady spice of magic and desire.

That mouth began to draw away far too soon and Rus would have chased it, frantically rising up on his toes as it slipped out of reach, desperate for more. Would have, if strong hands hadn’t caught his shoulders and a low chuckle dragged him back to embarrassing reality.

“Eager, are we?” Edge husked out. It took far too long for his meaning to register, long enough for him to cup Rus’s face in a large hand, his gloved thumb brushing away what was probably a smudge of dirt from his cheekbone.

“you--!” Rus sputtered, but all his indignance faltered, fading, when he caught sight of his brother.

Blue was looking at them, white-faced and grim, and his sockets were empty caves of blackness.

Fuck.

Edge followed his look, catching sight of Blue before he turned away and stormed off the furthest corner of the garden, and frowned. “You haven’t told him anything about us, have you.”

There was an understatement. “i wasn’t sure what there was to tell,” Rus admitted, too soft.

“That’s a discussion all its own. Don’t keep secrets from your brother,” Edge said, “You have nothing to be ashamed about.”

Something about the confidence in that roused Rus’s indignance again. Honestly, Edge hardly knew him and certainly didn’t know a thing about Blue, and here he was, making blanket statements like that. As if he knew a thing about shame. Tartly, Rus asked, “you’re so sure about that?”

“Yes,” Edge said, a low, amused rumble. “There’s no shame in giving in to the inevitable.”

“inevita—" Rus gasped. Of all the arrogant, conceited…! “you don’t even know my name!”

“No? Talk to your brother, tell him the truth.” Edge’s humor went suddenly grim. “Once you get into the habit of keeping secrets, it’s difficult to break it.”

That was enough to cool some of Rus’s roused temper. He suspected Edge was speaking from experience. But then, his brother was Red. Who wouldn’t want to keep secrets from him? Blue was another story; how could he even begin to make his brother understand that in a way this did feel inevitable. He hardly knew Edge, he certainly didn’t approve of his business, and yet, Rus was helplessly drawn to him for reasons he wasn’t sure he could articulate, much less in a way Blue would believe. “that’s easy for you to say.”

“All you have to do is say the words, flower shop,” Edge said. Then, briskly, “Now, I came up here to see if you were hungry. Breakfast was some time ago.”

As if waiting for the perfect moment to embarrass him, his magic chose that moment to give a ravenous sort of growl.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Edge chuckled. “Would you rather eat dinner in your room or with my brother and I?”

Talked about choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea. “with you,” Rus sighed. At least if dinner was with the devil, it gave him a little time to figure out how to flounder in the deep water.

Edge nodded, unsurprised, “Come on, then, we’ll get your brother together.”

A large hand settled at the base of his spine, warmth bleeding through his thin shirt as Edge guided him along. Rus gulped, but didn’t protest.

His brother loved him, Rus told himself, he did, Blue always took care of him. They’d figure this out.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia AU

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glorious-blackout · 3 years

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Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Five

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Still haven’t settled on a more fitting title than ‘Mark Needs A Hug’ (though my brain keeps coming up with The Shining/Hotel California references) but he does get several of those in this chapter if that helps? 😉 Part Six should be up soon as well! 🥰

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

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Mark wakes to find his face half-smushed against his pillow, limbs heavy and sluggish from sleep as his mind clings to the last remnants of a pleasant dream.

An aura of peace lingers like a warm flame as he recalls the circumstances of his fantasy. He’d been sitting on the floor of a modest living room, clad in pyjamas that were too small for his rapidly growing limbs; too entranced by the shiny electric guitar in his hands to make note of his surroundings. It was the exact model he’d been begging for on a daily basis since spotting it in the window of a music store, and had no doubt been living in his parents’ closet for months as they coyly teased him in the run-up to Christmas. Music was playing from a battered old CD player residing on a stacked bookshelf, and he strummed along despite not having the faintest clue how to play a single chord.

His lack of experience couldn’t have mattered less. Nothing could have broken his contentment in that moment. Not even his mum asking him to “turn the music down, love” so he could pay heed to his other presents had disturbed him from his trance, and Mark had awoken with a pervading sense of peace as the unmistakable melody of The Strokes’ ‘Last Nite’ wormed its way into his brain.

It was one of those dreams that feels more like a long-lost memory than a fiction. One of those subconscious reminders of a simpler past that manages to elicit a smile even when the world at large is falling to pieces. Mark knows this cannot be the case here. He has too many memories of partying his way through the seventies to reconcile those experiences with the notion of being a teenager at the height of The Strokes’ popularity. And yet, the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia is one he appreciates all the same, enough that the thought of waking sends a sharp ache through his heart.

Seeing no obvious reason as to why he shouldn’t slip back into restful slumber, he lets his eyes flutter shut and sighs as he feels his limbs go pliant once more. He can almost taste the sweet embrace of sleep, only for it to be yanked from him once again with a brutal shove. A low whine escapes his throat as a persistent intruder nudges his shoulder, and he swipes a vicious arm in their direction in a wordless protest. His efforts are ultimately feeble, not to mention futile. The nudging continues, now accompanied by the constant repetition of his name, and when his tormenter gives no indication of surrender, Mark is forced to abandon his state of bliss and re-enter the realm of the living.

He squints, bleary-eyed, at the formless blob hovering over him as he lifts his head from the pillow, flattened hair clinging to one cheek as his brain swims in the wake of his rude awakening. It occurs to him that doesn’t remember how he got here. Judging by his position he must have collapsed face-first at some point in the night - still fully-clothed if the wrinkled cotton of his shirt is any indication - but all memories leading up to that point are absent. He only vaguely recalls receiving a call from Murphy in the evening and senses that it must have dragged on far longer than usual, but he would not be able to describe how the call ended even with a gun to his head. Not that it particularly matters. He’s only grateful for the fact that Murphy must have taken pity on him at some point and let him surrender to his all-consuming weariness.

His vision finally clears following several exaggerated blinks, rendering him somewhat relieved when the humanoid blob morphs into the fretful form of Nick. The man is dressed remarkably casually for someone who likes performing in three-piece suits, and his shoulder-length hair hangs lazily around his face. It takes Mark far too long to realise that Nick’s informal apparel is no doubt related to the fact that he has inadvertently given him several days off from his day-job.

“Hey,” Mark croaks, cringing at how utterly wrecked he sounds as he settles his aching back against the wooden headboard.

“Hey yourself,” Nick replies with a breathy chuckle which does little to mask the concern etched on his face. His outstretched hand is still resting on Mark’s shoulder, as though he suspects he’ll drift off into the abyss again if he dares let go. “I were startin’ to think you were out for the count.”

Mark frowns at that, casting his eye to the bedside table in an instinctive search for his phone, only to find that it isn’t there. He spots it lying neglected on the desk by his computer, too far away to bother checking the time. The room is illuminated by a soft yellow glow as the hanging lights do their best impression of the afternoon sun, and beyond the circular window he can see that the spotlights have bathed the hotel in blinding gold.

“How long’ve I been asleep?” he asks, rubbing the lingering exhaustion from his eyes and groaning as every movement sends a dull ache shooting through his muscles. No doubt the question will be impossible to answer, given that even he doesn’t know when he slipped into unconsciousness, but Nick may be able to give an indication of how badly he’s overslept at least.

“Couldn’t tell you,” Nick admits with a shrug, before lifting himself from his crouched position and coming to rest on the edge of the bed, his hand finally leaving Mark’s shoulder. “Jamie came by to check on you about eight hours ago, then Matt popped round at lunch. Doesn’t look like you’ve moved much in the meantime.”

Mark frowns. It isn’t like him to sleep so heavily. Usually a single nudge is enough to have him wide awake and alert. He shivers as he envisions two of his best friends waltzing into his suite without him having any recollection of their presence or even of his sleep being disturbed. He trusts Jamie and Matt implicitly of course, but the notion that he has been so dead to the world makes him feel too vulnerable for comfort. Anyone could have swanned in, and by the sounds of it he wouldn’t have so much as shifted in his sleep.

“How’d you get in?” he asks, trying not to sound suspicious and doing a terrible job of it. He tears his eyes away from Nick’s face in shame and decides that tugging on the duvet will be a better use of his time. The fact that he’d awoken with it wrapped snugly around him strikes him as odd. He doubts he’d had the mental faculties to pull it around himself last night. A bittersweet smile tugs at his lips as he pictures Jamie giving up on his efforts to wake him and proceeding to tuck him in instead; the mental image filling him with a strange sense of longing.

When he braves a glance at Nick’s face, he feels fierce heat return to his cheeks as he takes in the man’s confused - almost hurt – frown, and he inwardly scolds himself for planting that expression there.

“You gave us all keys on our first day, remember?” Nick reminds him, extending a hand into the pocket of his jeans and revealing the offending object, complete with shiny silver keyring in the shape of a bass guitar.

“Oh, right,” Mark says lamely, eyes glued to the set of keys as though seeing them for the first time.

Of course he remembers giving the lads keys to his room. He has copies of all of theirs too, set aside for emergencies. He remembers the painstaking effort it had taken to pick out individualised keyrings, and the delight that lit up his friends’ faces when they received them all those years ago. It just strikes him as odd that the keys have barely seen any use in all that time. They don’t tend to hang out in each other’s suites anymore now that the lads have families of their own, and barring one miserable fortnight where Mark had been holed up with the flu, he’s rarely been in such a state that he’s needed someone to keep a constant vigil over him. If his friends have been driven to this level of fretting, he must truly look horrendous.

When Mark doesn’t say anything else, Nick shoves the set of keys back in his pocket before lifting himself to his feet. Anxiety tugs at Mark’s heart as he half-expects his friend to leave him alone, but it quickly turns to relief when Nick makes his way over to the coffee-machine instead. Good coffee seems like an excellent idea given that for all the sleep he’s had, he still feels utterly bone-weary. At a guess he must have been out for upwards of sixteen hours, yet every muscle fibre in his body is telling him that he won’t be fully sated until he’s been comatose for a week. At least.

He groans as he sits up straighter, shoving the duvet away from him in the process, and he’s forced to bring a hand to his forehead as a persistent throb settles behind his eyes.

“Bad hangover?” Nick asks from his perch by the kitchen counter, the coffee-machine giving off a low rumble as it brings the water to boil. Mark can’t help but laugh at the assumption; it’s certainly a fair guess.

“Surprisingly no,” he admits, lowering his hand and pointedly ignoring the way one of Nick’s eyebrows quirks upwards in subtle disbelief. “Haven’t had a drink in four days, believe it or not.”

“Coulda fooled me!” Nick scoffs, and despite the lightness in his tone, Mark can’t help but flinch. His discomfort must not be very subtle, for Nick’s smile drops instantly and he directs his gaze to the floor as though silently ashamed. “Sorry. It’s just... We’ve been worried about you. Me and the lads. It’s not like you to cancel shows without running it by us first, and whenever one of us tries to check if you’re okay, there’s no answer.”

Nick’s tone isn’t accusatory in the slightest, but Mark still wonders if the guilt unleashed by his words will swallow him whole. It’s true. He hasn’t said a word to his friends since he abandoned them after their last show, and even before that he’d been aloof and stuck inside his own head. He’d cancelled all of their upcoming performances without even notifying his bandmates first; no doubt they’d turned up to rehearsals only to be chased away in bewildered confusion by the orchestra’s conductor. And while Mark has barely checked his phone over the past few days, he has noticed several missed calls and unread texts which hadn’t struck him as particularly urgent at the time.

The others have no idea what’s got him so wound up. They don’t know about Matthew, or the armed guards who came after him, or the cupboard with the flashing red lights in the impossible corridor. For all his thoughts of calling Jamie in the hope that he’ll somehow rationalise those events with logical ease, Mark has neglected that opportunity at every turn.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, unable to bring his gaze to meet Nick’s for fear the shame will kill him. His voice sounds impossibly small and he feels completely unsure of himself in a way that he never has before. Even the self-consciousness that characterised his youth cannot compete with the crushing uncertainty which consumes him now. “Truth be told, I haven’t really been feeling like meself these past few days. Probably needed some sleep if I’m being honest.”

“Well, you certainly got some of that,” Nick jokes with a fond smile, and a surprised laugh breaks free from Mark’s chest as he shrugs in wordless agreement.

The coffee-machine finally halts its racket and Nick sets about preparing them both a simple Americano, having correctly assessed that anything more complicated would likely not be tolerated in Mark’s current state. Mark swings his legs over the side of the bed and briefly closes his eyes as a new wave of pain racks his skull, but he greets Nick with a smile when he settles beside him, gratefully accepting the proffered steaming mug in both hands.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, cradling their mugs and blowing off steam before taking careful sips. Mark’s eyes close in satisfaction at the first taste of coffee – prepared just the way he likes it – and while he doubts it’ll achieve the impossible task of revitalising him, he feels a little more human with every sip.

When his mug is half-empty, Nick takes it upon himself to break the silence with a gentle, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Mark admits with a sigh, unable to tell whether he’s being entirely truthful. Telling the whole story is out of the question. He has little desire to leave Nick questioning his sanity, and he doubts he’d be able to explain everything that happened that night in sufficient detail even if he prepared a script beforehand.

Nick isn’t going to let him get away with saying nothing though, judging by the bemused expression on his face.

“Fine. I met someone the other night and he just... freaked me out a little,” Mark attempts eventually. That part is true at the very least. “Haven’t been able to get him out of me head since.”

It’s a lame explanation and he knows it. Even if that wasn’t already obvious, the way Nick’s brow furrows in confusion hammers the point home with all the subtlety of a brick smashing through a car windscreen.

“Did you and he...” Nick starts, before thinking better of it as his face becomes alight with flame.

“What?” Mark asks, only for the insinuation to become clear as day with the spreading blush across Nick’s cheeks. “Oh no, definitely not. It weren’t like that.”

No doubt his current state of mind would be less confusing if he and Matthew had simply stumbled into a drunken mistake, but the man’s looming influence isn’t driven by any romantic inclinations. It strikes Mark as odd how easily Nick had accepted the possibility, though he can’t say he minds. He’d almost prefer the prospect of his aloofness being driven entirely by shallow ‘guy problems’. At least there are plenty of words in the English language to describe dilemmas of the heart. In contrast, the explanation “A stranger presented a rather compelling argument for our existence being nothing more than an elaborate, pointless lie before disappearing into a cupboard which no longer exists” is a little less run-of-the-mill, and that’s before you throw in the notion of a boss who may or may not be the mastermind behind the whole sorry affair.

Huh. Somehow in the midst of his exhaustion, he’d forgotten about Murphy and the smug satisfaction plastered all over his face towards the end of their call.

“Well, whatever happened, he’s clearly left you in a bit of a state,” Nick remarks, oblivious to the turmoil raging within Mark’s head. His voice cuts through the noise and serves as an anchor, returning him to the present, and he can’t quite hide his relief as his mind quietens. “Do you want one of us to have a word with him? Give him a warning shot, perhaps? Matt’s taken up boxing, I’m sure he’d be all for it.”

“Absolutely not!” Mark retorts with a burst of shocked laughter, before descending into a fit of hysterical giggles as Nick indulges in a victorious grin. It doesn’t take long for Nick’s laughter to accompany his own. The prospect of his bandmates collectively ganging up on an unsuspecting Matthew is so ridiculous that the absurdity of it lightens his heart. Though he’s not sure how to explain that if they’re going to beat anyone up, he’d much rather they go after Murphy instead.

“You wouldn’t get the chance anyway. He’s already gone,” Mark clarifies once their laughter has settled. He neglects to mention the unusual circumstances surrounding Matt’s disappearance, settling instead for polishing off his cooling mug of coffee. “And honestly, it weren’t like that. He was a nice guy, all things considered. Just a bit strange. He had a way of getting inside your head and I don’t think he realised he was doing it. Besides, all of this is my fault. I shouldn’t ‘ave let him get to me like that.”

“Right,” Nick says sceptically, no doubt still hoping for something or someone to blame for Mark’s recent state. Mark can sympathise. He imagines he too would be frustrated if he were forced to bear witness to one of his bandmate’s private struggles only to be offered no obvious means of fixing the problem.

“Seriously Nick, I’m okay,” he insists, turning his body to face his friend head-on and suddenly feeling more sober than he has in days. “Or I will be soon enough. I just... I needed some space. Have done for a long time if I’m being honest. I reckon the other night were just the breaking point.”

He aims for flippancy, but watching Nick’s face fall is enough to inform him that he’s missed the target by a country mile. Concern darkens his friend’s kind eyes and sends guilt coiling in the pit of Mark’s stomach. He’d give everything to wash away Nicks worry; to convince him that he isn’t worth the anxiety his friends are wasting on him. He feels responsible enough for dragging them to this blasted rock in the first place, away from their homes and families and ambitions. Lumping further pain upon their shoulders is simply unforgivable.

“You could have just told us that, you know,” Nick says after a while, not unkindly, and Mark feels his heart ache. He does know. No doubt all three of his bandmates would have leapt at the chance to hijack Murphy on the phone and bully him into offering Mark some time off, but he’d never wanted it to come to that. The running of the hotel and the responsibilities associated with it are his to bear alone. The band is a separate entity entirely - something pure and liberating amongst the daily deluge – and dragging his friends into his messes has never been his intention. Not that his efforts have come to much in the end.

“I’d miss a million shows if it meant you were okay,” Nick adds when Mark doesn’t say anything, twisting the knife deeper without intending to. “I’m pretty sure the others would do the same.”

Moisture gathers at the corner of Mark’s eyes but he furiously blinks it away. His face is sticky enough with dried tear-tracks, though he can’t remember where they came from for the life of him. Heaving a sigh, he tears his gaze from Nick’s face and rests his head on the man’s shoulder, closing his eyes in quiet contentment. Nick’s frame stiffens for only a moment, before he wraps an arm around Mark’s shoulder and gives him a gentle squeeze.

This is okay, Mark thinks to himself. Despite the madness of the week, it finally feels as though the lost, fragmented pieces of his identity are coalescing into a coherent whole once again.

“I love you all,” he says without a hint of reservation. “You do know that, right?”

“I dunno,” Nick retorts with a gentle shrug, careful not to shift Mark’s head from its perch. Mark doesn’t need to look at him to sense the gentle, teasing smile on his friend’s face. “You’re usually shitfaced when you say it so I’ve always been doubtful.”

Nick gets a light punch to the side as punishment for his jest, and he laughs before pressing a soft kiss to Mark’s temple.

“We love you too, you daft pillock,” he says, sincerity dripping from his tone like syrup. He hugs Mark closer as though frightened that he’ll slip away if he loosens his hold, and the hand perched on his shoulder starts tracing a path down to his elbow before creeping back up. The action is so soothing that the effects of the coffee instantly vanish, and Mark thinks he could easily drift off again. He wonders if doing so will take him back to that peaceful dream, with the guitar in his hands and a loving family within reach.

They stay like that for a little while; Mark on the cusp of a peaceful doze and Nick doing very little to dissuade him from slipping away. There’s still an unmistakable sense of unease clogging the air – a sense of foreboding that has burrowed its way into every corner of the hotel since Matthew’s disappearance - but Nick’s presence keeps it at bay like a shield warding off demons. No doubt that protection will vanish in the same instant Nick elects to leave, and Mark will be left to fend for himself against unseen monsters lurking in the dark, but for now he can’t remember the last time he was so content.

He almost finds himself lost in the dream again – can feel the sensation of rough guitar strings dancing beneath his fingertips – but he’s pulled away at the last second by the buzzing of a phone. It isn’t his, though even if it was he wouldn’t be inclined to check it. Nick pulls his own device from his pocket and replies to the message as subtly as he can, but the damage has already been done. Mark opens his eyes and makes note of the softer light outside as the spotlights dim to a soft orange glow in an attempt to simulate an evening sunset. Deciding that he’s wasted enough of the day as it is, he finally lifts his head and stretches his weary limbs with a groan.

“You know what you should do?” Nick says, pocketing his phone and taking advantage of his newfound freedom to rise to his feet, giving the impression of towering over Mark even more so than usual.

When Mark’s only response is a half-hearted shrug, he goes on: “You should get yourself out of those clothes and go hop in the shower while I make you a very late breakfast. No, I don’t want to hear any complaints, Turner; you reek and something tells me you haven’t eaten a proper meal in days, so I’m not giving you a choice. You’re going to eat what I make you, then you’re going to get dressed up nice, and then we’re gonna meet the lads at the bar so we can all get properly wankered. Sound like a plan?”

Well, that solves the mystery of the buzzing phone. No doubt one of the others has noticed Nick’s extended absence and is attempting to rescue him, all while trying to put a stop to Mark’s reclusive act in the process. It’s ingenious really, and he can’t fault their line of thinking. Part of him can’t help but be wary of returning to the bar given his last visit is what reduced his mind to a frazzled mess in the first place, but knowing the others will be with him lifts his trepidation somewhat. And now that he dwells on it, Nick’s other suggestions don’t sound half bad either. He can’t remember the last time he ate, and a low growl emanating from his stomach implies that his body isn’t best pleased about his neglectfulness. He can’t even recall when he last changed his clothes with any certainty, let alone took a shower. Perhaps some food and a wash will make him feel alive again, or at the very least make a start to the process of resurrecting him from his zombified state.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a genius?” Mark asks, grinning without restraint as Nick releases a bashful laugh topped off with a modest shrug of his shoulders.

“It’s a burden I must bear,” he concedes, his expression settling into one of fondness before his parental instincts take over. “Seriously though. Shower. Now. The more time you waste, the less time we have to get shitfaced.”

Mark doesn’t need to be told twice.

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

The calm before the colossal, world-ending storm lasts all of two hours. Two hours in which Mark manages to wash the sweat and tears from his face under a piping hot shower, before adorning the most casual t-shirt and jeans combo he can find at the bottom of his drawers. Two hours in which Nick thrusts a hastily prepared cheese and ham sarnie into his hands – mocked up from what little food he has in the fridge – and insists that he eats every bite with crossed arms and lips pressed into a stern line. Two hours in which they eventually make their way to the ballroom to meet Jamie and Matt at the bar, where Mark is greeted with a crushing hug from Jamie and an enthusiastic “Welcome back to the land of the living!” from Matt. The latter tops off his greeting with a firm embrace of his own, before ordering the first round of beers with renewed vigour.

For those blissful two hours, Mark feels as though life is finally returning to normal. The burden of responsibility is temporarily lifted from his shoulders, and he lets himself laugh at his friends’ lame jokes as he downs the first pint and swiftly follows it with another. They must resemble a bunch of teenage holidaymakers who have accidentally stumbled into a high-end establishment – their casual attire clashing with the sharp suits and stylish frocks of the waltzing guests – but Mark couldn’t care less.

At one point Jamie turns to him with an unvoiced question resting in gentle blue eyes. Palpable concern radiates from him like heat and for a moment the scrutiny is unbearable, but when Mark responds with a genuine smile, Jamie’s worry melts away in a heartbeat as he follows it up with one of his own. A light buzz takes hold after the third pint and Mark’s aware that he’s done little more than smile like a fool all evening, but he cannot bring himself to care. Those two hours are the happiest he can remember experiencing in a long time. A tiny microcosm of perfection that he wishes he could live within forever.

And then the world shudders.

It begins subtly enough. Little more than a low rumble permeating through the air, barely resonating over Nick and Jamie’s spat as they intensely debate over which of them looks better with long hair. Mark is the only one who takes notice as the rumbling begins to rise in volume; brows furrowing as narrowed eyes scan the ballroom in search of the culprit. Nobody else appears to be alarmed. The guests are mostly in the process of getting royally drunk over a dinner of roast beef or venison, and the waiters continue about their business without a trace of panic.

Only, the sound doesn’t abate with time. With great effort, Mark tries to drown out the surrounding ruckus and closes his eyes to focus solely on the new disturbance. The groan sounds like it’s coming from far away – like a distant car-crash or fireworks display – but the harder he listens, the more it feels like the rumble is creeping towards him from beneath the earth.

“Can you hear that?” he says to no-one in particular, having to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony of violins and chatter and clinking glasses. Three pairs of eyes turn in his direction – the petty argument momentarily forgotten – but as they listen intently, Mark sees only a growing sense of cluelessness clouding over their features.

“Hear what?” Jamie asks eventually, which strikes Mark as odd, for that persistent groaning has now become so loud that he can practically feel it hammering against his skull.

He draws his gaze to the half-empty pint resting on a coaster before him and watches with detached curiosity as ripples spread across its golden surface. It isn’t just his glass either; the same effect is visible across the entire countertop. It’s little surprise when the faint clattering of glasses joins the growing commotion. Mark looks up towards the bar and sees unopened bottles trembling against each other on the shelves, vibrating in time with the ground which has started to shift uncontrollably. A bottle of scotch topples to the floor with a mighty crash but no-one pays it any heed, and it is soon followed by several priceless bottles of champagne, drenching the floor with booze and fragmented glass.

The low rumble graduates to a deafening roar as the room begins to shudder relentlessly, and Mark lets out a sharp cry before shielding his ears and pulling his head towards his chest. Logic screams at him to get out - to take his friends and run to safety - but whether by fear or something deeper than that, he finds himself immobilised on his chair. It strikes him as odd that nobody else appears to be panicking. The air is alive with the clatter of shattering glass, the rattle of the looming chandelier, the roar of the moon’s underbelly as she protests against those who have desecrated her surface... but not a single scream. No frantic activity or barked orders from level-headed security guards. Not even the chatter which overwhelmed the hall only moments before remains. The room is filled with hundreds of people and yet, as the world trembles around them, they are all as silent as the grave.

Mark included.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t taken a breath since the ground began to shake and his chest burns in protest, but even the simple act of gulping in air feels like a complex task. He clenches his eyes shut as his heart begins to roar in his ears, but doing so offers little relief. If anything, the sudden blackness makes the situation worse. Imagination runs wild; he pictures cracks snaking up the walls and the floor giving way to the rocky depths below. Envisions ivy crawling through those very same cracks and burying the entire building until it resembles an abandoned ruin on Earth. Envisions the curved ceiling giving way and burying him alive beneath several layers of marble and plaster.

He still can’t tell what’s causing the floor to shake with such ferocity. Can the moon experience earthquakes? The thought is so ridiculous that he finds himself giggling hysterically, but what is the alternative? Unless his perception of time has been drastically altered, the quake has gone on far too long to be secondary to an explosion, and the space station is too far away for any launches to be felt as anything more than a minor shudder.

Hours seem to pass. His skull whines in protest as he presses his hands even tighter against his ears, and a single tear spills from the corner of one eye from the effort it takes to keep them clenched shut. His jaw aches as the shudders grind his teeth together and he can feel acid rise in his throat, his gut protesting against a cruel wave of fear. Everyone else remains eerily silent, even his friends who surely wouldn’t have left without him. He knows he could always open his eyes to check on them, but a burst of terror as he comprehends what he’ll find stops him in his tracks. Instead, he simply remains sitting there, curled up like a frightened child, as his surroundings continue to shatter around him.

And then, without warning, the world becomes a brilliant white behind his eyelids and everything stops. The cacophony reaches its abrupt coda as all sound is sucked through a vacuum. Only his shuddering breaths remain, followed by a desperate sob. The whiteness refuses to abate, and for a moment it occurs to him that he may well be dead. That he might be nothing more than a shattered bag of bones, crushed among the ruins of the very hotel he built from scratch. There’d be a certain poetry in that, he thinks, though the persistent cramping of his muscles and the burning in his chest implies that he hasn’t ascended to ghostly status just yet.

It’s impossible to tell if hours or mere seconds pass. The world is so still, so silent, that time loses all meaning and Mark can feel his mind begin to empty, as though the featureless light is consuming him whole. When small details finally do make a reappearance, they do so slowly. He becomes aware of his elbows digging into the hard oak surface of the bar counter. A glass clinks somewhere off in the distance. He becomes painfully aware of the cool sweat on his brow, and his inability to take in a deep breath without his chest hitching with choked hiccoughs.

The silence is finally broken by a single unprovoked chuckle, followed by a muted wave of laughter echoing across the walls. With the flick of an unseen switch, the usual chatter flares up once more and the violins resume their task of reciting an old Tchaikovsky piece, seemingly unaffected by what has just transpired. With a considerable degree of trepidation, Mark tears his hands away from his head and opens his eyes to face a complete wall of booze with no missing bottles in sight. No glass fragments or wet stains litter the floor. No cracks creep up the walls; no ivy sprouts from the ground. The ceiling above remains stubbornly unmarked, and the chandelier glitters as immaculately as it had on the day it was installed. Casting a glance over the assorted faces around him reveals only unaffected smiles, with no trace of fear or even the slightest acknowledgement of the quake that rocked the ballroom only moments before.

Even drawing his attention to his friends brings little clarity. Rather than looking as shellshocked as Mark himself, Nick and Jamie have settled for resuming their debate – this time arguing over who looks best in a ponytail – while Matt grumbles something about not being able to grow his hair without sprouting an afro.

The world has elected to carry on as normal, and yet Mark can’t shake the feeling that everything has irrevocably changed. That the very foundations of the ground he walks on are set to crumble at any moment, taking him down in the process.

It’s impossible to keep his breathing under control, and a weak sob rips from his throat as air escapes in frantic gasps. The sound draws Jamie’s attention back to him, and his eyes widen with fear as he extends a hand to rest on Mark’s shoulder with a careful, “Hey, what’s going on?”

The contact doesn’t help in the slightest. Mark tries to answer but his throat seals shut, turning his words into a low whine, and he settles for shaking his head instead. He needs to get out of here. There isn’t enough oxygen in the ballroom and he can feel the weight of the gathering crowd suffocating him, and before he can think twice, he stumbles to his feet and pushes away from the bar.

That turns out to be a terrible decision. The sudden change in posture has his stomach dropping, and his vision narrows to a fine tunnel before blurring altogether. No doubt the only reason he doesn’t collapse to the floor is because of the hands which appear out of nowhere, holding him upright as his ears drown out a puzzled, “Easy!” followed by a shaky, “Let’s sit you back down mate”. His friends may as well be faceless for all the attention his broken mind grants them.

It feels like his frayed nerves are dangling by a thread; the cool blades of a scissor resting barely a hairs-breadth away, threatening to sever his sanity with an unfeeling snap.

And then the dam breaks.

The buried chest keeping his memories concealed behind a rusted padlock bursts open. Assorted moments in time spill forth from the wreckage, drowning him beneath their weight like the horrors trapped within Pandora’s Box. Only instead of horrors, his mind is suddenly overcome by melancholic nostalgia and untouchable bittersweet memories.

He remembers sitting by the piano as an eight-year-old boy, trying in earnest to play the tunes his dad loved to listen to on his record-player. He remembers sitting in class, drawing his eyes away from the window in silent awe as the profound beauty of John Cooper Clarke’s writing set up camp in his heart. He remembers listening to The Strokes’ debut album with Jamie and Matt before begging his mum for a guitar, followed by the sheer contentment that consumed him as he strummed his new love by the light of a Christmas tree. He remembers countless shows - from shy appearances in small clubs to major headlining slots at massive festivals - and the thrill of terror and excitement that thrummed through his veins before each one. He remembers all of his loves and all of his heartbreak; remembers how the latter had always been overcome by a pervading sense of joy, as he dwelled on how lucky he was to do what he loved with his best friends by his side.

And he remembers the hotel. Remembers excitedly developing the concept and expanding the world and the characters within it. Remembers crafting the model by hand, carving his creation out of cardboard and wiling away the hours as it slowly came together. Remembers the rush of pride when the model was finally complete. Only he had never intended the hotel to be a real place, and he certainly had no inclination to run it.

Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino was always intended to be the setting of an album and nothing more. The fact that he’s currently confined within its walls is nothing short of impossible.

He doesn’t acknowledge that his vision has faded to black until colour slowly creeps back from the fringes. A persistent burn lingers in his chest and it occurs to him that he should probably breathe, but doing so only encourages another sob as hot tears spill down his cheeks. He lets himself be manhandled onto a chair without protest, his limbs reduced to jelly, and even when his eyes offer a glimpse of his worried friends gathered around him, all he can focus on is a section of wall directly ahead. A voice breaks through the roar of blood pounding in his head – a panicked “C’mon Mark, you’re scaring me now!” - but he cannot identify its owner, nor can he bring himself to look at his friends closely enough to see whose lips are moving.

A further memory spills forth from the unlocked chest, prompted by the frantic hands holding him in place. The setting appears to be Bonfire Night, judging by the ecstatic burst of colours lighting up the darkening sky and the acrid smoke wafting from the fire in the local park. They’re gathered in one of the lad’s gardens with a stolen pack of fireworks; far too young to be playing with them on their own, but too swept up in the rebelliousness of it all to care about the inherent risk. Jamie and Matt are chasing him around the garden with sparklers in their hands, mindful of the unlit fireworks planted on the grassy lawn, but his younger self decides to push his luck and edges just a little too close. He doesn’t realise his mistake until he trips and falls, taking his sparkler down with him and inadvertently lighting a fuse.

He clearly recalls the rush of panic and the realisation that he is far too close. All he can do is stare in wide-eyed terror as heat dances along the fuse, threatening to release the firework at any moment and send white-hot sparks of flame in his direction. Before he can brace himself for the exquisite pain however, two pairs of hands grasp his arms and yank him roughly to his feet, dragging him as far back as he can possibly go until he slams against a solid wall. Mere milliseconds later, a burst of sparks erupt from the ground and a high whistle shoots into the air, followed by a stunning explosion of scattered reds and golds.

They remain frozen for what feels like an eternity, until the panicked silence is broken by a high-pitched “Fuck!” on Matt’s part and the release of hysterical laughter on Jamie’s. All he can remember doing himself is staring up at the sky – eyes fixed on the lingering embers of the firework that nearly melted his face off – and noting at the back of his mind that neither Matt nor Jamie have released their crushing hold on him. No doubt they were experiencing the same aftershocks of terror that were gripping his tiny frame.

Eventually Jamie had let go, and he remembers his ten-year-old friend stepping forwards, donned in a navy-blue tracksuit, before turning to the others with a crooked smile and a shaky declaration of, “That were a close one, weren’t it Al?”

A similar form of fearful desperation clings to Jamie now, as he crouches by his side. There’s no relief in his friend’s features this time, only panic and an unmistakable sense of frustration borne of cluelessness. It occurs to him that his inhalations are still coming thick and fast and his head is swimming as he sways in his chair and yet, paradoxically, his mind feels infinitely clearer than it has in years.

“Mark?” Jamie asks cautiously, bringing a warm hand to his cheek in an attempt to anchor him. “Wanna tell us what’s goin’ on?”

The utterance of that name sends a flinch shooting through his body, and before he can even think, a hand shoots out and grabs Jamie by the wrist. The man stills, blue eyes widening as they draw level with a determined gaze, and though he can sense Matt and Nick edging closer, he doesn’t dare break eye contact as he utters his next words.

“Alex,” he hisses, chest heaving with the effort required to voice that old, familiar name. “My name is Alex.”

#Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Muse #Arctic Monkeys #my fic #writing

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sushiandstarlight · 4 years

Text

Of All The Beds In All The Hotels In All The World... Part 8

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven

Read this chapter on AO3

An answer to @onthedriftinthetardis‘ call for The Worst Fanfic Prompts

Rating is now bumped up to include lemons! Be mindful of that.

They were snogging now, there was no other word for it. Hands were venturing all over, in to new territory and old; seeking out any place that would ground them or draw that noise out of the other again.

It was Aziraphale who broke the kiss first, both of them panting into each other's space, unable to stop the roaming hands even as they gave their lungs a break. He coaxed Crowley around to face the counter again, mouth trailing kisses and nips along his shoulder.

“What do you want?”

“Angel,” Crowley hardly sounded like himself; well he did, he sounded like himself when he was lost to several bottles of good wine, “there's nothing-” and here he paused when Aziraphale found the spot at the base of his neck and worried it with his teeth, “there's nothing you could ask that I wouldn't give you.”

Aziraphale pressed up close behind him, rutting against him and inwardly cursing his still-clothed state.

“I want to feel you... I want to be inside you. Is that alright?” He was back to kissing Crowley's neck, making words difficult for the demon.

“Yes,” Crowley pressed back into him, reaching back to squeeze his hip, trying to draw him closer still. Aziraphale gently took Crowley's hands and pressed them to the countertop before stepping back to disrobe. He could feel Crowley watching him in the mirror and after the few moments it took him to get his clothes off, he met his eyes in the mirror.

“Beautiful, Angel.”

Aziraphale didn't know what to say to that and so went back to touching instead. He trailed his fingers gently down Crowley's spine, watching the man beneath him arch, his muscles tensing and relaxing under the barely-there touch.

“Please, Aziraphale, please.”

“No need to beg, darling, I've got you.” Aziraphale traced his fingers along the dimples above Crowley's cheeks for a moment before miracling them slick and sliding first one and then a second inside him. Crowley whined and bucked back against him until he added a third and crooked them just right, causing him to spasm and groan.

“'m ready, 'm ready... I want to feel you, Angel.”

Aziraphale stepped in closer to him, removing his fingers and aligning himself. He took one last look up and down the trembling man before him, hardly believing this turn of events. Yes, he'd planned this trip to bring them closer... But, he hadn't expected to get this close this quickly. All misunderstandings aside, things had gone better than he had anticipated.

He slid inside Crowley in one slow, steady push and when he bottomed out at last he felt a rush air around them. Looking up he found that Crowley's wings had spontaneously popped into existence. They gave one great downward flap before rising toward the ceiling, the feathers framing Crowley's torso, trembling gently.

“Alright, dear?”

Crowley groaned unintelligibly and pressed his hips back against him. Aziraphale took that as assent and began moving inside him, leaning over him to press his chest to his back and watch his face in the mirror. Crowley's eyes were shut tight, his mouth opened; the very vision of one in almost-pained pleasure. Aziraphale had never seen something so beautiful. He gripped Crowley's hair and pulled his head back slightly, forcing the demon to open his eyes.

“Look at you,” Aziraphale was mouthing the side of his neck now, ever increasing the pace of his thrusts, “look and see what I see.” Crowley looked into the mirror, meeting Aziraphale's eyes and then his own. The yellow had completely taken over and his slits were dilated. Pink sat heavily on his cheeks and sweat had gathered at his hairline. “I've seen more artwork than any human alive, my dear, many of them fresh and in person. But, none compare to what I see right now: your pleasure-filled face wreathed in these beautiful feathers. I will remember this moment with you, always.”

Aziraphale planted his feet more firmly and started thrusting in earnest, reaching around to wrap his hand around Crowley, keeping the same pace. Crowley keened, smacking the counter beneath him, body trapped in indecision between pressing back against those hips or forward in to the hand around him. Aziraphale buried his face in the back of his neck, breathing him in and fighting for more words- not just any words, the right ones.

“I..” Oh and he was close. He hoped Crowley was near with him, thought he might be, “Crowley, I love you.” He breathed it into his neck. The effect was instantaneous: Crowley cried out as he spilled over Aziraphale's hand, shudder beneath him and squeezing tightly around him. Aziraphale thrust once, more deeply, before releasing inside him. His knees gave a great wobble and he gripped the counter on either side of Crowley.

For a time the silence was filled with panting breaths. Aziraphale stood slowly and Crowley turned to face him, kissing him sloppily. Aziraphale backed him up to the counter and lifted him there to sit, not breaking the kiss but instead pressing deeper into him and sliding his fingers into the soft hair at the back of Crowley's neck. Crowley's wings rose up and surrounded them in a black down cocoon.

“I'll never have my fill of you.” Aziraphale was rutting against Crowley, neither of them fully sated even now.

“Ngk.”

“Not that I thought I would. I just... I didn't know the half of it, love.”

Crowley whimpered at the pet name, trailing a hand down Aziraphale's stomach and taking them both in hand, stroking them slowly. Aziraphale was kissing his throat, moving along his neck and to his ear.

“I want you all of my days, however many millennia that may be,” he paused to catch Crowley's earlobe between his teeth, “I want to wake you in the morning with kisses and hold you while you sleep. I want us to tease one another and love one another in the same shared space, wherever that might be.”

Crowley whimpered loudly, spouting a few syllables that wanted, desperately, to be words of reply, but they didn't deign to form themselves. He only moved his hand more rapidly and hoped that was enough.

“I want to watch you come apart in my arms every day in so many numerous ways, Crowley. I want to take you apart and put you together and be one with, you...” He was stuttering now, close again already.

“Nuh, uh, yes! I-I wan' that.” Crowley would've been proud to have formed the words, but he could hardly think, toes curling tightly against the backs of Aziraphale's thighs as he drew close again. Aziraphale's hand joined his, coaxing his fist tighter and faster until they both came again. Gentler this time, but with no less impact- trembling in each other's arms, the cloak of shifting dark feathers hiding them from the harsh light of the bathroom.

Aziraphale slid slowly from his arms to the floor, his knees finally giving way. He wrapped his hands around Crowley's ankle and pressed soft kisses to his calf. Crowley leaned back against he mirror with a soft thump, his wings limp to either side of him.

“'ziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

“I do, too.”

“Do what, darling?”

“Love you.”

Aziraphale smiled, stroking the calf in front of his face and giving it a squeeze. He was, after all this, at a loss for words at last.

TBC

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens fic #star light-reads #onthedriftinthetardis #worst fanfic prompts #so many beds #lemons

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jade4813 · 4 years

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The Lies We Tell Ourselves, Chapter 4

Fandom: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist

Title: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Rating: PG (I’m assuming it’ll stay there?)

Pairing: Zoey/Max

Synopsis: Max would do anything for Zoey. Including posing as her fake boyfriend to give her father one last “big moment” to celebrate with her. Nothing could possibly go wrong. After all, it’s only his heart that stands to be broken. Right?

Chapter: 4/?

Author’s Notes: Takes place after Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“So, you want to go on a date tonight?” Max asked, wheeling his chair around the edge of her desk, his tablet balanced on his lap. He saw her shoot a quick glance towards Joan’s office and resisted the urge to follow her gaze. Joan had taken the news of their “relationship” in stride – though, given her current romantic situation, she couldn’t exactly do otherwise. However, she had exercised enough oversight to order that Max report directly to her for the foreseeable future, heading off any accusations of preferential treatment. Still, if they were going to sell the fiction of their relationship, Zoey and Max had agreed they needed to act like a couple, even at work. And that meant being seen going on dates.

And – if Max was very lucky – maybe even flirting in the hallways. But he was getting ahead of himself.

“Ah, sure,” she agreed. “That’d be great.” When she offered him a small smile, he returned the gesture and wheeled back around to his desk. Their first official fake-date. He couldn’t wait.

As it turned out, however, fate had other plans. With Tobin and Leif tackled the next phase for Chirp, it was up to Zoey and Max to troubleshoot the newest problem with the SPRQ Watch. A little after four, Joan called them into her office to notify them that the watch had developed its newest glitch: it was swapping heartrate and step counter data, leading to wildly inaccurate (and somewhat alarming) readouts for both. When she declared they weren’t to go home until it was fixed, Max inwardly groaned. So much for their date. Their fake-date, he corrected himself quickly.

But later that night, hunched over his computer with only Zoey for company, he decided the situation could have been worse. At least he got to be with her.

“You know, you don’t have to stay,” she called out to him, leaning back in her chair to stretch.

Max was a little taken aback by her offer, and he replied, “It’s all right. I’m happy to help.”

She threw him a slight grimace. “Max, please. It’s silly to ruin your whole night. I can take care of this; I think I’m pretty close to identifying the problem. It seems silly for us both to stick around.”

Although he wanted to argue, he changed his mind when he got an idea. “If you’re sure?” he asked, standing and reaching for his jacket.

Zoey looked a little surprised. “Of course I’m sure! Go on! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

But she wouldn’t have to wait that long. When he returned to the office twenty minutes later, she was sitting quietly at her desk, staring morosely at lines of code. “Max? What are you doing here? I thought you went home.”

He held up one of the two bags he was holding, and he saw the exact minute the smell of the food it carried made its way to her desk because her eyes went wide and she straightened in her chair. “You really thought I’d abandon you here by yourself? I thought you knew me better than that,” he chided her gently. “I went for a food run. I figured if we couldn’t go out for our date – our fake-date – then I’d bring our fake-date back here to us.”

“That’s…very thoughtful of you,” she remarked, though she hesitated and threw one last look at her computer screen.

He knew what she was thinking. “Give me five minutes while I set up in the conference room, but then you really need to take a break to eat. The glitch will still be there after dinner, but you won’t be if you pass out from hunger. Plus, brains work better with food.”

“I had food!” she protested, her voice following him to the conference room. “I got some chips from the vending machine earlier!”

“Cheetos are not food,” he called back over his shoulder, sliding the door shut behind him with his foot. Glancing at her desk one more time to make sure she hadn’t followed, he hurried to set the scene.

It took Zoey more like six minutes to find a stopping point in the code she was reviewing and make her way to the conference room, and when she did, he smiled at her gasp of surprise. “What is all this?” she asked.

He held her chair for her as she lowered herself slowly into her seat, looking at the meal he’d spread out before her. “Deli sandwiches from that place you like down the street. They were out of all the good sides, so I’m afraid I was stuck with kale chips.” He paused, considering, before acknowledging, “Which I’m not entirely sure are an actual food. But if we get desperate, I’m sure the vending machine still has some Doritos I can scavenge. I figured you were probably sick of coffee by now, so I got you a cup of hot tea with a little honey instead.” Just the way she liked it.

She nodded absently, as though she was still trying to take it all in. When he saw her finger the edge of the Happy Birthday tablecloth in amazement as he joined on the other side of the table, he threw her a wry look. “Okay, so the convenience store a couple blocks away was pretty low on options. But a first date requires a certain amount of panache. Even a fake one. And this was the best I could do under the circumstances.”

“It’s…amazing. No, really. It’s perfect,” she rushed to reassure him. “But are those really a good idea?” she asked, nodding at the cluster of birthday candles he’d stuck into two cupcakes – makeshift candelabra – in the middle of the table. Darting a cautious look towards the ceiling, she looked around for a sprinkler system.

“Oh, right,” he agreed quickly. He’d been so swept away by the idea for this impromptu date, that thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Maybe we should blow those out. Getting soaked would probably put a damper on the ambiance.”

Zoey picked up one of the muffins and handed him the other. Before blowing it out, however, she suggested, “What do you think? Should we make a wish?”

One corner of his mouth quirked upward. He already had everything he wanted. Well…almost. “Why not? I guess it is tradition.” He watched as she closed her eyes, pondering her own wish. In the faint light of the candles as they cast a soft glow around her face, Max thought she had never been more beautiful. Then she pursed her lips and exhaled quickly, extinguishing the flame.

When she opened her eyes again and saw his candles were still lit, she threw him a puzzled frown. “You didn’t make a wish?”

“I was waiting for you to go first,” he answered. It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t entirely the truth. He’d been too captivated by her to even remember he was holding candles of his own. “I didn’t want to take the chance that we’d confuse any potential wish-granting fairy if we both went at the same time.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to reward his bad joke with a smile, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t have to ponder his wish. It was the only thing in the world that he really wanted. I wish… a voice in his mind whispered softly as he prepared to blow out the candles. I wish…

As they cleaned up after their meal, Zoey remarked, “There’s something I should probably tell you. I actually…well, I was afraid this would be weird. Going on a date with you. A fake date. Going on a fake date with you.”

He threw her a bland look. “Our first romantic fake-date is basically an impromptu birthday party that is somehow set nowhere close to either of our birthdays. That’s not weird?”

He answering bubble of laughter washed over him, sending shivers down his spine. “Okay, weirder,” she acknowledged. “This is actually…very sweet. I just thought, you know…we’ve been friends for a long time. I figured it would be awkward to transition that into a romantic relationship. Even a fake one. Didn’t you?”

Picking up a stray kale chip – which he was still convinced wasn’t real food – he popped it in his mouth as he shrugged. “Not really. I always figured the best relationships start with friendship. If the person you love is also your favorite person in the world, why would it be weird?” Not wanting to spoil the mood by reminding Zoey of the lingering shadow of his own feelings, he focused his attention on his empty chip bag, crumpling it into a tiny ball as he and joked, “I always thought it would be like hanging out with your best friend, only, you know, with more kissing.”

“Are we going to be doing that?” she asked softly, her words freezing him in his place. His arm had been lifted to toss his garbage towards the trash can, but he lowered it slowly to the table as he considered her question. “Kissing, I mean,” she clarified, though it was hardly necessary.

Max sighed, pulling his attention away from the mess as he met her eyes across the table. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t bring it up if it weren’t important,” she reassured him, skirting the edge of the table to stand by his died. “But when we were at dinner with David and Emily the other night, she started asking me questions when we were in the kitchen cleaning up.”

“Questions? What kind of questions?” he asked, surprised that she hadn’t mentioned it before.

She waved her hand in the air in a vague gesture. “Oh, I don’t know. Just…questions.” When he just stared at her, she huffed and admitted, “All right, so it kinda felt like a cross-examination, but she’s an attorney. You know how they are. I guess she thought we were acting a little weird.”

He frowned. “Weird how? You think she suspected the truth?”

Zoey looked down, her hands fiddling idly with a discarded napkin. “I don’t know. Maybe not that so much as…um…well, that our relationship may not be…going…well. I tried to explain that we just hadn’t been dating for very long so we were still in the awkward phase of our relationship, but I don’t know how long she’ll buy that.”

With a heavy sigh, Max ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. “Wow. Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, I guess. And, anyway, I thought it probably wouldn’t matter because we would, um, get used to…everything before we saw them again. I’m not trying to push you or anything, if you don’t want to kiss me –”

“That’s not the problem,” he interjected, shaking his head. “The problem is that I do want to kiss you. And that makes this…complicated.”

“But does it have to be?” she asked in a small, pleading voice. “We don’t have to overcomplicate this. We can just think about it like…like shaking hands. But with our mouths.” She gestured vaguely at her lips, which didn't help his ongoing battle to not stare longingly at them, imagining what they would feel like to kiss.

“So, basically, it’s nothing like shaking hands,” he pointed out in a dry tone.

Her tone was apologetic as she explained, “Like I said, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

She had a point, and he knew it. But that didn’t make this any easier. “I…I’m trying, Zoey. Can you give me just a little more time?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Of course.” The silence that fell between them was uncomfortable, filled with all the things they weren’t ready to address between them. Finally, she took a step back and said, “Anyway, I should probably get back to work.”

He nodded, gesturing at the table. “Go ahead. I’ll come help you when I’m done cleaning up.” He leaned over to collect the rest of the trash, but when she disappeared around the corner, he straightened with a sigh.

He should have realized Emily wasn’t going to be easily fooled. She was a very sweet person, when you got to know her, but she wasn’t the most trusting soul on the planet. She was also very protective of the people she cared about. If anyone was going to greet their story with skepticism, it would be her.

Max grimaced as he tossed out the rest of their trash. He knew he needed to get past this. He just didn’t know how. How could he kiss her and not want it to be real?

Because it was for Mitch. Because the whole reason they were in a pretend relationship was to make him happy in his final days. If he wasn’t going to commit wholeheartedly to their charade, what was the point? It had been unfair of him to offer to be Zoey’s pretend boyfriend if he wasn’t willing to follow through.

Or was that just an excuse? He ignored the question.

“Zoey, wait!” Max called out, following her out into the main office area.

“Yes?” she asked, turning around. She was standing by the hanging wicker chairs, where she’d sung her heart song to him not long before, but he tried not to think about that.

He stopped a couple of feet away from her, feeling inexplicably awkward and unsure. “You’re right. There’s no point in doing any of this if I’m not willing to do what it takes to sell it.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure? I really don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do.”

Max bridged the distance between them. “I’m sure. If it’ll make Mitch happy, it’s worth it, right?” She nodded slowly. “But I think…it’ll probably be a little weird. Our first kiss, I mean. Maybe we should – ah – get it out of the way now. So that we seem more comfortable with each other when we’re in front of your family.”

Zoey blinked in surprise and took a half step back? “Really? I don’t know if that’s necessary –” she protested weakly.

“You think we should have our first kiss in front of Emily? That’s like putting chum in the water. There’s no way she wouldn’t pick up on it!”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “I see your point. Okay. If you’re – if you’re sure.”

Moving slowly, as if a sudden movement would scare her away, he reached up and cupped her face in his hands. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

She did as he asked, then opened one eye and gave him a mildly suspicious look. “Why?”

Max grinned. Did she think he was going to prank her or something? “Because the first fake-kiss in a fake-relationship is very serious business. If you’re staring at me, I’ll get nervous and blow it, and then you’ll think I have terrible fake-kissing skills and fake-breakup with me,” he teased.

Biting back a smile, she closed her eyes again. Taking a moment to steady his breathing, he brushed his thumbs lightly across the high ridge of her cheekbones, down the soft skin of her cheeks, and along the curve of her jaw. He could do this. None of it was real. He just needed to remember that.

Leaning down, he hesitated when his mouth was inches from hers. The feel of her breath against his lips made him shudder with longing. It’s fake. None of this is real. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s all fake.

“Max?” she breathed, her voice soft and uncertain.

Before he could second-guess himself, he closed the distance between their mouths. It’s not real. He felt her lips part on a tiny gasp and moaned, one hand sweeping down her waist to her side as the other caressed the nape of her neck, toying with the soft curl of hair that wrapped around his fingers. It’s not real.

Her hands hovered above his chest, but when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in, she fisted her hands in his shirt and clung to him. He felt her murmur something against his mouth and hesitated, but her hands swept up his chest to his shoulders. It’s not real, he reminded himself. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, sweeping her tongue against his lower lip in a silent invitation.

It was enough to shatter his self-control. Crushing her against him, Max lifted her off her feet as his lips parted and he poured all of the love he’d struggled to hide from her for years into his kiss. Zoey…oh, god. Zoey. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, scraping it softly with his teeth. He couldn’t count the number of nights he’d spent thinking about her, fantasizing about her kiss. But even in his dreams had never captured the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath.

She tasted like honey.

Zoey made a soft sound as he turned with her in his arms, and he smiled against her mouth. “God, Zoey, I –” he began. I love you. He caught himself before he could say the words that would reveal him. The words she didn’t want to hear. The reminder was like a splash of cold water, pulling Max out of his romantic haze.

It’s wasn’t real, he reminded himself.

But it felt real.

Embarrassed that he’d allowed himself to get carried away – and ashamed that he’d allowed himself to forget it was all an act, if only for a moment – he rushed to put her back on her feet and step away. His body nearly betrayed him, his hands reaching to hold her again, and so he shoved them into his back pockets and retreated another step.

Should he apologize? She had lifted her hand to her mouth, her fingers pressing against her lips as she stared at him with wide eyes. Unable to meet her eyes, he looked down, absently smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt caused by her hands. As he often did when he wasn’t sure what to say, he resorted to humor. “So, uh, that should do the trick, don’t you think? I can’t imagine even Emily would be suspicious after that.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she agreed softly.

He ran a hand through his hair, which he realized only belatedly had been mussed by her hands. “I should – should we get back to work, or -?”

“No! That’s okay!” she blurted, confirming his worst fears. He had crossed the line – if not with his actions, than with the way they betrayed his emotions, reminding her of feelings she didn’t want to face. “I’m almost done here, anyway. You can head out.”

His stomach sank. While he normally would have insisted he remain to help, he needed some distance from her. Not to mention time to get his head on straight. “Okay. Yeah. Right,” he mumbled. His hands still ached to hold her, and he didn’t trust himself not to give in to the urge, so he shoved them into his pockets as he turned to go.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t.

At least…it hadn’t been for her. The problem was, it had been for him. So what was he going to do now?

#zoey's extraordinary playlist #zep #fanfiction #my fanfiction #the lies we tell ourselves #max x zoey #zoey x max #clarkeman #zax #zomax #zoey clarke #max richman

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split-n-splice · 4 years

Photo

This chapter picks up the scene where Ch25 Welfare Check left off. Ya, it's a short one, ya, it's fluffy (I think so anyway), but it leads into things. Not exactly romantic things, but we'll get there. There’s a reference to Bad is Good and Good is Bad (a precursor to this fic) in this chapter, so maybe check that out if you haven’t yet.

Ao3 | FFn | Chapter Art!

[Chapter Guide]

27. Aura of Others – 1

Drakken smirked back at her for a moment, until she wiped her own smile off her face. His gaze hardened to somber stone then and turned down to the cutting board, and Shego had to wonder inwardly if he was imagining it was his competition’s fingers he was slicing through, given the newfound vigor with which he was chopping.

“We leave Friday,” he said decisively. “ASAP.”

Normally she’d be inclined to pluck a slice of pepper from the board and pop off something like, “What’s the rush?” but instead she crossed her arms and bit her lip to stifle a groan. “Mmm, no can do,” she regrettably informed. “Can it wait until Saturday?”

Drakken’s brow creased. “Why? Have a convenience store to rob, do you?” he shot.

She reached for the little paper in her pocket but stopped herself. Her hands were just beginning to spark – her nervous tell. She hid them under the countertop as she reigned it in. “No,” she snorted. “I have a date.” Though maybe angel boy wasn’t so innocent after all. Maybe he’d be down for a little burglary.

The sound of the knife chop-chop-chopping through veggies paused. From the corner of her eye, she could see him staring. Her stomach lurched – she didn’t want to look directly at him – but she shot a frown his way. “You have a problem with that, Doc?” she snipped after a moment.

His eyes snapped back down. “No. Not at all,” he said brusquely and spun around with the cutting board to focus on the stove instead. He flapped a dismissive hand. “Go hog wild. As long as it doesn’t interfere with what I have cooking.”

She watched his back as he worked, grabbing the olive oil and spices from the cabinet to throw in a pan, moving awkwardly as if determined to keep his back to her. She got the sense she wouldn’t be the only one keen on a change of subject. “What are you cooking?” she lazily wondered. She meant to stay perched on the barstool. She didn’t mean to hop off and open up the fridge beside him or steal a glance at the pan.

He shrugged, eyes flickering as he threw a sidelong peek her way. “Fajitas. Do you like fajitas?”

“Better than fish tacos,” she mumbled under her breath.

Shego reached for a can of root beer but caught herself eyeing an elaborately marbled dessert sitting on the shelf below, protected by a sparkling glass lid. He either had a knack for it or he’d been working on his presentation, she mused to herself. She caught a distinct whiff of pumpkin. No wonder it smelled so sweet in the lair. Unbefitting for a villain as it was, her partner was unabashed as ever about his sweet tooth.

“Enough for a guest?” she piped wryly, ignoring the twist in her gut as she leaned back on the fridge to watch the rogue doctor’s frown give way to a strained smirk. For the moment, she focused on the relief that her family had left – which meant she could stick around for dessert.

With something other than value-menu Chow in her stomach, plus an artfully-plated slice of sinfully decadent cheesecake to top it off, she was happier still to sink down in the soft corduroy cushions of Drakken’s couch that evening, hugging a throw pillow under her cheek. She was even content enough to sigh and say nothing in objection when the goober of a man eagerly tuned in to a Space Passage film on television.

The movie was tough to focus on. Shego barely followed, though her droopy fatigued stare straying off toward Drakken time and time again that may have been to blame. He sat slumped in his recliner nearby, absorbed in the franchise sci-fi flick and oblivious to her eyes continuously straying from the hunky Commander Cain. Eventually she tore her eyes away and shut them, nuzzling into the throw pillow and trying not to consider how much it smelled like him, staving off the smirk when the very idea infected her brain.

The room was mostly dark by the time her eyes opened again. The television was off, and only the lamp on the end table was left on to dimly light the den. There was a hand gripping her shoulder, and she turned her bleary eyes up at the dark shape of Drakken kneeling next to her. He smelled of booze again. He really shouldn’t have been leaning close enough she could smell it on his breath, but there he was, ballsy as ever when he’d had a bit to drink.

He swayed unsteadily before plopping over to sit on the floor, and just about melted against the edge of the couch. Shego scooted back a little bit as he rested his cheek on the cushion, his sickly-dark eyelids falling shut. “Why don’t you ever sleep in your own bed?” he grumbled to the corduroy.

She shifted, propping up on an elbow and rubbing her eyes to distract herself from how close his face had been. “Because I hate the springs,” she fibbed, and stifled a yawn. She didn’t want to admit that the mattress was one more bad night away from being completely unusable, if that. She slept better on the couch anyway.

The boozy man heaved a long sigh and hefted himself to sit in an almost upright position. She might be inclined to lecture him if the drinking habit kept up. “I suppose you want a ride home now, hm?”

“You couldn’t ask before you started drinking?” she groused. She bit back further chiding for now, giving a grimace and shake of her head. Even if he was in a state to drive, she wouldn’t want to go. She wasn’t ready to be tempted so soon by an addictive sleep aid, one of the scarce few things that promised relief. Too bad it came with side effects. Sinking back down into the pillow, she grumbled, “Go to bed, Doc.”

Drakken grunted as he stood up on wobbly legs. “Yes, ma’am.” He spun toward her as he backed away, kicking the coffee table and nearly falling as he went, and Shego wondered if he even knew what he was saying as he gave an awkward bow and made an even more awkward offer. “Well, if you care to join – i-it’s fit for a king – I mean, um – there’s room. ‘Night!”

She stared as he quickly retreated, shuffling and tripping his way out of the room. She didn’t hear his door click shut, and she stared for an extra moment as she deciphered the invitation before her face flushed pink.

The whole point of crashing at the lair tonight was to escape the temptation of popping another special little pill. And the whole reason for the temptation in the first place was a lack of control over an accursed otherworldly gift she was still battling to tame.

So it didn’t make a lot of sense to sit up, kicking away the fleece throw blanket that had been courteously draped over her. Her eyes remained on the door tucked away in the niche, and she gripped her knees tight enough her nails dug through the denim. She drew a deep breath. She wasn’t warm. He didn’t make her warm. She inwardly repeated it like a mantra, even as she tugged the collar of her blouse, blowing down it in a futile effort to cool herself.

It didn’t make sense when she stood either, and it made less sense to gravitate toward that door when she really should have been turning around and heading out the other to go home, or to her own room, or something.

It was cracked – she’d expected that – but she didn’t expect herself to raise her knuckles to rap lightly and push it open. Curiosity reeled her in, hook, line, and sinker.

Like the den, Drakken’s bedroom was dark, save for a reading lamp perched on the shelf built into the headboard of the oversized bed, casting a warm yellow glow. She’d stolen a peek once before when the lights were on, weeks ago, and silky scarlet bedding indeed fit for a king had been alarming then, but the bedspread had since been replaced with something more suitable to the new season. She could barely see his shape beneath the puffy blue comforter, and she couldn’t help musing how small and lonely he looked in the huge bed. Fidgeting anxiously with the beads around her wrist, her feet carried her forward before she could think twice.

The spring water stream cutting through the room was like a clear line warning her not to come any closer. Shego paused at the edge as a distant sense of déjà vu echoed at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t help reaching for her throat.

There’d been a warning line before, years ago. He’d crossed it with zero regard, though it had been clearly painted across the floor of her chamber at the research facility, marking how close was too close to the volatile subject she’d been reduced to. Maybe she should have taken the trench as a similar warning.

She crossed it anyway.

But not before clipping off the stupid bracelet and stuffing in the pocket of her jeans. It hadn’t felt so much like jagged rocks digging to her wrist until now. It didn’t even feel right in her pocket, and she had half a mind to discard it in the flow of murky water.

Heat rose around her collar again, but each step closer had yet to feel like an outright mistake as she circled cautiously around to a vast open side of the bed.

Drakken lay bundled on his side, something fuzzy and brown tucked under his chin as he scratched away lazily in his little leather notebook. He licked a finger and flipped a page to start on another before Shego cleared her throat softly, and his heavy-lidded eyes cut up to her through the skewed glasses. The book snapped shut and was quickly tucked under his pillow, one of several heaped on his bed, all bearing miss-matched pillowcases in shades of blue or red or grey.

Shego took half a step back when he jerked upright, catching his spectacles before they could fall off his face. He fixed the glasses on his nose, jaw unhinged, and she tried not to stare back. The once-over he gave her didn’t help the rising warmth she had to steel herself against with a deep breath.

His mouth moved, and she didn’t catch what came out, but she was sure it was confused gibberish anyway.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously on him. The open space was inviting, offering ample room to toss and sprawl. “Do you promise not to touch me?” she asked carefully. It shouldn’t be hard to keep to the edge. The size of the bed was absurd really, at least for someone so solitary.

She shouldn’t be considering.

Drakken both shook his head and nodded, and looked rather confused himself in that moment. He all but tore off his glasses then, folding them up and discarding them to the shelf, as if to willingly blind himself so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. “Ah…yes?” he practically croaked.

“Pinky swear?”

Without question, he raised a hand and stuck out his pinky, but retracted it and pursed his lips with a hum. “That would be touching you,” he said absolutely, sounding a little too straight-laced and polite for a guy wearing an old rock-n-roll shirt to bed.

“Good catch.” A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. Shego fidgeted, but the buttons of her blouse shouldn’t have been what she fidgeted with. “I’ll kick your ass if you do,” she added without the conviction to back up the threat, and bit her lip as she hoped he wouldn’t prove crossing the line to be a mistake. She hoped he was as blind as she suspected he was, but even if he wasn’t, she might not mind the gawping as long as he kept his end of the deal.

She didn’t know what she was thinking, because the sake of comfort couldn’t be the sole reason for shedding her layers. She was warm, sure, but she could ignore the fact as she smirked impishly at the alarmed stare snapping down to her waist as her fingers popped off the last button in question. She almost laughed when stark uncertainty dawned on the tipsy man and he bit down hard on his lip, completely frozen and holding his breath. No sooner had Shego stripped down to her camisole did he throw himself back down, back to her before he could witness her stepping out of her jeans as well.

She couldn’t say she was all that let down he’d lost the brazenness that seemed to come hand-in-hand with alcohol lately. She wasn’t terribly offended by the cold shoulder either. If anything, it came as a comfort, as she could breathe easier when she wasn’t being watched. She was pushing her luck already, and she didn’t need to cross anymore lines tonight. She’d gone far enough. If she could just withstand this without the drug, then she could withstand Friday night.

A deep breath to calm her nerves once more, and Shego slipped into the soft cushy bed and under the heavy cover. She tried not to think back on the unwelcome wakeup call she’d had the last time she’d nodded off somewhere she shouldn’t have. Staring at Drakken’s back well out of reach, she relaxed, convinced he wouldn’t prove this to be a mistake after all.

The inferno of alien fire raging to be let out died down and she felt a few degrees cooler as she unwound with remarkable ease. Maybe she was being just a little too trusting, but she’d grown foolishly comfortable with this scientist over the past several weeks. She was banking on the rising villain to stay trustworthy.

Every blink stung, but rather than shutting them for good, her tired eyes strayed from Drakken’s back to the brown thing that had been discarded, forgotten on the sheets between them. She raised her brow but decided not to mention it until his own measured breathing had relaxed. By then, she couldn’t hold a small laugh back any longer. “You sleep with a teddy bear?”

By the level of irritation in the man’s harrumph, he’d nearly been asleep. She caught a glimpse of his purple face as he patted around behind himself for it, grumbling unhappily, “It was my dog’s.”

The room felt cold suddenly, which might have been a welcomed sensation if she were at home battling the resolve not to pop a pill. The thought of Drakken all alone in the great big bed crossed her mind again, and she tried to imagine him in the lab with a dog around to remind him to take a break for fresh air and a walk. She kept her mouth shut about the little memento, muttering instead, “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“Yes, well, there are a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

“But I could know them,” she whispered over, watching his shoulders tense. She wriggled a bit to get comfortable, and maybe a couple inches closer. “What kind of dog?”

Drakken deflated with a long weary sigh. “He’s…was a beagle.”

She decided not to press it further. Now was the time for sleep, not for idly chitchatting like middle-schoolers at a sleepover. She was ready to shut her eyes, but suddenly Drakken shifted and her heavy lids snapped back open as he reached for the lamp. “Leave it on,” she blurted.

“Why?”

“Because – um.” She zipped her lips. Because she didn’t want to be sitting in the dark, with pinpricks of her nerves standing out like stars in the night. But wasn’t that why she was lying here anyway? To challenge her nature? She didn’t need him accusing her of being afraid of the dark. That would only worsen her condition and get her wound up again. “Nevermind. Whatever. Hit it.”

And the room went dark, save for the red glow of the digital alarm clock on the shelf.

As her eyes adjusted, she heard the shuffle and felt the slight shift across from her, still safely out of reach. He’d turned to face her now, the faint glint of light shining off his lenses indicating he’d donned his spectacles again. Nerves fluttered back to fan the alien fire at the thought that maybe he only needed the dark to get gutsy again. His pensive hum didn’t help. She was ready to snap at him to take a picture, it would last longer.

“You’ve got freckles?”

“What—”

“Like radium,” said Drakken between yawns. “Radium freckles.” No doubt about it, he was looking at her.

She wanted to roll over and bundle up so he couldn’t see any of her skin whatsoever, but she couldn’t even tuck a stray arm under the cover, momentarily frozen. She didn’t need to glance at herself to know the little pinpricks of plasma were firing off. Even her breath felt hotter now, the more she tried to restrain it. She shifted, hugging herself and rubbing a bare arm as if she could rub away the pinpoints of plasma looking for an exit. She wished for a fleeting second that she had the damn bottle of pills handy after all.

“Doesn’t it freak you out?” she wondered a little too crossly.

“Nah,” Drakken grunted. “It’s rather pretty. Dangerous things tend to be.”

Her brow furrowed. It was reassuring, and comforting, and it made her warm in the worst way – but it was midnight. It was time to shut up. So she grabbed one of the many pillows piled up and threw it in the general vicinity of his head. “Go to sleep, Doc.”

#The Company You Keep fic #drakgo #Drakken #Shego #Kim Possible #(Kim isn't in this chapter but whatever)

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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Forget Me Not Chapter 8 ~Cuddles and Talks~

We're just going to cuddle. That's what he said to Claire before they left Lallybroch earlier. He groaned inwardly as Jamie replayed the images of them alone in his house, surrounded in quiet with all time restraints fading away. He knew he was setting himself for torture, knowing full well that this time there would be no distractions nor intrusions from his family. As much as he fought it, visions of Claire, naked on a pile of blankets by the fireplace, the light of the fire illuminating her pale skin, kept popping in his head. The thought made his cock twitch and tightened his muscles to the point of pain. It was going to be a very long night, and he wondered if cuddling would be enough to assuage the aches from years of wanting her. But they needed to have that talk before anything else went any further, and he had only five days to erase whatever doubts lurking behind Claire's eyes.

Willie's reaction from earlier didn't go unnoticed. What the fuck was that all about? Jamie wanted to believe that it was nothing other than an overprotective older brother's response. Although he was relieved the rest of his family took their news in a stride, he couldn't help but feel the gnawing sensation in his guts that Willie's reaction was more than brotherly.

As he opened the door to his house, Jamie gestured Claire to precede him. "I'll get the fire started... and...uhm...ye can make yersel' comfortable," he said, trying to swallow what felt like a cotton ball lodged in his throat. Christ, keep it together! The last thing ye need is Mick Jagger doing his stand up routine! Focus!

"I'll prepare the drinks. I saw you slipped a bottle of whisky in your bag, but I brought some red wine too." Claire walked in, kicking off her ankle boots and taking out bottles from her duffel bag that she placed on the floor in the process.

Following her to the kitchen to look for matches, Jamie's eyes involuntarily skimmed the length of her body as she slipped off her jacket and placed it on the worktop. His gaze settled on the black pants she wore, which was way too snug in the curves department. Good Lord, he figured restraint was going to be more difficult than he thought when he felt his heart relocate to his throat. He could feel it beating there painfully, making breathing difficult.

Thanks to boobs, Jamie first became aware of Claire's womanly charms at a tender age of twelve when one night she had agitatedly barged into his room, holding a tiny bra in her hand. At age ten, she was an early bloomer, and like his ma, he hadn't failed to notice the changes that were occurring with her body. "Ma says I have to start wearing these because my tits jiggle when I run," she wailed while waving the offensive undergarment in the air.

Naturally, his attention had been immediately drawn to her breasts. Alarmed like she was with her physique's transformation, part of him had been curious what it would have felt like to touch that part of her growing anatomy. Although guilt, shame and confusion plagued his thoughts, his love for Claire was always at the forefront of his mind.

It had all started when three older boys stole his brand new bicycle. He was only ten, and she had been with him, on their way back home from school. The bullies had pushed Jamie off his bike, and Claire bravely fought back swinging his cricket bat at the offenders. She ended up being propelled into the mud and having her eyeglasses smashed. Instead of crying, she had run to Jamie to console him. "It's alright, Jamie, I'm here for you. I chased the bullies away. Don't you worry, I have a bit of pocket money saved, and I'll buy you a new bike. You know that I love you, don't you?" she had crooned in his ears, sounding like a sweet angel that she was, her small hands rubbing his back.

From that moment on, looking into her huge honey, coloured eyes, he knew he would love her forever and swore to himself to protect her whatever harm or hurt came her way.

"Jamie, is there hot water? I would like to have a shower first." Snapping out of reverie, he noticed she had turned around, puzzled features staring back at him, golden eyes big and questioning. Why does she look all flustered all of a sudden?

Suddenly aware that his expression must have spoken of all sorts of filthy intentions, he mentally kicked himself on the arse. Remedying that split second of awkward moment, he closed the distance between them. Framing Claire's jaw with both hands, he kissed her briefly, careful not to make body contact. It was important to have his wits about him and not be distracted from what he had planned. "Aye, we had the boiler installed last week. Ye go have a shower, and I'll bring the drinks in the living room," he replied hoarsely. He needed a few moments to start breathing again and hopefully, by the time he started the fire and prepared their bed for the night, he would have regained control of his runaway thoughts.

Twenty minutes later, hearing Claire exit the bathroom, he lit the scented candles on the fireplace mantel, muttering to himself that all his preparations weren't any form of seduction. Yeah right, Fraser lad, who are ye kidding! He had five days to make their time together count and convince her that she's the only woman for him even though he would be leaving her side to help Annalise for an indefinite period. He didn't want to leave her doubting his love for her, fully aware of the many insecurities she had. And not to forget Frank, that damn prick , who had his eyes set on his girl. Shaking his head to refocus on the present, he quickly scanned the room, glancing at the warm glow from the fireplace, the flickering light of the candles and the mattress in the centre of the room, layered with blankets and pillows. Satisfied with his handiwork, he poured whisky in two tumbler glasses.

Claire walked in with bare feet wearing one of his shirts, the hem dangling just above her knees. His whisky glass froze midair as he watched her twirl her damp locks into a bun on top of her head, keeping it in place with a hairband. She looked like she just stepped out from his wet dreams. Christ, reel it in, lad. Stick to the plan...it's cuddles and talks, mind? "Enjoy yer shower, Sassenach?" He thought he sounded like he swallowed a handful of sand with crushed glass. How could he ever withstand leaving her when its time to go to France?

"I did." She paused for a while before saying anything further, her eyes lighting up as she took in the room. "Aww, Jamie, this is so romantic and cosy. Are you trying to seduce me?" She laughed, the words coming from her own mouth seemed to have startled her, making crimson slowly creep up her neck.

Ignoring her question, he stifled a groan. "Do ye like it?"

She nodded eagerly, the smile on her face making his chest ache. "Sorry for nicking your t-shirt. I prefer them to my pyjamas."

So do I. For as long as he could remember, Claire had taken to using his t-shirts as her nightwear, and he loved the idea of her wearing something that belonged to him. Refilling his own glass, before handing her a tumbler of whisky, he hoped the task would lower his pulse enough to enable him to concentrate. "Nick away...ye look better in it than I do."

"Na-uh, not true. You fit in it nicely in all the right places," Claire replied softly, her eyes animating playfully as she took a sip of the single malt, a different hue of red spreading across her cheeks.

Jamie took a healthy gulp of his own drink, instantaneously feeling the lethargic effect of the whisky, making him loosed-tongue and relaxed. "Christ Sassenach, keep talking like that and ye're going to see what's underneath really fast." Taking the glass from her, he turned away to place their tumblers on the floor with a resounding whump. "Come here."

Claire didn't hesitate. In a heartbeat, she was stood before him, her arms around his neck, and on tiptoes gazing into his eyes. She tilted her head to the side and quirked an eyebrow. "You're still in your jeans. Don't tell me you're going to sleep in that...that can't be comfortable," she breathed, making his head whir.

"Aye, I'll change later," he replied a little too gruffly, one hand unconsciously raking through his hair. Jamie was grateful for the snugness of his jeans, hiding the torturous throb of his cock, that seem to be in a full protest mode, begging to be freed. He stirred the conversation to a safer subject. "I wish I had more comfortable furniture in the house...maybe ye could help me once the house is completely done."

"Jamie, don't worry about it. Making a house a home takes time. Besides, it's a charming set up for cuddles and talks."

"Aye, that's the plan." God help him, he wanted to take it slow, but here they were in an empty house with a girl he loved almost all his life. She was so trusting, provocative with a side of cute, and her mouth was poised for a kiss. He knew if he succumbed to that kiss, he wouldn't be able to stop this time around. The plan was to spend the evening talking, and he was determined to see it through. Reluctantly, he eased her back away from him with a kiss on the nose. "Let's get ye under the covers, shall we?" he suggested in a low voice.

She nodded with a small smile, a slight frown puckering at her brows. "Alright, then." Turning away from him, she lowered herself onto the mattress, and instead of going under the blankets, she sat cross-legged, hugging a pillow close to her chest.

Jamie followed suit, lying on his side to face her, propping his head on one big hand with elbows braced on the pillow. He badly wanted to have her in his arms, but he knew if he so much as touch her, there would be no talking done. "Ye ken it's tearing my guts out to leave ye behind...ye only need to say the word, and I'll stay," he started.

Claire's head bobbed down as she tugged at the corner of the pillow, contemplating her response. When she finally looked up, she had a cloudy look on her face. "If you don't go, Jamie, you'll never forgive yourself, and if I told you to stay, one day you will resent me for it if ever the worse happens. And we have to remind ourselves, there's also a possibility you could become a father..." she said ever so quietly that he had to strain his ears to hear her.

He was distracted by the tension forming in her shoulders, but he refrained from reaching out. "And if I was the father, would that change anything between us?" Jamie studied her expression and tried to be quiet about letting go of the breath he'd been holding.

"I can't answer that, Jamie. I honestly don't know how I would feel. This...us...it's all new to me...and I'm just coming to grips with this whole transition of our relationship from what we were then to what we are now. I'm still trying to digest the fact that ma and da are alright with this...meaning us."

Jamie straightened and became aware of a dull ache ticking at his cheek. "Sassenach, do ye doubt our love for one another?" God, he was so in love with her, he wanted to bang his head on the floorboard.

Her eyes widened, seemingly shocked at the question. "Oh God no, not at all. I don't doubt the love between us. It's always been there, and always will be no matter what happens. We've had that since we were kids and that doesn't simply go away. But we can't deny that there's a possibility...that us...what we have now, our relationship...it might not work. And if that happens, I still want you in my life. You're too important to me, and it would devastate me if I lost you," she murmured, now tugging at the hem of Jamie's t-shirt that she was wearing.

"Ye'll never ever lose me, Sassenach. And why even go there...what makes ye think our relationship won't work? Because if it's about Annalise that ye're worried about, I will stay." He could feel an ooze of panic seeping out of his heart. Christ, where is this conversation leading to?

"No.No. It's not Annalise." She sighed, taking a deep breath. "Did you know that, on my way back home on the train, all I could think of was Frank? I thought I was in love with him and then..." Jamie flinched at the mention of Frank.

"And then I kissed ye..." he said softly.

"Well, there's that among other things." She paused, unsure of what to say next. "Jesus Christ, damn it, sometimes I wish I had previous relationships to compare this...us to. It's so bloody confusing that I can hardly form a sentence that would do justice to what I actually want to say. What if...the bond we have is merely sibling love, and we're both mixing it up..."

"Hold on a minute and stop right there, Sassenach..." Jamie was more confused than ever as a multitude of thoughts bounced within the walls of his brain.

Without warning, Claire got up and grabbed her whisky. "No, Jamie, I won't stop. You brought me here to talk, right? So we're going to talk. I'm confused because...because... you're giving me mixed signals..."

"Wh-what mixed signals? What do ye mean by that?" He watched her walked towards the fireplace and downed her whisky, an audible swallow coming from her throat.

Claire shook her head, staring into the fire. "When you first kissed me...it was very nice. No...it was more than nice. It was mind-blowing. I felt things...you know...I've never felt before," she stammered, trying to catch her breath. "And I wanted more, and every time I wanted more, you always pulled away. So it got me thinking, maybe you're confused about your love for me. And here I thought...when two people are in love, they can't keep their hands away from one another. Well...I can only go along with all those film romance I've watched. Maybe...just maybe, you're the one who's confused about us. I mean, I get it, really. I experienced first hand how I mistook my childhood infatuation for Frank for love and boom, just like that, suddenly all those years of thinking I loved him, was nothing but an illusion. Perhaps it was a disguise to what I actually felt about you because I always thought it would be unethical to fall in love with a foster brother. So I understand if that's what you're actually feeling and the kiss we had just confused you into thinking you were in love with me. That's the reason why you want to talk, right?" By now, she was babbling, still resisting to look at Jamie.

He stared at her with stunned disbelief. Here he was trying to do the right thing by taking it slow lest he scared her, and she thought he was pushing her away. He sighed, a load lifting off from his shoulders. After Claire's statement, he knew, there was no chance of getting his pulse to simmer down now. Getting up from the mattress, he walked to where she was stood and from behind, he reached out to take the glass from her hand and placed it on the mantelpiece. Claire stood still, not saying a word. He sensed she was trying her hardest to suppress the tears threatening to fall.

Dipping his head, Jamie grazed his lips against the side of her neck, resisting the urge to touch her. "Ye have nae idea, Sassenach, have ye?" he murmured close to her ears, his heart slamming against his chest. "Ye have nae idea how much it pained me not to touch ye the way I want to. Though I am less than impressed with what's going on through that pretty head of yers, I am rendered speechless by yer explanation of my actions." He leaned in closer, burying his face on the curve of her neck. "Now, what I am about to do is open to yer interpretation. And I look forward to hearing yer accounts of my efforts."

Claire spun around bringing their faces inches from each other, his one hand pressed against the edge of the mantelpiece, as he drifted towards her. She blinked like a madwoman, trying to read his eyes. "What are you trying to say?" she croaked.

Without warning, his mouth brushed against hers in agonising slowness. He wasn't rushed as he stared directly into Claire's widening honey coloured eyes, merely breathing against her lips, their warm breaths mingling. "I think we're done talking, for now, Sassenach. May I touch ye?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes dropping to her heaving breast.

..........

Holy Christ in cheese and crackers!

Nodding shakily, Claire cleared her throat to speak, but no words formed her lips. She lifted her head and saw eyes she'd never seen before. There was no longer a trace of the sweet Jamie she knew and in place was a man in severe need, the pain of sexual frustration etched across his face. He brushed his lips once more against hers, his breath tasting of whisky, and male while looking at her with erotically focused eyes.

Jamie's hand hesitantly went under the hem of her shirt, and when she didn't object, his fingertips slid slowly to the side of her hips, tucking a blunt digit under the thin strip of her lace panties. Holding his breath, his hands stilled as if in anticipation. She almost cried as the movement ceased and his mouth continued to hover over hers, denying her of kisses. "I can stop right now, Sassenach," he rasped, his breath turning more shallow by the second. "Just say the word. But once I touch ye again, I dinna ken if I'll be able to stop."

Hearing a touch of a moan in his low expulsion of air, a delicious shiver coursed through her. Before the cogs of her brain could begin to function again, which seemed to be stuck in suspended animation, she placed both her hands on his chest. "Jamie, please make love to me." Her words seemed to ring out in the room, surprising herself.

Silence hung heavy between them as she watched Jamie's throat work as he swallowed. "Are ye sure, Sassenach? I don't want ye to have any regrets."

She touched her parted lips against his neck, extracting a guttural exhale from his throat. "There will be no regrets, and I will not change my mind," she said. To prove her point, she slowly took off her top, allowing them to fall on the floor and dipped her fingertips to the waistband of his jeans to pull him towards her.

Jamie's breath hitched, and she looked up to see his face. His eyes were closed as he swallowed convulsively. She was so surprised she could evoke this sort of reaction from him. When he finally opened his eyes, he stared down at her momentarily, his darkened blue resting on her naked breasts. "Christ Sassenach, I still can't believe that ye have absolutely no idea how beautiful ye truly are."

The reverence in his voice brought tears to her eyes. For as long as she could remember, it was always Jamie that reminded her she was beautiful. Memories of taunts and rejections faded into obscurity as her love poured out for the only person that mattered. Suddenly feeling conscious of her nakedness, she smiled shyly as she reached out to touch him. Muscles rippled beneath her fingertips as she smoothed her hands over his broad shoulders, his arms and sculpted chest. Elevating her feet onto her tiptoes, she kissed him, slipping her tongue into his warm mouth to stroke his. "And you taste of whisky," she said huskily, against his lips.

With a groan, Jamie took over, moulding one his hands on the back of her head, angling it for a deep kiss as his other free hand held her lower back against his arousal. He dragged his mouth along the underside of her chin, pressing a trail of hot kisses before stopping to playfully to nip at the side of her neck. When she moaned, he unexpectedly lifted her into his arms, making her squeak in surprise. "Time for bed," Jamie teased, the corner of his eyes crinkling. Although there was humour in his voice, there was raw hunger too evident in his expression.

After easing her gently on the middle of the mattress, Claire watched through hooded eyes as Jamie stripped naked, before prowling toward her like a sleek animal about to devour his prey. Slowly he stripped off her panties, exposing her only for a second before his tongue teased her wet folds with a lick, before moving upward, leaving trails of kisses on its path. Her mouth went dry as she stared at his jutting cock. Good Lord! Expecting him to go on top of her, she was surprised when Jamie laid on his side, his arousal pressing against her thigh.

"Are ye alright, Sassenach?" he asked gently, his free hand pushing away a strand of hair away from her face. She could only nod and smile, feeling shy with the newly discovered intimacy.

Before she could guess his next move, he slipped a hand down ever so slowly between her legs to gently part them, eliciting a gasp to escape her lips. "Jamie...what are..."

Smothering her next words, he lowered his head to kiss her, his tongue stroking her lips while his fingers caressed the insides of her thighs with long gentle sweeps, making Claire whimper. "Oh God, ye're so wet, Sassenach..." he muttered under his breath, before running his mouth down to her breast to suckle a nipple.

A hard shudder went through Claire's body, making her gasp involuntarily. Encouraged by his bold moves, she ran her hands behind his back and kissed him back boldly, her hips writhing eagerly with each stroke of his finger. "Jamie, please...I want you on top of me," she breathed as shivers sparked through her, his caresses coaxing impatient movements.

A vibration ran the length of him as Jamie shifted his body, bracing his forearms on either side of her, giving Claire his weight little by little, both of them moaning at the contact. "Ye're so beautiful, Sassenach. I can't believe I'm with ye like this," he gritted, his hips grinding down, pushing the hard length of his cock between her thighs.

Squirming underneath his weight, a throbbing ache started to bloom between her legs, her hips pushing upward for more friction. "Jamie, please..." she begged.

Once more, Jamie slipped a hand between their bodies, and then his fingers were there, delving inside spreading moisture around her opening. He groaned as he surged over her, stopping to give her a hard, bruising kiss. Reaching for the pocket of his jeans, he took a foil packet and ripped it open with his teeth, his hand vanishing between them to cover his erection. "Look at me, Sassenach," Jamie bit out through his teeth. "I want ye to look me in the eye when I take ye."

Whimpering, she could only nod as she watched the sweat beading on his upper lip, her hands moving erratically all over his flexing muscles.

He bent his head to suckle on one of her breasts again, his tongue flicking at her sensitive nipple before positioning himself at the opening of her centre. Taking his cock in hand, he rubbed the throbbing tip around her moisture, moaning out loud as if he was a starving man.

Claire instinctively hiked her legs up high around his waist and pressed his taut arse with her heels as an indication of urgency, while bracing herself from the discomfort that threatened.

"I'm going deeper now," Jamie groaned, pushing his hips forward and letting loose a string of curses over her head. "Oh Christ, Sassenach, ye're so tight...so, so tight." Trembling with the strain of holding himself still, he stared into Claire's eyes. "Are ye alright? Did I hurt ye much?"

The sudden pressure of Jamie's penetration made her eyes water. "Just a little. But don't hold still, keep moving Jamie," she whispered as she shifted her lower body around, raining kisses on his jawline.

He complied, his jaw rigid with great restraint while his hips ploughed of their own volition, his large hands lifting Claire's hips tightly against him, controlling, rolling her with him in a primal rhythm. "Oh my God, Christ, Sassenach...ye feel so good."

The burn between her legs began to ebb as pleasure took hold, Claire moaning deliriously, as tension built within her core aching to be released. Her hands travelled down his muscular back to settle on the swell of his arse, pulling him close.

Grunting, Jamie shifted his hips slightly, angling his body so that part of him rubbed against her sensitive flesh. Staring down at Claire, he pumped his hips harder, his tongue tracing a path across her lips as he breathed heavily, pressure threatening to erupt from his balls. Then he felt her body quaking violently underneath him, her whole being gripping him tightly.

Claire's voice locked down, only allowing a strangled scream to emerge as she arched off the mattress, waves of pleasure engulfing her. Jamie gripped the underside of her knees, grinding her down, faster and faster, Claire watching in fascination, as Jamie found his own release, the cords of his throat stood out, his mouth open and her name on his lips. "Sassenach, Christ..."

Then they were both still, catching their breaths and holding on to each other, her legs still wrapped around his body. For Claire, it was the most incredible moment in her young life as she witnessed Jamie being rocked with tension to being utterly devoid of it.

Moments later, Jamie lifted his head, searching her eyes as his hands cradled her face. As unspoken thoughts, but understood passed between them, Claire gave an answer to the silent question Jamie sought. "Jamie...I'm completely and irreversibly, totally in love with you," she said hoarsely, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Jamie gave her a brilliant smile, his handsome face lighting up with satisfaction. "Och Sassenach, I'm glad to hear it. It was all worth the effort to pry that answer from ye." Then he collapsed to her side, gathering her into his arms, and they both fell asleep with her head wedged beneath his chin.

#melodyheart #forgetmenot #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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ronninoir · 4 years

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Can I Steal You for a Second? CH10

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

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Start from the beginning Chp 1 on AO3

Chapter 10

Chat Noir had barely set foot on the rooftop when Ladybug burst out with, “Okay, what is wrong with you?”

He blanched a little at her forwardness. “Ummm, hello to you too.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. What’s bothering you?”

“How do you know anything could be bothering me, I just got here.” He tried to make his tone light but the stress he had been feeling since the Rose Ceremony peeked through in his response.

“Because, at the Rose Ceremony, you...” Ladybug paused, as if searching for the words. She was moving her hands in this adorable way, like she was able to grab the word she was looking for out of the air and pull it into her sentence. Finally, she said with a huff, “You were acting odd. Like something serious was bothering you. More distant than you had been at the cocktail party.”

Chat inwardly cursed himself. He thought that his model smile and a solemn voice would have been enough to convince everyone, his father, the producers, and the girls, that everything was okay. He should have expected that Ladybug would have known better.

“I’m sorry.” He said, having a seat on the edge of the rooftop. “I found out some frustrating news right before we started filming and I tried my best to hide it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ladybug, now seated next to him, asked as she placed her hand on his knee. “Anything you tell me won’t leave this rooftop, I promise.”

Chat paused, wishing he could talk to Plagg about this. Plagg had known the whole time and he had also gotten a glance at the “Top 10 List” whereas Adrien had not. The only problem was, since Chat was transformed, Plagg was currently inside the suit. Chat would have to detransform in order to talk to him. Even though he knew that Ladybug knew that Chat was Adrien, it was still a weird thing to consider doing. In the end, Chat decided that the moral support (if that’s what you could call an annoying cat who liked to tease Adrien) that Plagg could provide would be nice right now.

“Claws in.” Adrien felt the rush of magic and faintly saw the green light glow from him as he reached his hand out to catch Plagg in his descent.

“You rang?” Plagg asked in a lazy drawl, glancing up towards Adrien. Adrien couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his kwami’s extra-ness.

“Yes, you lazy cat. Just listen to my side of the story, and feel free to correct it or add on.” Adrien then made eye contact with Ladybug whose expression grew worried the longer Adrien looked at her. Plagg, the flirty kitty that he was, jumped up when he saw Ladybug and flew to her side. That, at least, made her smile faintly as she let him land in her palm. She began scratching him, almost absentmindedly, but her eyes rested on Adrien.

“For this to make sense, let me explain something. Before the Rose Ceremony, they pull me to a room in the house and force me to sort through which girls are staying and which are leaving on a big poster board. I was there on Saturday night after the akuma, and I was sorting the girls based on the dates and what I had learned about each girl this past week.” Ladybug was nodding slightly, giving Adrien the impression that she understood what he was saying, so he continued.

“I had decided that” Adrien hesitated ever so slightly, suddenly terrified that Ladybug could be Camille, or even one of her friends, “one girl should go home. A producer came up and told me that I wasn’t allowed to do that.” Adrien gulped, the frustration and anger he felt last night rushing back to him. “Apparently my father has a ‘Top 10 List’ of girls that are allowed to continue on the show.”

Ladybug let out a little gasp. “Have you seen the list?”

“No, but Plagg has.”

Both pairs of eyes fell on the black cat. He gave a small sigh before agreeing. “Yes, I’ve seen the list. But before you ask, I don’t think it’s a good idea for either of you to know who’s on it.” He crossed his arms and gave a little “hmph” like that was the last of the conversation.

Ladybug, however, didn’t think so. “Does Gabriel have a winner picked out or is it just like a list of names and any of these girls could win and it would be okay?”

“It’s almost set-up like a bracket,” was all Plagg said in response. Adrien didn’t fully understand what that meant and was glad to see that Ladybug was as equally confused. Plagg gave a shake of his head before explaining more. “In sports, a bracket allows two teams to be paired up continuously until there is one winner. The way your Pops has it set up is where he chooses which girls will be eliminated and which girls will move on each week. In the end, he only has one left.”

“And you’re not going to tell me who the ‘Chosen One’ of Gabriel’s is?” Ladybug asked. She didn’t look particularly bothered by all of this. All of her questions were curiosity based it seemed rather than out of anger, like his were.

“Nope. Not a chance.”

“Am I on it?” Adrien almost jumped. How could Plagg possibly know who Ladybug is! It’s not like the list had “Ladybug” listed as one of the contestants.

“If you are who I think you are, yes, you just don’t want to know where you place.”

Adrien felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. “Wait, you think you know who she is?!”

Ladybug shot him a smile that he knew meant trouble. “What? You don’t know yet? Don’t even have an inkling?” Her voice was filled with fake-sweetness, and Adrien was thinking of something snappy to say in return when Plagg beat him to it.

“Oh, he doesn’t have an actual clue. Whereas I thought it was obvious.” Plagg was snickering and Ladybug let out a giggle as well. It was so cute he almost forgot to be upset. Almost.

“I’m just taking my time. I want to make sure I’m right before I make any guesses.” That only caused the two to laugh a little harder. Adrien rolled his eyes and decided to change the topic.

“Doesn’t it bother you though? That my father is making these decisions, not me?”

That sobered the two up very quickly. Ladybug was the first to speak. “Oh, Kitty, you don’t know how mad that makes me.”

“Well you didn’t seem mad,” he mumbled, even though he knew it made him sound about 8-years-old.

Ladybug, however, just gave a soft smile and reached to rest her hand gently on Adrien’s. “I’m broken-hearted for you and frustrated at this whole problem you’ve been presented and most of all, I’m upset that you’re upset about all of this. The only difference is, I’m not mad at you.” Her hand moved affectionately towards his cheek and rested there. It took everything in him to not melt into the touch. “You aren’t to blame here, so why would I get angry here? Gabriel, however, better be worried. The next time I see him, he’s getting a yo-yo to the face.”

At that, Adrien laughed. His heart fell a little bit more for Ladybug after her speech. He felt lighter, somehow, now that someone else understood his problem. She slowly removed her hand from his cheek, and as soon as it was gone, he craved her touch, almost like it was something that he needed to survive.

“All right, Chaton, enough slacking. We have a city to patrol.” She handed Plagg back to Adrien and he could have sworn there was a slight groan coming from the creature. Clearly, Adrien wasn’t the only one not wanting to leave Ladybug’s touch. He gave a small smile and called for his transformation.

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

Ladybug was so distracted by what Adrien had told her, that she almost forgot to deliver Alya’s letter to her. She quickly swung by her house, slipped the letter into the mailbox, and sped off into the night. A few minutes later, she landed gracefully on the balcony to her room of the mansion and stepped inside as she detransformed. She collapsed on the bed, Tikki right next to her, and just stared at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe his father would do something like that to him.” Marinette started, letting some of the anger she felt come through for the first time. She didn’t want to worry Adrien, but she was pissed that Gabriel was so controlling and cold-hearted to do this to his own son. “He has to control every aspect of Adrien’s life leading up to this and he gives Adrien the illusion of decision-making when in reality, Gabriel is holding his strings, like he is this toy instead of his son.”

“You’re not wrong, Marinette,” Tikki started but Marinette wasn’t listening.

“Adrien is an adult. An actual adult who can live on his own and pay taxes and buy alcohol to drown his father out, yet he decides to be the good son who stays and follows his father’s dream for his life. And how does Gabriel repay him? By forcing him to participate in this insane advertising campaign and choosing a fiancée for him without giving him a word in edgewise.”

“Marinette, I hear you,” Tikki’s tone was growing more urgent as she flew into Marinette’s line of sight. “But soon, so will the rest of the house. Please, can you try to be angry quieter?”

At her words, Marinette deflated slightly. She hadn’t even realized that she had been borderline shouting. Thankfully, there were only two other girls on this floor, since Mathilde was sent home. Marinette began to wonder if Mathilde had been on that list. Surely not if she was sent home, but the thought made Marinette wonder who was Gabriel’s favorite and why. It was those thoughts that followed her as she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke up the next morning, she was tired. Running around Paris as Ladybug was just exhausting, especially when you had to wake up semi-early in order to have a new date card delivered. She rolled out of bed and somehow ended up with her teeth and hair brushed and presentable clothes on as she stumbled down the stairs towards the kitchen and the caffeine.

She was greeted by an overly-excited-and-morning-person Hanna and a much calmer Juliette who was carrying two steaming mugs. Once Hanna had released Marinette from a hug, Juliette offered her the second mug, which smelled deliciously of coffee.

“Juliette, will you marry me?” Marinette asked sleepily as she smelled the mug, which was definitely filled with coffee.

Both Hanna and Juliette laughed as they led Marinette to the kitchen. One of the girls had woken up earlier and made pancakes for the house, and the two girls led Marinette towards the sustenance and sugar. Hanna and Juliette, who was slowly waking up, began chatting about the new date card and what the date could possibly be while Marinette ate. She let her eyes wander around the room and she suddenly saw all of the girls in a different light.

It’s obvious that Gabriel would choose a suitor for Adrien that would greatly benefit the company. When looking at the girls, some still wiping sleep out of their eyes while others are applying their 4th layer of make-up, it was like Marinette was looking at them through a colored lens. Suddenly, they were statistics, connections, and girls who would complement Adrien on the red carpet. It suddenly made sense why a lot of these girls were here. A handful were models, like Lila and Sasha, some had connections to other fashion empires, like Lucie and Zoe, and yet others were just from prominent families that had a lot of money, like Kagami and Juliette (although Juliette did NOT act as snobby as some did, like Lila).

Marinette was so wrapped up in discovering who Gabriel’s number one choice could possibly be, when she realized she was being pulled into the living area to wait for the date card by Juliette. She had enough sense to grab her coffee before following and taking a seat. The producers were asking questions about how everyone felt about last week and what they were feeling about this week. They called out all of the girls who didn’t get dates and asked them how they felt going into a new date week. The whole thing felt like a forced discussion group in school, except that instead of getting a grade, she was getting more “air time.”

Finally, a knock came at the door. Constance was the one who popped up and grabbed the door first. She came in and stood before the other girls, the thick cardstock note in her hand and a sense of pride on her face. “I got a date card, ladies!” She announced to a squeal from the group. Marinette just sipped her coffee.

“Kagami,” The quiet girl was sitting by herself and didn’t seem to acknowledge that her name was called at all.

“Juliette,” who gave a little gasp next to Marinette when her name was called. Both Hanna and Marinette gave Juliette a little side-hug before Constance called the next girl.

“Lily.”

“Constance,” she gave a little dance when she said her own name, like she hadn’t seen it coming.

“Sofia.”

“Pauline.”

“Sasha.”

“Let’s get to the point.” As soon as the line was read, chatter broke out across the group. The producers had to pull the group together and ask a couple more questions, but Marinette didn’t care. She only spoke when she was asked a direct question, wanting to stay out of the orchestrated drama, and tried very hard to not get upset. Just because you weren’t on the first date, doesn’t mean that you won’t get a date at all.

Tikki said almost the exact same thing to Marinette once she was back in her room.

“I know I know, but still. I’m freaking Ladybug. I should get preferential treatment when it comes to dates.”

“But, Marinette. No one knows you’re Ladybug. Not even Adrien. How can you get preferential treatment if no one knows who you are?”

“Ugggg I hate it when you’re right.” Marinette dramatically flopped onto the bed, making Tikki giggle. “What am I supposed to do until tomorrow afternoon when the next date card comes?”

“Make friends,” was all Marinette needed to hear.

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

Ripping out a piece of her sketchpad, she jotted down every girl who was still in the competition. She was determined that this week, she would spend time with the different girls and follow Tikki’s advice. But, she was going to analyze the girls like Gabriel would, because Marinette wanted to know who was on the “Top 10 List” even if Plagg wouldn’t tell her. She figured that if she gathered enough information, she would accurately be able to predict who was going home this week. Then, she could propose her list to Plagg on Sunday and see what he thought.

Tikki was just happy Marinette was leaving her bedroom again.

She decided to start with the girls who were going on the date tomorrow, since she wouldn’t have tomorrow to talk to them. Marinette curled hair, practiced make-up techniques (and got some practiced on her), painted nails, cooked food, and basically became the social butterfly she was in high school. By the end of the day, she was helping the girls leaving to organize outfits and pick out accessories with her artist eye.

Thankfully, Marinette didn’t have to carry on much of a conversation. Once she got the girls talking about themselves, she was able to shut up and just listen. And of course, take notes.

By lunch on Wednesday, Marinette had a lot of information to sift through. It was becoming easier to guess who Gabriel had picked to be his Top 10, and Marinette was beginning to doubt that she was one at all. Lucie seemed to be the most promising for Gabriel’s favorite. Her aunt owns a sizable fashion company that was popular in the U.S. The ties that she provided to the fashion industry would be huge for Gabriel.

After Marinette finished eating with the girls, they were all brought into the “Date Card Room” as the girls had begun calling it. Hanna was the only one absent, as she was currently on her one-on-one with Adrien. (To say Hanna was excited when she found out yesterday would have been an understatement). Sasha was the one to grab the date card from the door, and Marinette’s stomach was twisted into knots. If she wasn’t on this date card, she wouldn’t get to see Adrien until Saturday night, and that would just be way too long to go without those dazzling green eyes in her life.

“All right girls, I got the date card!” Sasha sang as she came into the room. Marinette felt like Sasha was taking extra-long to open the card. Marinette could feel her heart beating and was slightly terrified that everyone around her could as well. Thankfully, Juliette was sitting next to Marinette and she was squeezing Marinette’s hand reassuringly. Surely, she would say something if Marinette’s heartbeat was distracting.

“Camille,” Sasha began and Marinette stilled, not wanting to miss a name. Everyone faded out of focus except for Sasha and the date card in her hand.

“Ines.”

“Alicia.”

“Marinette.” She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Juliette gave her a squeeze and Marinette couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face. She was just so relieved that she would get to see Adrien tomorrow.

In her excitement, Marinette missed the next few names, but tuned in to hear the last one. Sasha made a big deal out of pausing before reading, “Lila.” Marinette’s heart sank and she was not looking forward to having to spend quality time with Lila. At all.

“Let’s strike up our relationship,” Sasha read off before setting the date card down on the table.

Marinette gave the three girls not going on a date hugs and some encouraging words before dashing off with Juliette to pick out something to wear and riddle out the date card.

“He seems to like puns,” Juliette was saying as Marinette picked up an outfit and held it against her. “No, not that one, you want something dressier but also casual.”

Marinette picked up a daisy yellow and white polka dotted sundress and held it up while she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It’s insane that all of the girls thought his puns were endearing. Marinette just couldn’t get over how annoying they were. Rarely were they legitimately funny, but most of the time, she found it more distracting than charming.

“I think it may have something to do with bowling or playing something, based on the pun.” Marinette thought aloud.

Juliette made a noise of agreement as she studied the dress Marinette held up. “That’s a good thought. All of these dates seem connected to Adrien’s life in some way. Like ours. We went on a fencing date because Adrien was a champion fencer while in high school and college.” Juliette was still a little bitter that Kagami had gotten the group date rose. Kagami’s family is known for their fencing and Kagami herself has been fencing since she was little and has the trophies to prove it. She completely wiped the floor with the other girls and Juliette was nursing some sore muscles and a sour heart because of it.

“Oooh, I like it. But I feel like darker colors are more your style.” Juliette said eventually, referring to the dress Marinette still held. She turned and began flipping through Marinette’s closet, clearly looking for something that would fit the vision she had in her mind. She pulled out one dress and tossed it towards Marinette with a, “This is for the evening portion,” before diving back in. The scene was so familiar, she could have sworn that she was actually sitting inside of her room above the bakery, chatting with Alya about various things as Alya filed through her closet looking for an outfit for Marinette to wear. She had almost forgotten what it had felt like to have friends like this, just being in the house with so many girls. Marinette had been focusing on learning more about the girls, she forgot to just relax and enjoy the friendships themselves.

“OMG, Marinette, you just HAVE to wear this tomorrow!” Juliette’s voice snapped Marinette out of her remembering as she pulled an off the shoulder black shirt out of the back of the closet. Marinette had hidden it because it was something she had made herself and she was strictly supposed to wear Gabriel fashions while on the show. She had packed it on impulse because it was one of her favorite designs and she thought it would be good inspiration in case she ever had trouble with a creative block while she was here. When she pointed this out to Juliette, she waved it away.

“Just wear a pair of Gabriel jeans and shoes. No one will even notice, I promise.”

Marinette was hesitant. She knew from some of Chat’s stories that Gabriel could be ruthless when it came to certain things. If someone asked, she could easily say it was one of Gabriel’s from a while back, one that wasn’t seen anymore. The only person who would know was Gabriel, and how much would he pay attention to her outfit specifically?

Marinette half-heartedly agreed and was carried away by Juliette to brainstorm ideas for hair and possible date places with the other girls.

So excited to see what all y’all think for the next chapter, we are finally getting into the meat of the story!! Stay tuned!

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elmidol · 4 years

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Corrosive Sentiment :: Unsealed Fate

Three Blind Tooke Part One Resistance is Futile

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Warnings: mind control, selfharm, noncon, dubcon, very end has nsfw

Three Blind Tooke Part One: Resistance is Futile Chapter Nineteen: Corrosive Sentiment :: Unsealed Fate

You made me harm the ones I love, Then asked me why I hated you. Isn’t it obvious that what you did, Was the worst thing ever to do?

You could not help but stare at both of your hands, namely at the two tattoos of your captor’s names. The moment the shuttle had landed on the planet, Kylo Ren had taken control over your every action. You could not remember anything that had occurred. And though both General Hux and Kylo Ren assured you that you were made only to quietly enter the hotel at which you were currently staying, you doubted this. Your mind was wandering over all worst-case scenarios. Whether someone had recognized you and you had been made to be rude to them. Or if you were already forced to badmouth your mother. You frowned deeply, despising the position you were in.

General Hux set a plate of food on a foldout tray that had previously been placed beside your bed. You eyed everything there. It did look tasty, and yet you found that you had no appetite. The redhead continued past you, his own plate of food still in his hand, and took a seat on the edge of his bed. He set his plate down on the mattress, picked up his datapad, and started to scroll through his messages. Your eyes wandered about his messy hair. He looked the part of a civilian in terms of attire, however his posture bespoke of his true upbringing.

Your attention then shifted to Kylo Ren. He was no longer wearing his helmet, and the man was busily nudging at his food with his fork. Inspecting it with a furrowed brow. Perhaps trying to discern whether or not he would like it before taking a bite. He at last stabbed the prongs of his fork into a piece, slipping the bite into his mouth a moment later.

While watching both Hux and Ren slowly eating their food, you reluctantly lifted up the first bite to your mouth and began to nibble. General Hux soon set aside his datapad and focused completely on consuming his food. Your mind was having a difficult time wrapping around the fact that these men were still your enemies. They were acting too…human. Tame. You popped a bite of bread into your mouth, chewing and narrowing your eyes whilst observing Ren. He finished his meal then rose from his seat. You dropped your gaze to your lap.

The Force user lifted up a bag of clothing prior to heading for the refresher. You had previously wondered how he would be disguised. His normal attire drew too much attention. Yet why he had to pick out clothing from Naboo, you were uncertain. You shook your head, inwardly cursing his choice. You did understand that the Naboo attire would match your own outfits quite well; it was the best way to prevent anyone from making a connection between Kylo Ren and the First Order. On that note, you wondered if he was going to assume another name for the time being. Or perhaps he would simply go by a title.

“Bored, tooka?” The man’s voice caused your attention to shift to him. You blinked at General Hux, shrugging your shoulders the next moment. “It was stated at the front desk that a holochess set is available should we wish to play at all.”

“I… I would like that,” you replied. Anything to help keep your mind off of what was really occurring on the planet. The fact that you were helpless to stop it, had no true freewill.

The ginger general nodded prior to pressing a button on the commlink in the room. He spoke briefly with the individual on the other line, informing them of the wish to have the holochess set delivered to the room, and then ended the connection. You sat quietly on the bed, your hands folded in your lap, and waited for the set to be delivered. In the meanwhile, Kylo Ren emerged from the refresher. Your breath caught. Eyes widening, you stared at him in surprise. He could have passed for a native of Naboo. Quickly averting your gaze to avoid memories of home, you looked instead at the redhead.

“Will you also be dressing in this manner?” you asked, gesturing down the length of your body with a hand. General Hux chuckled and informed you that no, he would not. You wound your arms around your midsection and pursed your lips. “I suppose the intention is for them to see you. As far as Ren is considered…that would give too intimidating a presence, his robes and mask.”

As it is, he’s dressed so… Your eyes darted to him then back to the redhead’s face. He is descended from Naboo royalty…and here he is, making a mockery of our politics.

“You will not be made to contradict your mother’s views so early in our visit, tooke.” You released a noise that nearly caught in your throat. A groan of sorts; his words hardly lessened the frustration you were feeling. Kylo Ren walked over to the end of your bed. You stared at him, allowing yourself time to take in his appearance. The men your age wore such clothes. A number of the boys you had grown up with had started to dress in such a manner shortly before you had left Naboo to join the Resistance.

There was a knock on the door, which you suspected was the holochess being delivered. General Hux rose from the other bed, moving over to the door so that he could answer it. Before opening the room, he checked to see who was on the other side. While the redhead did these things, Kylo Ren climbed onto the bed with you. You lifted a hand, placing it on his chest when the man started to press his face towards yours. A frown tugged at his features.

“I don’t understand it…after seeing your Master. I don’t understand how you could possibly have been lured to the Dark side. How can you believe any of this—what you’re to do to me—is justice?”

“Tooke, there are many stages when it comes to paving the way for justice.”

“So, what? The ends justify the means?”

“How many have died fighting for the Resistance? How many have you killed—have your allies killed?” You lowered your hand back to your lap, and Kylo Ren rested his forehead against yours. “The choices may have been limited, but they were there.”

“I am being forced to hurt those I care for. What sort of choices are those?”

There was no answer to your question. General Hux set up the holochess set where you and he could play against one another. Ren, meanwhile, remained seated near you. You felt his gaze on you the majority of the time you played. This you were able to ignore. Playing against the General of the First Order reminded you much of the time you had spent in his personal quarters. The many conversations you had had with him. You wondered briefly how Millicent was doing, yet did not bring yourself to ask the question aloud.

“For a fast learner, you still have yet to master the fine art of holochess,” General Hux quipped when he defeated you. You huffed out a sigh, rolling your eyes the next moment. “Or perhaps you’re distracted?”

“I was…thinking of my father.”

“Your father,” he murmured, and there was something in his tone that drew your attention. You stared at him, however the man said nothing further. His lips were pinched together, yet from that you could discern nothing other than the fact that fathers held something of significance for the man. Judging by the way Kylo Ren had frowned, you assumed it was the same for him.

You trailed a finger along the edge of the table upon which the chess set had been placed. “My father will be disappointed…when you force me to do…those things.”

“Those things,” General Hux repeated, his lips quirking, nearly twitching into a sardonic smile. “Normally you are more eloquent, and yet now you are…hesitant for reasons I cannot fathom. As though we are ignorant to what those things are.”

“Disrespecting my mother as you will have me do,” you hissed out. “Do you plan on having me attack her with more personal—“

“It is all political, tooka,” General Hux stated passively. He reset the board then gestured to it. “Another round?” You answered in the negative, moving away from the table. “Ren?” The Force user took the place you had previously occupied. “Your father did not allow you to be blinded by the veil of peace the New Republic claimed to uphold, did he?”

“No,” you whispered. “Never. I did not understand it completely as a child. I sometimes believed it was only due to my mother’s political affiliations.”

“Mm… Was your father a fighter of the Rebellion then?”

“Not exactly.”

“A contact?”

“That would be…more accurate. Things changed once the revelation of General Organa’s parentage hit us. Even if some have forgiven her for keeping it a secret, they are not any less disenchanted. Not to mention the other incidents. The assassination… There have been many things.”

“You must be relieved that your mother herself is not a senator,” the redhead said, his eyes trained on Kylo Ren, as they had been ever since you had brought up the man’s mother.

“In certain respects she is in just as much danger.” You cocked your head to the side. “You’re targeting her after all.” That sardonic grin at last saw the light of day. “I don’t understand how anyone can be so spiteful.”

“Spite has nothing to do with it,” the ginger general said whilst taking out one of Ren’s pieces. “This is a part of politics. Perhaps you should have taken some lessons from your mother before wandering off to join the Resistance.”

“Disgusting.” He chortled at your words, and you balled your hands into fists. “The two of you get off on being insulted, don’t you?” Kylo Ren turned his head, smirking at you; no doubt he remembered well that time in the woods, the first time he had gotten hard, when he had forced your mouth on him and had nearly raped you. General Hux ran his tongue along his lips, his eyes darting to your lap. His words from earlier filtered into your brain: You submit perfectly fine if it means your cunt is filled. “You claim to not be ruled by sexual desires, and yet look at the both of you.”

“Don’t worry, tooka,” Hux said with a sneer, likely insulted by the implication of your words. “I prefer partners who don’t cry.”

“That’s a low blow,” you growled out.

“I don’t believe in holding back my punches,” he said, tilting his head back and staring down his nose at you. “Are you saying you cannot handle it?”

“Oh, I can handle it just fine,” you hissed, pushing off the bed and marching away from him and towards the refresher. “And, by the way, I am not running away! I have to pee!”

“Very well. It is always pleasant being kept up to date with your bodily functions.”

“And here I thought Ren was the snarky little shit,” you shot back, slamming the door and marching over to the toilet. You ran a hand through your hair as you urinated, swearing under your breath. In certain respects, you quite enjoyed bickering with the general. It felt almost normal, arguing with someone. With them being out of uniform, it furthered the illusion that you were not with the enemy. Not that you ever forgot, not completely.

After you finished using the toilet, you started to wash your hands. You raised your eyes to the mirror, taking in your reflection. How regal you looked, you thought with a sneer. Compared to the clothing you had been given ever since your capture, you appeared equivalent to a queen. Perhaps even an empress.

Your mind returned to the manner in which Kylo Ren was dressed. There was a clenching in your stomach that you could identify solely as homesickness. You placed your hand atop your belly. All the while your eyes were glued to your reflection. You were imagining those of your homeworld, the boys you had grown with, standing at your side. Wearing clothing identical to Ren’s. How sickening it would be, if he were to stand there with them. Acting as though he were a docile creature rather than a monster of the battlefield. Likewise, you were no different. Perhaps not quite as terrible, and yet—you could not help but acknowledge your own cruel actions, no matter how necessary you found them.

Your lips in a thin line of distaste, you exited the refresher. Kylo Ren and General Hux were engaged in their holochess match. Both were more calculating with one another than they were with others. It bespoke of their close working relationship, of their deviousness and skill. And how harmless they nearly appeared, their outward appearances giving them the exact façade they worked so hard at putting on.

“How long will I be kept here?”

“As long as necessary—you needn’t waste your time with foolish questions,” the redhead drawled. He straightened from his former hunched posture and rested his left forearm on his thigh. “What is the real question your mind is currently preoccupied with?”

“How long before you put me in the position where I remember nothing of the remainder of this…visit.” This time it was Kylo Ren who adjusted his posture. The taller of the two men did not turn his gaze to you; those brown orbs were glued to the pieces on the board. “It’s soon, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” You stared at the back of his head. One thing was for certain; Kylo Ren had never held his punches with you either. “Tomorrow morning…after breakfast.”

You shook your head. “It would be better if you did it now.”

“Obstinate tooke.” You ground your teeth together. In truth, this situation, to you, was worse than being chained and muzzled. At least with the other, you had a chance at defying them in some manner. Here? Like this? Your only option was to attempt them harm before your freewill was fully stolen. Kylo Ren waved his hand in an arc. “Climb on the bed with me.”

You crawled onto the bed, sliding your legs forward until you were behind him, at which point you wrapped your arms around him from behind and rested your forehead along his spine. You flinched when your mind was once more your own. A pressure grew in your throat, the urge to scream in frustration and outrage. You unwound your arms from him, straightening yourself to find that General Hux was watching you. His expression was completely unreadable. You pulled at the edges of your sleeves, setting the silk-like material against your face. A sob wracked your body. You despised that tears were welling up in your eyes.

You knew why he had done it; your eye had caught on a number of items within the room that you could use in an attempt to harm them. To kill them.

Should I die, they cannot use me, you thought. Should I die, I will never escape.

You crawled up the length of the bed, set your hands upon the pillows, and splayed open your fingers. Those damned tattoos. You scrunched up your face and glared at the two marked digits. A dead man was no threat to you, and so you ignored the finger that held the name Ben Solo. The one marked Kylo Ren, on the other hand, you lifted and slipped into your mouth. Just as your teeth were descending upon the finger, Kylo Ren whipped around and lunged for you.

His body hit into yours, knocking you forward, and yet you refused to relinquish the digit. You sunk your teeth into it. Flinching, you forced yourself to press on, drawing blood. Kylo Ren seized your wrist, holding so tightly that you screamed, and wrenched your hand out of your mouth. He pinned you down on the bed, your hand up high and out of reach of your teeth. You curled your tongue within your mouth, spitting in his face. The man hardly reacted, his pupils full blown as he stared down at you. You clawed at his wrist with your free hand. Thrashing underneath him, you bucked up your hips in an attempt to throw him off of you. The man continued to straddle you without issue.

In your peripheral, you noticed that General Hux had stood from the other bed. His hand met your ankle, which caused you to tense up further underneath Ren. “Do it, Ren. It’s necessary.” The dark-haired man scowled, an expression that matched your own.

You stared up into the man’s face. That mask of Kylo Ren. How deeply was it that Ben Solo had been buried? Six feet under, perhaps, or more. Nearly unreachable. “It’s a terrible lie, what you marked on me. I’m not yours, other than being your prisoner.”

“You fight such pointless battles, tooke.” He lowered his face closer to yours; Kylo Ren had yet to wipe away the spit, and your eyes were glued to that spot. “You made your choice. So many choices, tooke, and they led you here. Do you truly believe you could survive away from me?”

“What?” you croaked weakly. “What the fuck…what are you even asking? I’m meant to kill you. That’s my mission. It will always be my mission. Prevent the First Order from achieving their goals…you’re standing in my way. And maybe I do pity you, Ren. And perhaps at this moment in time, you are in a position above me. But I am not yours, and I will find the strength to fulfill my mission no matter what. At the expense of my own life—you’re right; that was my choice. That still is my choice.

“The things you will force me to do: I despise you for it all. What anger had ebbed away, it’s coming back. I hate you so deeply. I pity you so thoroughly. A part of me will miss you once you are brought down. But I can accept that. I can accept that far more than I could ever fathom watching the First Order seize control. You did break me, Ren. You broke me…but I am mending. And when this is all done, I’ll make you sorry that you did not allow me to die—when your saber pierced me, and when my system could not handle the overdose. If I die a third time, that will be your only reprieve.”

“Such bold words, tooke.” With the hand that was not holding tight on your wrist, Kylo Ren cupped your jaw, holding you in place, though you thrashed against him, as he covered your mouth with his. His lips still against yours, he spoke: “You live for me. In this way, I will always own you.”

“Enough games, Ren,” the redhead spat. Kylo Ren exhaled deeply, shifted his hand, and spoke softly to you.

Your mother spoke your name with a hint of ire. You paused midstep, refusing to look over your shoulder at her. Refusing to turn around to face her. “You could do so much more good if only you listened. Become an intern… War is not the answer. The Resistance…perhaps they claim to have good intentions, however… This is a time of peace. The recent events have already shaken the foundation of the Galactic Senate. Don’t worsen things.”

“Mother, I…” Many thoughts flashed through your head in that moment. You had already changed your name, had the paperwork to prove it. She did not know this. Was unaware that you had been in contact with the Resistance, that you had been accepted. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt you. That isn’t what this is about. There is so little… Nearly nothing I can do to help…becoming an intern…what help can I provide? That is not a position wherein I can uphold the peace. I won’t do anything to hurt you, mother.”

“Then your mind is already set.”

“I’m…not sorry. I do feel bad if you’re upset, but… I’m not sorry that I’m doing this.”

“Come here.” This time you did turn around, and found yourself being pulled into a tight embrace. You lifted your arms, encircling her as well and squeezing your eyes closed. “This isn’t the life I want for you. The war was fought, the Empire taken down…so that you, your generation, wouldn’t have to do this. There are other ways.”

“Sometimes there aren’t.”

You were breathing heavily, a weight upon you. A shifting weight, you noted. Something moving against you, inside of you. As the fog slowly lifted from your mind, you stared up into the face of the man who was watching you. Kylo Ren did not stop thrusting in and out of you, nor did he alter his pace, yet he did whisper your name as though he was acknowledging that you were present in all senses. You balled your hands up into fists against the sheets. Turning your head, you allowed him to fuck you without protest. How many times had he done this, you wondered; had his way with you while you had no control over yourself. Perhaps he transformed you into an active participant. He readjusted his angle at last, brushing against your clit with every minor shift of his body. In little time, you were panting again. Arching your back as the tears gathered in your eyes, as they spilled down the sides of your face and onto the pillow below.

“I’m some body to you.” You lifted your head, looking down between your bodies. “No longer somebody.” He grunted above you, the noise escaping him due to his actions rather than your words. “Where is the general?”

“We’re on the ship, tooke.” You sniffled, shook your head, and managed a hoarse No. “You served your purpose well.” A more strained NO! and your hands were on his chest, your nails raking dow—there were rubber tips on them, which connected to a binding on your wrists. You ran your tongue along your teeth. Caps. How you had missed these facts, you were uncertain. Above you, Kylo Ren sighed again. “You will be taught how to behave in my absence.” He then swore, his cum filling you.

“You made me tear her down… How she must have looked on me with such hate. I will never behave, creature.”

“Back to that again.” Kylo Ren pulled out of you and dropped his hand between your legs. He used both your juices and his semen, smearing them against your clit and rubbing you. Your body responded to his touch, the treacherous thing it was. “You should give up hope. The map to Skywalker…we’ve located it. And once it is obtained, your Resistance will have nothing left to hope for.” You despised him all the more for making you cum to such words.

“You can’t destroy hope no matter how much you try!” you screamed, jerking your legs closed and rolling onto your side away from him. There was a collar on your neck, a chain attaching you to the bed. “You treat me like an animal. A beast. You sick fuck. How many times are you going to ruin me?” His hand met the small of your back, his lips on the back of your shoulder. “I don’t want to miss you this time.” His hand slid up the length of your body, down your arm, and rested atop your hand. “Just a fix for you… I want you to break, Kylo Ren. I don’t want to fix you.”

“I care nothing for your wishes.”

“A disgusting lie. I wish it were true. Does it hurt you as much as it hurts me?” You met his eye. “It’s corrosive, this thing that’s between us.”

“You’ll break first, tooke.”

“I’ll do my damnedest to not.” His mouth twitched at the sides, his lips curling upwards in a smile that caused you to tremble. “You won’t get to Skywalker. I believe Fate won’t allow that. The galaxy has had enough of tyrannical ways. You will lose, Ren.”

“We’ll see, tooke.”

Bound against the bed, you watched as Kylo Ren slipped into a shroud of darkness. His clothing swallowing him up. When he put on his mask, you turned your eyes up to the ceiling. You wondered how thoroughly he had destroyed your mother through you. And now the map to Skywalker… The galaxy won’t allow it. Force, please. You hesitated at that thought then pressed forward with it. Force, don’t let him. There has to be something greater planned. Let someone—anyone—stop him.

[Though you did not see her often—perhaps because you did not see her often—you cherished the moments you would lie on the ground with your mother and stare at the sky. Such a vast thing, the sky. “It was all worth it,” your mother said. “Because you’re free to choose your own fate now.”]

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #three blind tooke #kylo x reader #resistance is futile #elmidolfanfic

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theforsakenprince · 4 years

Text

Frostbitten Chapter 5: The Scorpion Den

Previous Masterlist Next

Word count: 1777

Warnings: Unsympathetic Remus, Unsympathetic Deceit, murder mention, blood mention (lemme know if I should add anything!)

A/N: hhhh I’m not really proud of this one, but we’re finally getting to actual plot! Hope you enjoy!

“So, you can read minds,”

It was more of a statement than a question. Virgil visibly flinched. “Yes, I can read minds, but for some reason, I can’t read yours.”

Deceit drummed his claws on the wooden table thoughtfully. “I may have a theory about that, actually.”

Virgil waited for him to elaborate. He never did. He decided not to push it. “I can also see the futures that are most likely to happen.”

Deceit leaned across the table towards Virgil. “Oh? Have you had any interesting visions lately?”

Virgil tore his gaze away from Deceit’s. “Not recently. I… haven’t gotten any visions for a while, actually.”

“If you end up getting a vision, do tell me. I’ve always found NightWing powers to be… fascinating.”

Virgil nodded uneasily. Ever since Deceit had taken him under his (metaphorical) wing, he had been treated with not kindness exactly. It was more a grudging tolerance than kindness. The only thing standing between him and getting driven out was Deceit. It wasn’t the most comforting thing, but he would make the most of it.

“Hey Dee, are you done yet?” someone poked their head around the corner.

“Remus, I thought I told you to get out,” Deceit hissed.

“I know!” Remus said cheerfully. “But you were taking a long time, so I decided to come in anyway!”

Also, I don’t care. Chirped Remus’s mind.

Remus was an assassin for hire and didn’t belong to any one gang, but hung around Deceit’s gang the most.

Virgil groaned inwardly. He didn’t particularly like Remus at first, and liked him even less when he realized his mind was even darker than his words.

Remus turned towards Virgil. “Hey Virgie!”

Virgil scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

Remus didn’t seem phased. “Whatever you say, Virge!” he turned to Deceit. “Has he told you anything interesting yet?”

Deceit sighed. “No interesting visions yet, I’m afraid.”

Virgil’s frown deepened. They were talking about him as if he wasn’t right in front of them! He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, a burst of pain shot through his head and he gasped, stumbling backward.

Deceit was in front of him in an instant, but he barely registered his presence as images crowded his brain:

Hundreds of dragons standing in the courtyard of the SandWing Stronghold and a SandWing standing in the middle, holding up an onyx.

An IceWing on the outskirts of the Ice Kingdom, growling at Virgil and a SkyWing he didn’t recognize.

The same IceWing, this time driving a spear through Deceit’s heart.

“-irgil. Virgil, look at me.” Deceit had his talons on his shoulders, propping him up on his feet. “Were you having a vision?” Virgil slapped Deceit’s talons away and nodded, still shaken by his visions.

“Describe them to me.”

“Deceit,” Virgil looked up, meeting his eyes. “I think- I think you’re going to die.”

Deceit gave no indication that he was shocked. “How? Who kills me?”

Virgil pressed a talon to the side of his head as a name popped into his head. “A-an IceWing named… Frost, I think.”

Deceit drew back and nodded to Remus, who had a dangerous glint in his eyes. He tried to guess what Deceit was thinking. Was he surprised? Scared? It was impossible to tell. The SandWing’s expression was blank as ever.

“Remus, I need to speak with you. Privately,” Deceit said, giving Virgil a meaningful stare.

The message was clear. Virgil headed out the door, pulling his hood over his head.

That dragon looks shifty.

Stupid dragonet.

This water is overpriced, but I don’t want to cause any trouble…

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

Virgil looked up at the SandWing he bumped into and scowled. “Watch where you’re going.” he moved out of the SandWing’s way and continued down the road toward the market.

After Deceit had told him to leave, he’d headed toward the market, still not entirely certain what he was going to do. He was still shaken by the visions. Was Deceit going to die? And who was that IceWing?

Virgil had to repeatedly remind himself that the visions he was seeing were only the most likely outcomes; if he wanted to, he could change those futures.

“Woah, you okay, kid?”

Virgil stepped back and looked up at the second SandWing he’d run into. He mentally cursed when he realized who it was.

Thorn, leader of the Outclaws, squinted at him and said, “Wait, aren’t you the seer Deceit took in?”

Virgil shrunk back. “How do you know that? How do you know who I am?”

Thorn shrugged. “Word travels fast around here. You’re all I’ve been hearing about from my Outclaws. Most of them don’t like the fact that you’re with Deceit, of all dragons.”

“He saved me from getting robbed. I don’t think he’s that bad.”

“Maybe not. Just don’t get on his bad side.”

Virgil snorted. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Thorn gave him a curious look. “You know, I could use a seer and a mind reader like you in the Outclaws.”

Virgil widened his eyes.”I-oh, I-I’m sorry I can’t, it’s just-”

She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s fine, completely fine, it’s just… I don’t trust that gang. Just be careful out there, alright?”

Virgil nodded, but Thorn was already walking away, and within moments, she was swallowed up by the crowd, leaving him to ponder her words.

A few days and much pondering later, Virgil found himself back in the building Deceit owned. Deceit hadn’t spoken to him since the day he got the visions, and he was starting to feel anxious.

“Remus, back so soon?” Deceit’s voice came from behind the curtain that separated the rooms. A few moments later, Virgil could see Deceit’s shadow along with a bigger, spikier shadow that was presumably Remus.

“Turns out, I didn’t even need to go all the way up to the Ice Kingdom.” That was definitely Remus’s voice. “I just got that pathetic SandWing to do it.”

“Who? General Scorpion?”

Remus snorted. “She’s hardly what I’d call a general. It took forever to convince her to commit a tiny murder. That IceWing is hardly special! It shouldn’t be hard!”

Virgil’s eyes widened and he suppressed a gasp. They were going to kill Frost for something she might not even do!

Deceit hummed thoughtfully. “It makes sense for the SandWing to do it. After all, what’s one IceWing death in the middle of a war?”

Remus spoke again, and he could hear the glee in his voice. “Nobody’s going to notice!”

Virgil took a deep breath and parted the curtain, stepping into the room. “So you’re going to kill a dragon? Just like that?”

Remus grinned at him. “Sounds like someone’s afraid of a little blood.”

Virgil’s mind flashed back to the moment he had found his mother’s body and remembered the feeling of blood covering his talons. He growled. “I’m just afraid of the fact that you’re willing to kill someone, just like that.”

“Perhaps you forget, Virgil,” Deceit said in a low voice. “but this IceWing is going to kill me if I don’t do anything about it.”

“But she hasn’t done anything wrong yet! She might not even attempt to kill you!”

“I’m not risking my life on a ‘might’.” Deceit replied, a hint of anger entering his voice. “You’ve stated that this future can be prevented. Well, I’m preventing it.”

Virgil shook his head. “You don’t know that! What if- what if Frost escapes and finds out you wanted her dead and that’s why she kills you?” he didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m leaving. To undo your mistake.”

As he walked towards the door, Deceit made no attempt to stop him. Not for the first time, Virgil wished he could hear what Deceit was thinking. His mind, as usual, was blocked by what felt like thorns.

He walked out of the house, ears pricked for any signs of pursuit. He was three yards down the busy street when he heard it.

“Don’t let him get away. I’ll make it worth your while.”

That was his cue. He bolted down the path, shoving other dragons out of his way. He almost headed into a back alley, but decided against it, instead heading for the main street. More dragons meant that it was easier for him to blend in with the crowd.

He pulled his hood up and kept his head down, hoping to blend in with the desert dwelling dragons. Unfortunately, his black and purple scales meant that he stood out like a sore thumb, and within moments, Remus stood in front of him, blocking his escape route.

“Did you think you could just walk out?” Remus flashed him a devious grin. “Not on my watch.”

Before Remus could move, Virgil shoved him against a wall and barreled through a crowd of SandWings. He glanced behind him to see if he was followed, but crashed into something.

Virgil reeled back, rubbing his head. He looked up to see what he crashed into and suppressed a gasp.

The dragon in front of him was bright blue like a SeaWing, but that was where the similarities ended. He had four wings, like a butterfly, and has strange markings under his eyes. A piece of cloth was tied around his neck, and he was readjusting his glasses so they sat comfortably on his snout.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there!” What a strange looking dragon…

That shook Virgil out of his thoughts. “I-I’m sorry, I need to-”

“Woah, slow down!” the strange dragon stopped him as he tried to run. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m being chased.” Virgil gasped for breath, only just realizing how exhausted he was. “I’m sorry, but I really need to go.”

“Hey wait, let’s think this through.” the strange dragon said. “I know a place you can be safe. What’s your name?”

“Virgil,” he supplied as he was gently led to an oasis surrounded by tents. He glanced over his shoulder, but Remus was nowhere to be seen.

“Alright, Virgil, I’m sure you know Thorn by now, right?”

“Yeah. Leader of the Outclaws and all that.”

“Exactly. The Outclaws will protect you, don’t worry.”

As they headed toward the oasis, something occurred to him. “What’s your name?” he glanced at his companion’s strange wings. “And what tribe are you from? You don’t look like you’re from any tribe I know, and you don’t look like a hybrid either…”

“Oh, I’m Patton!” Patton gave him a wide smile, a stark contrast to Remus’s unsettling grin and Deceit’s cruel smirk. “As for what tribe I’m from… well, I hope you like long stories.”

Taglist: @42ndbrokencompass

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