#don’t mind me SCREAMING about this fic in the comments on ao3 i’m totally Normal and Fine about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

obsidianfr3sk · 3 years

Text

Falcon in the Dive

Summary: Piercing into the sky and higher, Ace thrived. The weak cowered, but the fittest, like him, survived. He didn't wait until the darkest hour, he didn't wait until they spring alive. He, with claws of fire, devoured like a falcon in the dive.

AO3

As my contribuiton to the Multifandom Gift Exchange 2020 (hosted by the wonderful @darkalinas and @scxundress), here’s a gift for my little sister and favorite villain apologist (?) @alecjamesartino. As soon as they told me I was your gifter... well, I was really happy!!! And then x’d I knew I had to write something about Ace and this song just... LIKE I JUST KNEW I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT ACE INSPIRED IN FALCON IN THE DIVE, ALL RIGHT???? I JUST ✨K N E W✨

Before y’all start reading xd I need to... kinda clarify something. So, I don’t know if you know, but I actually based all of my fics on this timeline made by @honey-hippie-harper and @healing-winston-pratt, and I kinda just started to create my headcanons from it. But, today I decided to throw all of them through the freaking window and base this fic on this timeline, made by my giftee:’))) She uses it for her fic Love and Anarchy (which you should totally read!). That said, this work has nothing to do with my other fics (for example, Rise of the Renegades or The Origins), I’m just experimenting with new headcanons:’)

Another important thing x’d On this fic I mention Leroy’s eyes turn green when he uses his powers and that Hugh’s eyes are gray instead of blue. This are not my headcanons, they’re actually from this drawing made by @healing-winston-pratt. Go check it out and reblog it!!)

Now... well, my dear little sister Alec, I hope you like this gift. I know how much you like Ace and the Anarchists, and I have never written anything about them (Begginings and Endings doesn’t count, it was from David’s POV x’d) so this was a complete challenge for me. But what kept me going was... thinking that I was doing this for you. And honestly, your timeline just gave me so much space to play with new headcanons and scenarios, so thank you for that:’)) Personally I consider myself someone with a extraordinary imagination, but you, Alec, left me dumbfounded (quedé dirían en mi tierra). You are so young, and brilliant, and adorably deathly that I just want to hold you and protect you from the the bad things that happen on this world:’)

I’d say I love you but I’m akward so I’ll just say I’m really fond of you. I think you have a lot of potentential and I hope I get to see you become a wonderful woman. Felices fiestas✨✨✨

Knock in the doors, lock up the city,

track him down through this town,

and be quick about it... now!

How the devil can I ever prevail when I'm only a man?

I can never be duped by that scurrilous phantom again.

Year 0, month 0

“I thought you were going to be taller.”

Ace stopped looking at the chandelier hanging over his head to look at the woman to his right. “Sorry?”

“I thought you were going to be taller,” she repeated almost yelling.

“Fuck, Honey ...”

Ace turned to his left. “What?” Honey asked. “I’m just saying, geez.”

The young man's eyes went from dark to toxic green.

“Leroy,” Ace interrupted, “your chair is ... burning.”

Leroy removed his hands from the armrest of the chair he was sitting in, cursing underneath. There were drops of a greenish liquid coming from his fingers and the wood smelled like a burnt tree. As he did his best to clean up the mess he had made with his powers, Ace turned his attention back to Honey. “Did you think it was going to be taller?”

Honey tucked one of her blonde curls behind her ear. She was wearing a white coat with rhinestone as buttons; a group of prodigies had given it to her in exchange for allowing them to join their ranks. Ace had replied that it was not necessary to pay any kind of tribute and that anyone who agreed with the values of the Anarchists, could consider themselves as such. Despite this, one of the boys insisted on giving Honey the coat, because from the moment he saw it, he thought it was “fit for a queen”. That was the moment when Ace's theory was confirmed: Honey had a weakness for compliments and gifts. She accepted the coat with a smile and even defended the boy when Leroy muttered, “Ahem, simp.”

That was also the moment when he realized that Leroy's weakness was driving Honey out of her mind.

Regardless, Ace could tell that they had some kind of… appreciation for each other. The first time he saw them use their powers was when Honey sent a cloud of wasps to a group of cops who tried to get Leroy into one of their trucks and when Leroy burned the face of a guy who had grabbed Honey from wrist strong enough to make her scream.

Those two were powerful and loyal without falling into blind fanaticism. Ace needed people like that in his ranks.

The whole world needed such people in its ranks.

“I mean, yeah,” Honey continued. “I had heard so much about Ace Anarchy that… well, I have to admit I did build up some expectations.”

Ace fixed his gaze on Honey's feet. She was wearing heels. Obviously. “Why don't you get off those stilts and say it to my face?”

Honey burst out laughing right away and Ace too. He could even see Leroy trying not to smile before crossing his arms on his chest.

The three were on the seat of the cathedral, Ace sitting on the main chair where the priest who officiated the mass sat, and Honey and Leroy on the chairs to the sides, generally reserved for the seminarians who helped during the celebration. He had taken the table out of the way with his powers and stored it in a cellar, in case it was needed again. During those last three weeks that they had been using the cathedral as a base, Ace had given some speeches there. The light coming from the windows illuminated his face and the crucifix behind him made him feel a kind of power that he could not describe. Also, the main chair was wide, tall, and shiny. It would have looked like a throne if it were covered in some golden metal...

Stop it.

“I think no one else is coming,” said Leroy. “we better get out of here. These chairs are uncomfortable.”

“Use a cushion, like me,” Honey commented, proudly displaying the small cushion she had placed on the chair to make it easier to sit.

Leroy couldn’t look more disgusted. “Why would you put your ass on the same cushion you use to sleep?”

As his allies began to argue again, Ace put his arms on the sides of the chair, focusing on the immense doors of the cathedral.

As far as they knew, Ace was waiting for recruits. It was a fairly common thing to happen. Many prodigies (like the simp and his henchmen) had been flocking to the cathedral, seeking help, acceptance, or a chance to prove themselves worthy of being within Ace's close circle. It was a bit tiring at times, but at the moment he couldn't afford to turn them away without even bothering to see what their powers were. If he knew something, it was that no power could not be taken advantage of in some way, and if that way could benefit him, the better.

But at dusk, the chances of people coming to the cathedral began to disappear, because at night the city became dangerous. Thus, Ace knew that he would not receive any new potential recruits until the next morning, and he knew that his allies need to rest and eat something.

However, he also knew that David could be the one to walk through that door at any moment.

Ace was still furious with him. He probably would be furious with him for the rest of his life. David was a condescending, deluded guy who didn't bother to think outside the box for the good of those who were like them.

But at the end of the day, that guy was his blood (whoever he liked it or not) and he wanted to make sure he was still alive.

David Artino would never miss an opportunity to exercise his authority as an older brother and scold him for the first reason that crossed his mind. He could see him hiding like a mole in some hole in the city, losing his mind to the chaos that his younger brother was slowly planting in every corner of planet Earth.

However, he could also see him being killed in the street by an angry horde who knew he was a prodigy, or by a group of policemen who mistook him for one of the hundreds of protesters that had filled the city, and although the thought made him uncomfortable, it might be best if things stayed that way.

After all, if David went out to the real world, the world that was out there right now would probably kick him to the ground, take out his eyes, and eat them before stabbing him and letting him there to die.

Yes, things should stay that way. With Ace Anarchy alive and building the world as it must have been from the start, and with the Artino brothers dead, buried in a sealed tomb from which not even their souls could escape.

He was about to stand up when someone knocked on the door. Honey’s bees, which had been quietly resting on the church pews, began to buzz like watchdogs barking at the presence of a stranger.

Alec knew those four knocks.

Honey and Leroy suddenly fell silent and settled into their chairs almost unconsciously. Ace put on his helmet and then, with a wave of his hand, he slightly opened the cathedral door.

His hair was longer than normal. He recognized the same coat he was wearing the last time he saw him, but he had changed his pajama bottoms for faded jeans. He had a mysterious blow to the head and the deepest circles under his eyes he had ever seen. That, plus that unkempt beard, made Ace even more certain that, had he seen him on the street, he probably wouldn't have recognized him.

At least until he saw his blue eyes. David had unmistakable blue eyes.

“Good evening, fellow anarchist,” Ace greeted from his seat. “How can we help you?”

David gripped the door and frowned. “Alec?”

The bees buzzed louder and Honey turned to see him. “Do you know him?”

Leroy and his toxic green eyes seemed to ask the same question.

“You don't want to mention that name here,” Ace warned, ignoring his allies. “Seriously.”

David did not reply. Not that he expected him to. “Come in,” he assured him, nodding slightly. “Us Anarchists are willing to help any prodigy. We fight for all of them. Even for those who prefer to give in to the system that oppresses us in the first place. "

His allies fell silent. Ace knew he wasn't going to be wrong about them; they were fully aware that their opinion was not necessary at that time.

David's old sneakers squeaked on the marble floor of the church. The white shoelaces were stained with dark blood. “I… I looked for you everywhere,” he muttered.

“I didn't go anywhere,” he replied. “I was always here.”

He resisted the childish urge to ask where he had been, precisely because that was it. Childish. Something that only a kid would do.

And Alec James Artino, the kid, was dead.

David reached the first step of the altar and Ace stood up. “Don’t.”

His brother stopped before taking another step. He even stepped back and put his hands to his chest, as if his heart had ached at that simple word.

You see? Weak.

“I'm not here to take you anywhere,” he assured.

Ace gave a mocking laugh. “So?”

“I'm here to join you.”

The smile faded from Ace’s face. However, he did not interpret it as a sign of weakness, because immediately, he was able to recover from the blow and remain expressionless as his brother's gaze pierced his like stakes.

Even with him there, right in front of Ace, standing in the middle of the cathedral, he knew that David didn't belong there. He was not an Anarchist like them. Something was missing. Maybe courage. Maybe it was determination.

Perhaps what he lacked was that spark of life that rage gave when it started a fire in the depths of your gut.

So why bother?

Before the question slipped from his lips, the answer came to his head and it all made sense to him.

Ace was right. The day anarchy was born, the Artino brothers had died, but there was no one alive to bury them. The ghost of David Artino had spent days searching for his only remaining family, wandering around town like a beggar.

Because deep down, he needed him more than Alec had ever needed David.

How did he explain that the little brother he was looking for was dead, and now only the man he had become remained?

He knew how to explain it, but David was stubborn. Even if Ace chose the most appropriate words for the situation, he could never make him see things the way he wanted him to. At least not if he knew Alec was dead.

He did not know that in an ideal world, the only one still alive was Ace Anarchy.

It wasn't the perfect scenario, but the perfect thing about that scenario was that David didn't need to know that just yet. Alec's ghost could come out of his grave as many times as necessary and Ace could use that to his advantage for as long as he wanted.

That would make the ghost David very happy. And if David was happy and he could take advantage of that happiness, then Ace would be happy too.

Ace removed his helmet and laid it gently on his chair. When he returned his gaze to David, his eyes were full of tears.

He also tried to cry, but couldn't. Therefore, he decided to extend his arms and allow David to stumble his way to him, giving him the strongest hug he had ever received while stroking his hair and sobbing: “I missed you so much, my little nightmare.”

Alec took Ace by the arms and placed them on David's shaking back. “I missed you too.”

But he was lying. He wondered if ghost David was lying too.

He better not.

***

I wasn't born to walk on water,

I wasn't born to sack and slaughter,

but on my soul, I wasn't born

to stoop, to scorn, and knuckle under.

A man can learn to steal some thunder.

A man can learn to work some wonder.

Year 4, month 7

When it all started, Ace did not like to think of himself as a leader. At least not a leader like the previous ones. God, just thinking about becoming one of those who used to rule the world before he turned things around made him feel sick.

However, over time he grew tired of explaining to each of those who arrived, full of desire to prove something (to the world, to Ace, and themselves), that he was not a leader as such. Little by little, he started to ignore those types of comments and just let himself go with the flow.

At least until David noticed his unconformity with the matter and approach him to talk about it.

It was a couple of months after he arrived. Ace was saying his prayers before going to bed when someone knocked on his door.

Four times. As always.

He quickly crossed himself and muttered, “Come in.”

David came in, holding a candle and wrapped in a robe that "the simps" had given to Leroy (it hadn't fit him, but David was so malnourished that it was like the robe had been made for him.)

Ace put on his robe too. “How can I help you?”

David fixed his gaze on the figure of the Virgin Mary that Ace had on a ledge. “Were you praying?”

“Of course,” he answered, feeling a little defensive.

David scoffed. “Wow.”

“What?”

“I thought ... I thought you didn't do it anymore.”

Ace rolled his eyes and pretended to arrange the covers on his bed (they didn't need to be arranged, he was very meticulous about that matter). “How can I help you?” he repeated.

David finally took his eyes off the Virgin Mary and turned to see him.

It surprised him he still had bags under his eyes. He thought that now that he slept in a decent bed, ate decent food, and no longer had to go through the same stressful situations that he went through before, his face would start to look more youthful again.

Maybe the bags under one’s eyes were like expression or acne marks. They would always be there.

Just like experiences.

Then David started talking to him. A lot. About how he had noticed his discomfort when people called him a leader. About him believing that he shouldn't feel that way because being placed in such a position was completely expected and even natural for it to happen. (“Don't interrupt me.” “I wasn't going to.” Oh, but he was going to.) About if he really wanted things to work out, the world was going to need someone to guide it down the path of good, and David did not doubt that someone was Ace.

They spent several hours just ranting about it. There was a point where the two of them were lying on his bed, Ace covered by his red blanket and David tightly holding a pillow against his chest. The candle was getting smaller and smaller, and David had chosen to place it next to the figure of The Virgin Mary as if it had been lit for her from the beginning.

Only that there was a God who saw everything, and that God knew that the candle had not been lit for her.

Ace was staring at the wooden ceiling when David told him, “I could never be a leader.”

“Why?”

Obviously Ace knew that David could never be a leader, but he wanted to know why his brother thought that way.

David clung to the pillow tighter. He wasn't looking at the ceiling; he looked at Ace. Sideways, but he was looking at him. “I don’t know. I think it's just not my… personality. Even when the guys and I were out there doing the… protests and stuff, I never led any of them,” he explained. “I've always been more of a follower.”

Ace did not answer. Yet he hoped David would interpret his silence as a sign that he had agreed with him.

“But on the other hand, you... Alec, you are a leader.”

His jaw clenched when he heard his name. He had to work on it. “What makes you think that?”

“Because… seriously, why wouldn’t you be a leader?” He turned around so he could look at him and Ace felt obligated to turn to see him as well. Only that he decided not to. “People look after you. They know you are a leader and they follow you. See how much you've changed in a matter of weeks. Inadvertently, you have led people up to this point in history. No one had ever come this far. No one except you.”

Then, Ace couldn't take it anymore and turned to meet his brother's eyes. “But won't that make me like everyone else?”

“Everyone else?” asked a very confused David.

Because David never understood anything.

“Like all the other leaders,” he replied, trying not to lose patience. “Leaders who are corrupt and selfish and—“ His brother interrupted his monologue with laughter. Much to someone who had complained when he tried to cut him off in the middle of a ridiculously long explanation. “—What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” David replied smiling. “It’s just… forget it.” He put a hand on his cheek and kept laughing underneath. “Alec, you’re not going to be like the other leaders.”

“And how are you so sure of that?” he asked a little louder than he wanted to.

David hardly seemed to notice. “Because you are not like that. You are not evil.” He sighed. “Now… there is the potential for evil everywhere, but the only way to combat it’s if more people choose goodness. If more people choose heroism. And you… you are one of those people. I am sure.”

And with those words, the candle extinguished, and Ace decided that it was time for both of them to go to sleep. He allowed David to stay the night. It was not like he had given any sign of wanting to go back to his room anyway. Ace spent most of the night awake, but not necessarily because his older brother's snoring kept him from sleeping.

What kept him from sleeping was thinking that maybe... maybe he was right. Maybe Ace did have to start taking the role of leader. After all, human beings were like that. They were always looking for someone to follow, someone they could cling to that would protect them in some way or another. That someone could be the parents. Older brothers. God himself.

But sometimes that someone was not looking for what was best for them. For example, Ace and David's parents never made the slightest effort to hide how much they hated their children. He was still a kid when his brother took him by the hand, put a coat on him, and told his parents that they were going out to the park. Ace didn't want to go to the park; he wanted to stay home to play with his wooden cubes, but David told him that if he went to the park with him, he would give him a surprise on the way home.

However, they passed the park and David went to a clothing and suitcase store that was near the dock where various boats full of tourists departed. On his way out, he bought his younger brother a lollipop and two one-way tickets to Gatlon City.

They never looked for them. Although if they had, he doubted they would have found them.

For a long time, Ace didn't fully understand what had happened. He just knew that he was never going to see his parents again. Regardless, it was not a thought that haunted him. After all, he hated his parents. And he didn't feel bad about it. Ace had David. David would never hurt him in any way.

At least that's how it was until he grew up. He grew up and realized that David had lied and stolen to get them out of Italy. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; they would never have survived in Italy anyway. The bad thing was when David lied to him and robbed him for his own benefit. He lied to him about Gatlon's hate towards prodigies and he stole money from his savings when what he earned wasn't enough to pay the monthly rent on his apartment.

And then… there was God.

God existed. Clearly. It was one of the few things Ace didn't feel like he needed proof for. However… God hadn't always been there for him. God had been used as a weapon for hundreds of years to attack prodigies like Ace...

Yes, God was not going to save him. He wasn't going to save any of the millions and millions of prodigies that were counting on Ace Anarchy. God was not a hero.

But Ace could be.

So from that day on, Ace began to be the head in practically all the operations that the Anarchists carried out. Nothing happened without him finding out and approving it first. He recorded numerous videos and wrote dozens of speeches that they would use to spread his word around the world. Prodigies from all countries began to rise against their respective governments, and although some of them gave them what they wanted, the vast majority made the mistake of underestimating them and denying their more than reasonable requests.

Because, well, Ace didn't find anything outrageous about a bunch of people asking their governments to recognize their basic human rights.

Sometimes the prodigies of those places could take down their governments by themselves. However, on a couple of occasions, Ace had to travel to those places to give them a hand. They weren't too far away, so Ace could use his powers to transport himself there, and he still had enough strength left to turn the helicopters and tanks that they sent to try to finish him into unusable pieces of metal. There wasn’t a single place where he had not succeeded, and there was not a single place where people did not make him a symbol and call him a hero.

Not even a single one.

That was why he did not understand people who wanted to leave the trenches.

The first time people from the cathedral had explicitly told him that they wanted to resign were the Benitez twins, Fénix and Tritón. He was a water elemental and she was a fire elemental, who had fought alongside Ace and hundreds of other prodigies like him when they took over the government palace of their country and liberated the population. They were young but strong, like most of those who joined the cause. They spent a year and six months helping on missions that Ace, Honey, or even Leroy assigned them, and never received anything other than good comments from their superiors...

“Then why do you want to leave?” Honey asked them.

She, Leroy, the twins, and he were in what had been the bishop's office after he summoned them all to a meeting where they would assess the situation. Not because he felt a special affection for them; they weren't too different from the other people Ace had in charge of. He just wanted to know why and approve the situation.

Like he always did.

Tritón smiled charmingly at Honey. He and his twin sister had the same curly black hair, but she never smiled. “As we said before… it's nothing personal,” he replied. “Fénix and I were never mistreated here, but... we want to find our own way in life.”

Honey and Leroy turned to see each other. Leroy looked quite indifferent to the situation as if he wished to be in his lab, looking for new ways to finish burning his eyebrows, while Honey seemed quite suspicious regarding the true intentions behind Tritón's words and Fénix's deadly silence.

Ace stood up and looked out the window.

“Are you going back to Mexico?”

“Yes. But not to the same place we came from.”

“And how are you going to—“

“Stop overwhelming them with so many questions, my Queen,” Ace interrupted while turning around. “They are old enough to make their own decisions.”

Tritón sighed in relief, and Fénix didn't even look up to see him. “They had already packed their things, apparently,” and he pointed to the backpacks they were carrying. The same ones with which they had arrived at the cathedral.

“Yes, it's just… we didn't want to make a big fuss about our departure,” Tritón replied. “We want it to be respectful and press-free, please.”

That comment managed to make him smile slightly. “I see no reason to keep you as prisoners,” he said, addressing Honey and Leroy. “If they want to leave, they can.”

Leroy raised his only remaining eyebrow. “Can they?”

“They can,” he repeated. He turned slightly to continue staring out the window. It was a lovely day out there. “Wanting to look for something more than what we are capable of offering is a valid reason to leave.”

“Not that we’re filling like something’s missing here,” Tritón said. “On the contrary, we have never been more… blessed. We promise that we will always keep in mind all the things the Anarchist taught us. We will be on your side even if it is from a distance.”

Now it was Honey's turn to raise an eyebrow. “I don't know, this is too—“

“Excuse me, Queen Bee,” Tritón interrupted, “but ... we're in a bit of a rush.”

“An ally has promised to take us to the border in his truck,” Fénix said, speaking for the first time during the entire conversation. “He's going to pick us up in an hour and it's a long way to the meeting point.

Ace looked through the window to find David welcoming some of the prodigies who had come out to find more supplies for the cathedral. He pointed out where they were being kept and offered to help them carry some boxes up the stairs.

Ace had to go to check on that.

“Acey...”

“Take care of yourselves, Tritón and Fénix,” Ace said, heading for the exit. “Thank you very much for your loyalty. Let me show you the door.”

The twins looked at each other, immediately nodding slowly and leaving the room, walking in front of Ace, shoulder to shoulder, and muttering something. As they walked down the stairs, Ace was too busy thinking about the new shipment that had arrived to care about their conversation, until he tried to overhear them and realized they were speaking in Spanish.

They never spoke Spanish. Not in the cathedral. No one could have understood them if they did. What was the point of hiding something?

Unless they are hiding something.

He turned his attention back to the backpacks they carried. Yes, they were the same ones that they had brought the first day they arrived, but now they seemed fuller than before. And when Ace said fuller, he meant it. Those backpacks were about to explode.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The twins kept walking as if they hadn't realized that Ace was no longer with them. Honey and Leroy caught up with him, while Honey was saying something about this situation making her babies (the bees) very nervous, and she knew that was a bad sign. Leroy replied that those "babies" should take a Xanax, but he didn't sound too convinced of his words either.

Fénix took his brother's hand and Tritón looked back, making contact with Ace's dark eyes.

The backpacks. The backpacks were too full.

Ace used his powers to rip them off their shoulders, at the same time he grabbed them from the collars of their clothes and lifted them like a mother lioness would have carried her cubs. The two cried out in shock but fell silent when they came face to face with Ace.

Neither of them said anything. Not even Tritón. They only held on tighter by the hand as Ace opened their backpacks, dropped their contents on the floor, and revealed that they were carrying, along with their personal belongings, tons of food and hygiene items taken directly from the cathedral warehouse.

The warehouse that David was supposed to watch.

“My bracelet!” Honey exclaimed. “That... bitch was taking my bracelet!”

A group of bees returned the bracelet to her queen. Honey thanked them in a low voice and immediately, her face was completely changed by her anger. “How dare you?” she asked Fénix putting a finger on her chest. “How dare you disrespect me like that ?! Is that how you were going to pay the man who was going to take you to the border!?” But Fénix didn’t say anything. Again. “Answer me!”

“More like how dare you!” Fénix suddenly yelled. Honey took a step back from shock. “How dare you take everything from people who have nothing!”

“Fénix... por favor...” Tritón whispered.

“Shut the fuck up, Diego!” she yelled at his brother. “Tell me, Harper! How do you sleep at night?” she kept asking. “How do you sleep at night knowing that you have helped destroy the world as we know it? How can you reason that what you’re doing is right?!”

“Eleonor! Eleonor, por favor!”

Fénix started to try to free herself from Ace's grip, but that only made Ace cling tighter to the collar of her blouse. “How dare you even think you’re the good guys?”

Then, she looked him dead in the eye and spat, “How dare you call yourself a hero, Alec Artino?”

Ace thought hearing his name was going to make him lose his mind. Yet some way or another, his face remained expressionless. Even when Honey slapped the shit out of Fénix and the bees began to fly around her, stinging every bit of skin that wasn’t covered by her clothes. He also remained expressionless when he heard Tritón yell at Honey to leave her sister alone, calling her a "pinche vieja bruja" in the process, or when Leroy (who didn't understand anything, but knew it wasn't a compliment) held both of his wrists to prevent it from forming a wave of water that would drown all the bees instantly. It did not cause him anything at all to hear the poison melting Tritón's skin, making him cry in pain, or Fénix yelling and cursing.

And he didn’t even flinch when he broke Tritón's neck. Or when he left Fénix alive just the exact amount of time for her to process what her actions had caused to the only family she had left before breaking her neck too.

Ace dropped what was left of the Benitez twins. The bees moved away from the body and returned to Honey as if they were children hiding in their mother's skirts after having been lost for hours in the market, and Leroy let go of Tritón’s wrists without saying a word. Ace looked around and realized that a big amount of people had watched the entire scene from a distance.

One of those people had been David.

At that moment, Honey's bracelet fell off her hands. Ace picked it up with his powers and Honey whispered, "Thanks, Acey". She tried to put it on, but her hands were shaking so much that Leroy reached out (reluctantly) to help her adjust the clasp.

She didn't take her eyes off the corpses. “Someone come pick them up,” Leroy ordered.

Ace pointed to the first group of people he encountered. “You,” he barked. The trio of anarchists trembled slightly. “You’ve heard Cyanide. Clean up this mess.”

He turned to tell Leroy and Honey to go with him to the office, but they had already made their way to Honey's quarters, while she was babbling about something insignificant and a cloud of agitated bees followed them. David was also not where he had last seen him, but found him turning his back on him and putting the supply crates in the warehouse.

The warehouse that was his responsibility. The warehouse that the Benitez twins had managed to steal from it without anyone noticing.

David couldn’t stay there. He would have to get him a new position, the sooner the better.

Being a hero was not doing things that everyone considered right. Being a hero was to be a revolutionary, one who was willing to make sacrifices to protect the people who were on his side. Especially when those sacrifices meant the death of traitors who only sought their own benefit, completely forgetting the rest of them.

To protect the people who were on his side. Not the enemy. Never the common good.

The common good was not something Ace believed in, because that would mean looking after his oppressors, and they had never looked after prodigies at any point in human history.

Why start doing it now that the tables have turned?

Perhaps those thoughts made him more than just a revolutionary. Ace was probably a visionary.

But did those thoughts make him a villain too?

***

And soon the moon will smolder,

and the winds will drive.

Yes, a man grows older, but his soul remains alive.

All those tremulous stars will glitter,

and I will survive!

Year 10, month 11

For a lot of people, the answer was yes.

Being a visionary was the same as being a villain.

No one had ever said that to his face, but Ace knew it was what they were thinking. He saw it on the journalist’s faces, who came from time to time to the cathedral to report the latest advances in some important mission or some notable event. He felt it in the air of the cathedral, where some of his allies bent down every time they saw him as if they were not worthy to look him in the eye. He felt it every time he looked at his brother's expressionless eyes, working in the basement that served as a workshop where he created weapons for the Anarchists.

However, none of those silent reproaches mattered to him. Ace knew what he was doing was the right thing. Even if that made him not fit into the perfect image society had in its head of what a hero should be.

Ace had learned that there were no heroes or villains. Not like everyone thought.

The world would one day understand it as well as he did. But in the meanwhile, he had to sit down and observe that embarrassing spectacle.

They had managed to fix the TV that was at the former’s bishop's office. The only channels that were still actually broadcasting anything, besides the same old shows over and over again, were the news channels. But then he decided to do it just when it was absolutely necessary, for example, when they lied or got too close to a truth the public didn't need to know.

After all, freedom of speech was a human right.

Leroy was sat on the comfy chair Honey always sat on when they were in Ace's office. David offered Honey his chair and she said that she expected no less from someone as chivalrous as him (“Definitely some men should start taking your example”), but then added he shouldn’t worry about it, Ace was surely going to allow her to sit on his desk. Ace didn't see why not. She even brought her pillow with her. She put it over the desk, at the exact place she was going to sit on, and had her eyes fixated on the TV like she were a little girl watching colorful cartoons.

They were broadcasting from the West Zone of the city. An Anarchist truck was on fire in the background of the image. The trio of prodigies that Ace himself had sent to exchange some weapons for medicines with the usual gangs they always trade with, were tied with a chrome chain as if they were animals. The sky was still blue, but the evening light made the clouds turn orange and illuminated the faces of the two figures standing at the base that held the statue of a man with a copper-colored helmet.

Ace had never seen that monument as an ode to himself. He didn’t even know it was there until David told him about it, after going out to the city to visit that girlfriend of his. It seemed that some prodigies had come together and built it on their own. They hadn't left a signature or a way to prove who were they, but they did leave a golden plaque that read: "Long live to anarchy".

To anarchy. Not him. He was just the face they had given it.

He thought that everyone would think the same, but apparently, that pair didn't see it that way.

Because again, apparently, that pair shared a single brain cell.

One of them had brown skin and his cape flapped in the wind. His entire body looked slightly translucent, probably due to the nervousness that caused him to have that many people looking at him. Ace had met enough prodigies to identify when their powers gave away their mood. However, most of the general public would not be able to know exactly what he was feeling, because a black mask covered most of his facial features and he was not saying a single word.

He was terrified.

Poor little thing… sure.

The other was blond and his eyes were full of courage. The more words that came out of his mouth, the more his cheeks turn red and the tighter he clenched his fists. He was also wearing a mask, but even someone less observant than Ace could tell exactly what he was feeling.

“…and now this!” he yelled at the crowd. “Now this statue! A statue in the middle of the city, as if having experienced firsthand all the misfortunes that his anarchist reign has brought to our lives has not been enough, now he wants to constantly remind us that he won. He won—” His voice cracked, and he tried to hide it by coughing. Honey burst out laughing. “—and he will keep winning until someone stops him!”

The boy in the cape put his hand on the monument. “You know what this reminds me of? It reminds me of loss.” He became invisible and within seconds, he was sitting on the statue's outstretched arm. “Because Ace Anarchy has taken away from us so many things—” He jumped off and fell gracefully onto the base again “—that he took our fear with him.”

“That’s why we are here,” the other continued. “We are fed up with Ace Anarchy and his government, and I'm sure you are too.” He took a deep breath and smiled at the nearest camera. “But we don't blame you if you still don't understand. There is nothing wrong with being paralyzed with fear. That is what Ace Anarchy has wanted us to do during these ten years that he has been in power. The good news is that there is a cure for fear, and that cure is hope.”

A young, dark-skinned reporter pushed her way through the crowd. Her microphone had a number five printed on it, and Ace recognized the channel immediately.

He had killed one of its journalists after she refused to stop digging graves. He had to do it; if she dug too much, she would surely have found Alec Artino's body.

After all, freedom of speech was a human right. Messing up with the dead was just a quicker way for you to end up like them.

“Georgia Rawles, for Channel Five,” the reporter said with a heavy breath. “I think we're all asking ourselves the same question about—” She tried to search for the correct words, but the time was running out and she couldn’t find it, so she sighed and just blurted out, “Who are you?”

Leroy rolled his eyes. “More reporters like her, please...” he mumbled sarcastically.

She handed the microphone to the one with the cape. For a few seconds, he was almost completely invisible, but the insistence of the reporter Rawles brought him back to reality and his voice did not tremble as his legs did when he said: “We are that hope.”

The other boy tapped Georgia Rawles’ shoulder and she swiftly passed him the microphone.

He never stopped smiling. “We are the Renegades.”

Georgia Rawles drew back slightly. He couldn’t tell whether her expression was one of horror or joy because right after replying, the boy smashed the monument to anarchy with a single blow and turned it into pieces.

They both jumped from the base before the monument could crash them. Dread Warden and Captain Chromium ran towards the city, without any reporter bothering to follow them.

Ace turned off the television with his powers, and for about five seconds, neither of them spoke.

“They're not good at picking aliases,” Honey spat out of nowhere.

“So that’s the problem you have with this?” Leroy blurted out.

“Dread Warden… that has nothing to do with his powers,” Honey explained as if she were explaining to a five-year-old why the sky is blue. “And Captain Chromium is too… cheesy to be a real alias. Are we sure they were serious when they gave their names to the reporters from the first channel that arrived on the scene?” She cleared her throat and said (trying so hard to imitate the voice of a teenage boy whose voice hadn’t change yet), “He won,” before burst out laughing again.

“How mature of you…” David muttered.

“Do you have something to say, brother?” Ace asked.

For a second, he thought that David would not answer him, as he had been doing lately whenever he asked him that question. However, this time he did not remain silent and turned to see him. Not in the eyes, of course. “Actually, I do.”

Ace leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead then.”

“I don't think we should take this lightly.”

Honey scoffed. “Who says we are taking this lightly? The invisible twink and his lesbian boyfriend hate us, so what? They’re not the first ones, like… get in line, girl.”

“Well, you don’t seem too worried about the whole situation, to be honest.”

“It's because Honey doesn't shut up about the names thing, right?” Leroy asked in a slightly teasing tone.

“It's just my marketing major talking,” Honey said, slightly kicking him, barefoot. “I know about branding and stuff.”

“You dropped out.”

She put on her left heel and kicked Leroy. “You too!”

David massaged his temple. Ace turned around in his rotating chair and looked out the window. The sky had turned the same color as the clouds.

“Alec,” David called him. “It seems like… they—the Renegades think of themselves as heroes, and… they see you as the villain. I don't know, they could be a real threat, you shouldn't ignore them.”

Ace really wanted to tell David to just go back to his workshop. What did he know? They were just a couple of children who had destroyed a monument, who hadn't even been able to reveal their true identities and hid the entire time behind their masks, like criminals.

They were not a real threat.

But then, the seventeen-year-old Ace Anarchy appeared on the other side of the window, challenging him to finish that sentence inside his head. The seventeen-year-old Ace Anarchy who had dismantled entire governments and liberated millions of prodigies simply by wearing that helmet and its powers.

And when Ace blinked again, it was no longer the dark eyes of his old self that were staring at him from the glass, but the gray eyes of Captain Chromium, with that smug and arrogant smile, that he used to charm the cameras moments ago, passing his fingers through his hair as if his life depended on it.

Ace couldn’t look away from him.

He resembled Ace, but it was not enough. The old Ace didn't smile at his oppressors and he didn't have an unhealthy obsession with his hair either. He did not seek to protect people to win their affection, because he didn’t care if people like him or not, he knew he was doing the right thing.

The old Ace was not a kid playing to be a superhero, because superheroes didn't exist in the first place.

When he blinked, none of them were there anymore. Just his present self.

He smiled at himself to regain confidence.

Ace had learned that there were no heroes or villains. Captain Chromium was going to have to learn it too, and soon. Ace was willing to be the one to teach him that lesson.

And he would, whether he liked it or not.

***

There was a dream, a dying ember.

There was a dream, I don't remember,

but I will resurrect that dream,

though rivers stream and hills grow steeper.

For here in hell where life gets cheaper.

Oh, here in hell the blood runs deeper!

And when the final duel is near, I'll lift my spear and fly!

Year 20, month 5

The main difference between Ace and his brother was that David always fled at the first sign of danger. Always.

When the boys at his school began to suspect that he was a prodigy, David skipped school for weeks, getting his clothes dirty enough to make it look like he had spent breaks running after a ball along with his bullies. When his mother slapped him with the hot metal spoon, yelling he would not eat dinner that night, they both hid in the closet of his room, while David hugged him tightly and sobbed, telling him he rather be dead. When his father came home from work a few hours later and almost killed him, David took them both out of that house and out of Italy.

He said it was because he knew that the next beating would be the last and that when he was gone, Mr. Artino was going to focus all his anger on Alec, who would end up having the same fate as David. He didn't want that for his little nightmare.

What he didn't count on was that if Ace had been in his place, he would have turned around and slammed the bullies into the concrete wall of the school. He would have endured hunger and weariness with dignity and would have killed his father before he could touch a single one of his hairs. Ace wouldn't have turned his back on his problems. Ace would have fought for himself, just as for twenty years he had been fighting for all prodigies.

And now this.

He always knew that David didn't have what it took to be an anarchist. He was too deep in his own thoughts to even make an effort to listen to him. Ace had decided not to bother to explain to him the whole situation because there was no force on Earth able to change his mind anyway, and he had much more important things to worry about.

They were both sitting in the tiny white dining room in the apartment where he, Tala, and the girls lived. Ace had arrived unexpectedly so she had put more water to boil because the one they had put in for breakfast had cooled down. She apologized for the inconvenience, but he assured her that there was no problem, she could take all the time she needed. David had a cup of cold tea in his hands. He had never lost that disgusting habit of biting his nails.

No, David was not an anarchist. But Ace never thought he was a traitor.

Not until now.

The kettle began to boil at the same time the baby cried from the other room.

Tala turned off the stove and Ace could tell she was debating between pouring his tea or going to see what was going on.

“Don't worry,” Ace said walking towards her, “I'll serve it, you go take care of your daughter. Would you like me to make one for you too? "

He knew he intimidated people, but Tala took it to another level. She looked at her feet the whole time, her hands were shaking and she didn’t even answer the question before running into the next room, where Nova was complaining about her little sister's cries.

Ace took another splintered mug from the cupboard. With his powers, of course. The place looked clean (they probably spent a lot of time cleaning for lack of other hobbies), but he didn't trust them. “I've always said it: Tala is a lovely woman,” he said.

David didn't even flinch.

He had never been good at hiding his feelings.

“How does she like her tea?”

“Uh?”

He put his hands behind his back and opened the jar where they kept the chamomile tea. “How does Tala like tea?” he asked again.

David finally came back to reality. “Oh… three of sugar. She likes to add three spoons of sugar.”

Ace tried his best not to roll his eyes. I see this wife of yours wants to give herself cavities.

By the time the tea was served, the baby had stopped crying and Tala left the room again, with Nova following her. “Uncle Alec!”

David and Tala turned to see her with a single exclamation on their lips.

No.

But they didn't say anything. It was too late. Nova was already hugging his legs and Ace was stroking her strands of poorly cut hair. “Good morning, Nova, how are you?”

“Terrible,” Nova replied in all honesty. “Evie has been si—“

“Tala, Alec made you some tea,” David interrupted suddenly.

“Oh, that’s true.” He levitated the cup towards her and couldn't help but smile when he saw her recoil as the cup approached her, wondering if this was how she would see the barrel of a pistol approaching her forehead. “With three tablespoons of sugar. Just the way you like it.”

For the first time, Tala looked at him. “I don't like my tea with sugar,” she said in a calm voice. She shot David a stern look. “I thought we have talked about it.”

David looked so... small and weak. “I forgot about it. I'm sorry.”

But that "I'm sorry" didn't sound at all like the "I'm sorry" someone says when the only wrong they've done is forgetting how their wife prepares her tea.

It was the "sorry" of a traitor.

It was the "sorry" that Ace was waiting to receive.

Then he held out the other cup. “I apologize, that was my mistake. Take this cup then. I don't like to add sugar to my tea either.”

Tala accepted the cup. She took a sip and Ace recognized that micro-expression of disgust as she felt the hot chamomile water touch her palate.

It didn't surprise him that she had lied to him. That whole family was full of liars.

Nova turned to see her dad, laughing as only a child could laugh. “Oh, silly papà…” she said, hiding her head in his uncle's neck.

David smiled almost imperceptibly and raised his arms slightly so that Nova could run into them.

It reminded him a lot of when he wanted Alec to run into his arms.

But, like Alec, Nova didn't go to him. She liked being in her uncle's arms. “Oh, silly papà” Ace repeated. “Silly, silly papà...”

And the imperceptible smile disappeared completely.

“What were you saying, Nova?” he asked. "Moments ago. Are you having a terrible day? "

Nova knew immediately what he was talking about. She wasn't too busy drowning in the bitter taste of her lies. “It's just that Evie hasn't stopped crying for days,” she exclaimed with a face of pure exasperation. “We have given her everything, but nothing calms her down, and I always have to—”

“Alec, I have to tell you something.”

David had stood up and his fists were clenched on the splintered table. His knuckles had turned white and his bushy eyebrows betrayed the real nervousness behind all that facade of sternness.

He was so pleased by the image that he didn't even comment on how inappropriate it was to interrupt a woman when she was giving her point of view on something, or when Tala took advantage of this seemingly distracting moment to snatch Nova from his arms.

That was the moment. David was going to ask for forgiveness. He was going to break as he had broken that night when they were hidden inside the closet and just as he had begged his abusive father before he smashed his head against the nightstand. He would tell him that he regretted betraying him and that from now on, he would agree with him on everything. He would accept that he had never been anything but a coward who escaped trouble at the first opportunity and would run into Ace’s arms one more time.

That was the time for David to choose Ace as the god to whom he would pray for mercy.

That was the moment.

But of course, it would have been too dangerous. Therefore, he was not at all surprised, when he looked down at his teacup again and blurted out, “Evelyn has been very ill, and… we have run out of options. You know I wouldn't bother you with this if it wasn't important, but I wanted to know if… you know.”

“If I could get some medicine for Evelyn?”

David nodded energetically. “That's right.”

Ace pretended to stop to think about it. He wanted to see the desperation in his eyes and wanted him to suffer at the thought that he might never get the much-needed medicine for his little daughter.

He wanted David to suffer in every possible way he could, and when he thought it was going to break, Ace replied, “I think I have a contact that could help us with it.”

“When will you—”

“And with that medicine, Evie is finally going to stop crying?”

Now it was Nova's turn to interrupt him. If he weren't so blinded by the pain he wanted to inflict on his brother, he probably would have had found the act of Nova being the one interrupting her father delightful.

Tala tried to hide Nova with her arms when Ace approached them, but it was useless because he used his powers to gently pull Nova towards him, making her laugh out loud at the feeling that the levitation caused in her entire body. “I assure you, Nova, that with that medicine Evie will stop crying,” he replied, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “But in the meantime, you have to help your mom and papà, and keep doing what you say you do to calm her down. Now… how do you calm down your little sister?”

“I put her to sleep.”

David threw down a chair and ran over to Nova. Ace felt like she had been snatched from his arms again.

Having the two of them there, side by side, made him more aware of how similar they looked. Although Nova had always been a perfect mix of her two parents, Ace was much of the idea that one could know a lot about a person by looking into their eyes.

Nova had the same eyes as her father, but without the golden details that gave away the stardust that David was able to manipulate since birth.

The fact that their eyes were very similar but not identical could mean a lot of things. Perhaps it was that Nova had the worst quality of her mother and the only prodigious thing inside her was the half of the blood that ran through her veins. It would be a shame. The world did not need the oppressors to continue to reproduce with the oppressed and to gradually extinguish the spark with their inferior genes each prodigy had. It was only one of the thousand ways in which they were slowly annihilating them.

However, it could also mean that Nova was not like David, but not in the sense of being or not being a prodigy. Maybe those golden sparks were actually that her brother's soul had been born rusty and that was what would never allow him to see the world as Ace did. Instead, Nova did her name justice and could symbolize a new beginning for them, much like the supernova that granted them their powers had been.

For a second, she saw Nova not as a child, but as raw and pure potential.

Did he know? Was David aware of how precious was what his rough hands were holding?

“She sings her to sleep,” he explained hastily. “Nova loves spending time with her little sister, and she loves carrying her. Whenever she cries she insists that we let her hold her and that always calms her down. It is like—”

“Magic?”

David hesitated. “Yes… magic.”

Nova played with the collar of her dad's shirt, thinking about God knows what, until something made click inside her brain. “Uncle Ace!”

“Yes, Nova?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but David silenced her with a severe look.

Ace offered Tala his help with washing the dishes before leaving. He assured them that he would be back as soon as possible and asked Nova to kiss little Evie goodnight for him. He gave Tala a quick (and unrequited) kiss on the cheek and a handshake to David.

The same hands that could have defended themselves from the abusers, that could have stopped the burning spoon before it slapped him, and those that could have wrapped around their father's neck before blood stained the old carpet in the room.

He decided that there would be no survivors. Not even the ghost of David.

David always ran from danger, but now he was the danger that could destroy what it took Ace years to build. Ace wasn't running from him. Ace noticed it, faced it, and defeated it.

Because, in the end, Ace Anarchy was the real danger.

***

Piercing into the sky and higher,

and the strong will thrive.

Yes, the weak will cower while the fittest will survive

If we wait for the darkest hour,

'till we spring alive...

He had already been to the dome of the cathedral on other occasions. The first time he had done it, it was dark. The entire city was in lockdown and there was not a single light because Ace had managed to uproot the building that provided basic service to all the city. Then, he thought that maybe, just maybe, that night the sky would be so clear that he would be able to see the stars. And what better place for stargazing than the dome of the cathedral.

He was right. He could see every last star. Their light was not like the light posts in the parks or the lamps in his old room. Their light was energy, it was strength, and it was sheer power.

They were so present in the sky and seemed so close to his fingertips that he felt one of them himself. But he did not believe that his energy, his strength, and his power was similar to that of any of those stars; it would be like reducing himself to being something that he was not, so he could fit into a mold that he did not to fit in and please people who did not appreciate him.

And like that, under the stars and on the dome of that cathedral, the birth of anarchy was announced with the explosion of a supernova.

Ace Anarchy was a supernova. Ace Anarchy was born on that dome.

Now he wondered if he was going to die there too.

Hugh Everhart was in front of him. He didn't move a single muscle and he didn't make a single face, not even when Ace spat his name like it was a blasphemy. With one hand he held his spear and with the other, he clung to the piece of cloth that passed through his chest and that held a baby dozing on his back. He took a step forward, and Ace imitated him, too blinded by adrenaline to even think that this image was too good to be true and that Hugh Everhart would never give himself up like this, on a silver platter, and without his allies by his side, unless he didn't plan on giving himself up in the first place.

It was the worst mistake he could have made. And he didn't even notice it until he began to feel… that.

It was as if he was being absorbed. Someone ran their hands from his head to the tips of his toes, causing the feeling of lightness with which he had lived for so long to gradually fade away. The cars he launched, the walls, and the corpses he used as weapons against the friends and relatives of the dead were growing heavier and Ace had never carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. At least not that way.

Never like this.

The fire inside him was getting smaller, and smaller, and the only thing that seemed to remain was a single spark.

Ace stepped back, but Hugh Everhart kept on walking towards him.

There came a time when there was no more dome Ace could stand on and he fell to his knees.

For that thousandth of a second, he felt the presence of Tala and the baby behind him, looking at him with a deadpan expression. David's ghost, made of the same stardust that his fingers could manipulate, laid his hand on his shoulder and a tear, bright and white, fell on the fabric of his trench coat.

It was a pure tear, waiting to be paid for with another tear that was just as pure as the first one. But Ace had long since lost the ability to cry.

Hugh Everhart pulled the helmet off his head with such force that he backed away a couple of meters. The air swiped away the ghosts of his brother, his wife, and daughter, leaving only Alec Artino, with his knobby knees and messy hair, looking at him as the lost child in the middle of the battlefield that he was.

He ran towards him and wrapped his thin and fragile arms around him telling him that perhaps it was time to accept his own humanity.

Because… what is Ace Anarchy without his helmet?

His enemy readied his spear and Ace turned to see the boy asking the question, who was looking at him as if his mere presence was the answer.

What was Ace Anarchy without his helmet? Was he that weak child, with a stuffy nose and restless hands? Was he the man he saw in the reflection of his eyes, with a sloppy beard and deep dark circles?

Was he the ghost he would soon become?

Alec held Ace by the cheeks, with those bony little hands that were always cold, no matter how many gloves he wore or how many times David wrapped his around them and rubbed them to keep them warm.

And then he asked him, “How do you kill a god?”

The answer was what brought him back to reality and the one that made him realize, that it had only been a couple of seconds from the moment he fell to his knees and now that he was standing up, Alec’s ghost fading for the last time.

Because David and Alec Artino should have died completely since day one. In a perfect world, the only one alive was Ace Anarchy.

Someday, that vision of a perfect world would become real, and neither Alec nor David would be there to intervene.

Someday...

The only thing that remained inside of him was a spark, but even a single spark could start the biggest of fires.

How do you kill a god?

How do you kill Ace Anarchy?

Oh, my little nightmare.

You don’t.

And with that, he spread his arms and leaped straight into the flames.

...then with claws of fire, we devour like a falcon in the dive!

#multifandom gift exchange 2020 #renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #alec james artino #ace anarchy #david artino #honey harper #leroy flinn #queen bee #obsi's writs #falcon in the dive

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ethelphantom · 4 years

Text

Aroma Mocha

So, I'm still kinda sorry about the previous fic, but maybe this coffee shop AU for day 20 makes up for it. 5k of pure humour and fluff, angst nowhere to be seen, I swear. Seriously, I give you my word, you will not need to cry tears of sadness here. Maybe scream at your screen because these two are idiots but like it's still just humour and fluff so.... But yeah. Have fun! Also remember that if you want to be tagged to my Daminette December still, just hit me up! (Or possibly this AU, if I decide to continue it because it was so fun to write.)

Ao3

This is Maribat -- don’t like; don’t read.

____

Damian walked (if you asked anyone else, they would have told you he stormed in rather than calmly walked) into the shop with a scowl on his face, mostly to escape from the horrible weather outside. The bell chimed above his head as he pushed the door open, and immediately he could sense the air in the shop was both sweet and bitter as it enveloped him.

“Hello and welcome to Aroma Mocha! What can I get for you today, sir?” the young woman behind the counter said, a wide smile on her face. Damian could definitely see why it was called the Aroma Mocha, the entire space was filled with different aromas. Somehow, none of them clashed with each other.

“Hi… I’d like to have a mochaccino, please,” he decided rather quickly, quite sure that was what his brother had called the coffee he got Damian last time they were in a coffee shop.

“Sure! Name?”

“Damian.”

“Great! You want to drink it here or are you going to take it with you?”

Damian noted the strong French accent the woman had. She’d probably moved here only lately. Maybe if she seemed to struggle with English at all, he’d change to French for her.

“I’ll have it here, thanks.”

“Alright. That would be five dollars, please.”

Damian took out his wallet and gave her the amount she asked for, putting the same amount of money to the tips jar on the counter. She flashed a bright smile at him, and he really wasn’t sure whether it was the most annoying or the most wonderful thing he’d seen all day. Perhaps it was both.

“Great. You can either wait here ot find yourself a table, I’ll call your name soon, monsieur.”

And there was the first slip-up with languages. Goodness. It’s not like it never happened to him, but it was regardless a little frustrating. He decided he was going to pay attention to her English and change to French if it continued for too long.

(Spoiler alert, he never did.)

After a few minutes of waiting and going through his new notifications, the woman was back.

“A mochaccino for… Daemon!”, the barista called and set the cup on the counter before she went back to her job.

And did she really just call him “Daemon”? No, that was unlikely. Maybe it was just her accent that made him hear thi— aaaaannnd she totally said Daemon. That was the name written on the cup.

Well, that was fine. Maybe she just heard something wrong. It’s not like she did it out of spite or anything. Besides, the coffee was quite good, so that compensated for it.

A few days later, he came back to Aroma Mocha. He’d all of a sudden found himself craving the mochachino the barista had made — though Damian would never admit that to any soul, especially not a living one and perhaps not even a dead one — and hoped she was there to make him more of it.

“Oh hi, welcome back! What can I get you this time?” the young woman said, spinning around to see who had entered the shop. She seemed to recognise him immediately.

“I’d like the same kind of mochaccino as last time, please. Again, my name is Damian,” he said, his tone rather cold. He was irritated from having to deal with his brothers for the entire day and right now, even the idea of getting called by the wrong name was more than a little annoying. If he was taking it out a little on the barista, well, it didn't matter to him.

A strained (and yet somehow bright — Damian was sure any normal person would consider it a genuine one) smile on her face, the barista replied, “Yes, of course, sir.”

He nearly missed the flashing smirk on her face, gone as soon as it had appeared. If Damian had been someone else and not as used to having to pay attention to the shifts in others’ expressions, if he wasn’t sure he’d seen it on her face, he would have likely convinced himself he was just seeing things. But, as it was, he knew it had been there, even if only for the mere second. Well, maybe it didn’t mean anything.

“A coffee for Daymein!”

And yes, there was definitely a wrong name on the cup, but as no one else made a move to get it either, he decided it was his. Once again, the drink was heavenly. The woman’s ability to spell his name was not.

But, two was still just a coincidence. He didn’t pay much mind to it aside from his light annoyance.

Third time was definitely a pattern.

“Deymun!”

He was getting more and more irritated. He’d been to the coffee shop thrice now, and every time the same barista got his name wrong. Even so, he was too stubborn to leave since she made excellent coffee (though Drake wouldn’t agree with him on that, he said it was rather a milkshake than actual coffee), and besides, now that she’d done it already three times, Damian was determined to make sure she called him by his actual name at least once. He would not leave before that, not even if it took him months.

“So, the same as last time? Or do you want to try something else this time?” the barista asked, smiling at him like she always did. Damian checked her name from the name tag. “Mari,” it said.

“Well, what would you recommend, Marie?” he asked, revelling in the offended look he got from her. What was bad was that seconds later it turned into a smirk and there was mischievous laughter in her eyes, and Damian was sure that meant he was in it now.

“Do you prefer the sugary, less coffee-like things more, or would you like to try an actual coffee for once?” she asked, her tone teasing. Drake would probably love her and get along with her faster than he could say coffee. Yeah, he was not going to let them meet. Mari arched her eyebrow, her stance clearly challenging him. Well, who was he to turn down a challenge? No real Wayne and no true Al Ghul would ever turn down a challenge, no way.

“I would like to have more of an actual coffee, as you called it, miss.”

“Would you rather get an americano or a long black? Or perhaps something else?”

He was certain she made sure he would catch on the way she mentioned the — long black, was it? — coffee earlier, daring him to try. He wouldn’t back down now, no way.

“A long black sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll have your drink prepared as soon as possible.”

A guy with blue hair took over the counter as she whispered something to him and started making the coffee. The guy looked over to him with a nearly unnoticeable smirk on his face before he turned to the new customer, his tone sweet but strong. The girl ordering the drink nearly swooned.

“A long black for Damodar ,” she called.

Oh it was on.

This time Damian had to admit the victory was Mari’s as he nearly spit out his coffee, hating every second of it. He was simply unable to not drink it as he could feel her shooting glances and gloating grins disguised as sweet smiles his way every now and then. He had no other choice.

When he came in for the fourth time, he decided to take the same drink, simply asking for an even stronger version of it. Marinette raised her brow, surprised and suspicious of him. He was sure she knew how it had affected him the previous time, but there was no way he was admitting he couldn’t stand it. Maybe he would just dumb a whole lot of sugar in there when she wasn’t looking so he could handle it better.

“Et mademoiselle Marilène , for the record, my name’s Damian.”

Her eye twitched even as she kept on smiling. “I’m sorry, D’occasion, what was that you were saying? I couldn’t hear you properly because you spoke so quietly.”

Damian couldn’t remember the last time he got as strong of an urge to turn on his heel and march away as he did right then and there. He didn’t, though, as he was not ready to admit victory to the girl now, if ever. If it meant he was going to keep coming there until she quit her job or called him by the correct name, he was not going to give up. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to keep doing so anyway.

The fifth time Damian asked for a new drink.

“Oh, pretty boy couldn’t take his drink after all? Luka, tu me dois 10 euros, j'ai gagné.”

The blue haired man groaned though there was still a smile on his face. “D’accord, Ma-Ma-Marinette.”

So both of them were French. How great.

Damian ended up cutting off the two of them and tried to make himself sound like he really hadn’t minded the strong, disgusting coffee, all the while noting the way the other barista had called Mari. Maybe he could use it one day? “I would simply like to try something new. Anything else you’d like to suggest?”

Mari smiled, a knowing glint dancing in her eyes. “Well, since you clearly didn’t enjoy strong black coffee, I’m gonna propose you try vienna. It is still strong, but it has whipped cream in it so it smoothes out the taste a little. How’s that sound?”

Damian bit back from commenting on her grammar (it was difficult, but he managed, somehow) as he considered her suggestion. It did sound more enjoyable than the previous one anyway. “Alright, I’ll take that.”

The woman looked victorious as he accepted her suggestion before she went to make his coffee. She also seemed so thoughtful he was sure she was trying to come up with a new name to call him. This time he was prepared though. As she picked up a pen, he opened his mouth, “I’m sure you have a hard time spelling my name, seeing as you aren’t from around here, but I can help you. It’s spelled D-A-M-I-A-N. Damian. Should be very simple and easy even with your brain, miss barista.”

So, maybe he was being an asshole, but this woman had misspelled his name enough many times to justify it, alright. If she was offended, she managed to conceal it very well.

“A vienna for Dandin,”, she called out a few minutes later.

It was his turn to be offended. She was holding out the drink instead of leaving it on the counter this time, and as he took it from her, she leaned forwards and whispered so quietly even he could only barely hear, “payback, you crétin.” He couldn’t even say anything back anymore, his pride wouldn’t allow him. Besides, maybe he deserved it.

Maybe.

Yeah, but even so, he was not letting it go.

It went on and on, and she came up with a lot of new names while at it. Somehow, she’d even gotten the man with hair dyed blue in it, as the few times Mari hadn’t been there and this Luka had, he’d called out Dandy, Danail and Damijan. At least those were closer to his actual name.

That once when he’d told her his name was Damian Wayne and managed to got all of the attention of the cafe, she’d simply laughed and written Devin Wayne on his cup, muttering something about a “Lila”... or was it a “liar”? He hadn’t been able to tell (he did make a mental note to investigate it later, though). Instead, he’d come fuming back to the manor and thrown one of their less valuable mugs against a wall. Alfred hadn’t been happy or impressed but let him go soon after he had cleaned up his mess.

Then there was that one time when his family insisted on coming with him because of how much time he liked to spend in the cafe at Aroma Mocha at this point.

(“If you, who couldn’t stand actual coffee like a month and a half ago are now craving so much coffee that you go to that coffee shop like every day and even then end up stealing my coffee, I have to know what they serve you there,” Drake had decided and then called the rest of the family over, informing them of his plan. They agreed in a blink and went to dress up. He didn’t stand a chance for a second.)

As soon as they entered, Mari smiled at them with the smile she’d worn on her face when they first met, only letting Damian see behind that mask, only letting him know how she truly felt at the moment. He scowled. She was winning and she knew it.

And she knew that he knew it as well.

“Hello and welcome to Aroma Mocha! It’s nice to see new faces come with older every once in a while! Is this your family, Dames?” she asked with an overly sweet tone and tilted her head to the side, smiling all the while.

“Oohh, is she the reason you just keep coming here?”, Grayson asked while Todd was staring at him with eyes wide before voicing everyone’s thought of “ Dames?!” out loud in disbelief. The only one that looked more shocked about it than Todd was his father. It was understandable — no one else could call him by any nicknames, but somehow this small French girl was able to do that without losing the use of both or at least one of her wrists right then and there.

He was never going to hear the end of this.

“Shut up. I didn’t ask any of you to come.”

“What can I get you all?”

As they listed off their orders (Cass got a mocha by pointing at it on the menu, a triple espresso for Tim (at that point she had wondered out loud whether he was actually related to “Dames” or not as he couldn’t drink that much espresso even if he tried — and he had tried, alright — to which she’d been immediately told they were adopted siblings, Tim being the adopted one), Duke ordered a freddo, Jason wanted a ca phe sua da, Dick asked for a galao, his father requested to get a ristretto, Stephanie wanted an iced americano and ended up joking something about Captain America, an iced coffee with salted caramel for Barbara, and Alfred, well. Alfred told Mari he would like to have an Irish coffee after he took one look at the idiots that were the Wayne family), Damian stayed in the back, grumbling and arms crossed over his chest.

“Alright, are you all going to pay for your respective drinks, do you pay in groups or will one of you pay for all of them?”, she asked, ready with the debit card device in her hand.

“But— Damian didn’t order yet?”

The woman looked at Damian and arched her eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. It needed to come from him, they both knew that, as she was still a barista and the worker here. Sighing, Damian resigned to his fate and told his family what it was about. “Marielle and I at some point ended up going with her just making something for me based on how I’ve liked the previous ones until I decide something was what I wanted more of. It probably happened after the sixth time I changed what I wanted.”

Damian smirked as Mari frowned and looked offended. What reassured him she still was definitely in the game (and unlikely to complain to his family at any point) was the snicker he could hear as she was writing one of the names to a cup. Likely his.

“Well, I guess that’s fine then. I’ll pay for all of them”, his father said and took out his card, ready to pay. Once he was done, she waved her colleague (this time it was an Asian young woman with black hair and a neutral expression on her face instead of the blue-haired guy — unfortunately, she too spoke French, which meant he had to endure even more of them now) to help her. Understandable, as they had ordered a lot. Neither seemed to either care about who they were or they didn’t even recognise them. He wasn’t sure which option was more amusing.

And surely, when they were calling them to get their drinks, Mari left his drink the last and made sure he was looking at her in the eye as she called his name. “A raf coffee with extra milk to Dennis!”

The receipt in Damian’s hands crumbled as he heard the name. No matter how horrible the other names had been, this one took the cake. He couldn’t believe she’d thought that Dennis of all the names would fit him in the least. It wasn’t even close to his own name. And, of course, as his luck would have it, none of the other names were misspelled, and they were all written with elegant calligraphy except for his, that was simply written well enough for him to know she had done it again. Totally on purpose.

(Damian wasn’t sure whether the first time they had met she had actually simply heard his name wrong or if she’d already decided back then that she would call him with any names she could come up with. Considering it had been quite the while since, he decided it was probably that she’d gotten better at spelling names unfamiliar to her.)

The flabbergasted expressions on his family’s faces were delightful to see though. They had been talking about how sweet the girl was and how nice it was of her to make their cups look so nice (all of them also had a small doodle on them, courtesy of his barista — wait, his? — as the other woman had given them to Mari for her to scribble something on them), only for them to hear her call Damian “Dennis”.

And he didn’t get mad at her, he didn’t yell at her, he didn’t even correct her. He only scowled and with a grunt, went to get his coffee (Mari winked at him. Goddamnit. Judging by his Grayson’s knowing smile, they had also seen that). The drink was amazing once again, though.

“What… what did you do to the girl if she calls you that?”, Barbara asked after a beat of silence.

Leave it to his family to take the side of a girl they’ve met for the first time over their family member of many years.

“I didn’t do anything to he—”, he insisted but got cut off by Brown who shook her head in disappointment.

“Damian, you’re like a little brother to me and all, but I can’t believe you’d offend a girl so horribly that she calls you by the wrong name on purpose. You didn’t even protest, so you must understand you did something to her as well.”

Damian groaned and swore he was never coming back here with his family again.

It continued on and on.

“How does a cafe affogato sound?”, she asked without lifting her eyes when he arrived one day. How she knew it was him without looking, he wasn’t sure, but that was fine. He was getting used to it.

“Sure, Marybell.”

“What ice cream?”

“Whatever you think fits the best.”

Somehow, their routine of Damian ordering a coffee Mari chose for him and then her writing down a wrong name once again had become comfortable even though he still tried to get her to write his real name on the cup at least once. He needed that victory since Mari had won so many times. Well, she won most of the time, if he was being honest. By that point he knew that he would still keep coming by even if he did win for once.

“A cafe affogato for Deneb!”

“Thanks, Marine.”

“Hey, you got close to my name for once.”

“Damn it.”

And then there was that one day when she’d called him “Dami”. Upon arriving home, he’d stormed in, bringing the attention of everyone in the manor in the vicinity to him.

“I can’t believe her!”

“What did Teacup do now?”

“She— Wait, Grayson, what do you mean Teacup?”

“I became friends with her a while back. She’s cool. Bakes way better than anyone her age should. Loves and values designing more than her own life. Anyway, continue your story.”

Damian spluttered (and he could swear that was the most mortifying moment in his life even after years to come) before composing himself. “She called me Dami today. Dami!”

“You— you sound way too scandalised about this. What’s the problem? It’s way closer to your name than, say, Dennis, and sounds like a nice nickname in general”, Drake said, chugging down his (umpteenth cup of) coffee as he walked past (only god knows how many he’d already had). “Also I agree with Dick, Cupcake’s great. She makes the best coffee — sorry Alfred,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

“That is quite alright, Master Tim. Her skills at making it are truly limitless.”

Drake beamed at him. Beamed.

“You’re only friends with her because she knows how to brew good coffee.”

“That is so not true, Duke!”

“Oh yeah, Pixie Pop’s definitely the best,” Todd declared from where he was sitting and reading yet another book.

“Are all of you friends with her?”

“Yep”, Brown told him, suddenly appearing from behind him and then promptly plopping down on the couch next to Todd. “We all decided to get to know her after that encounter in the shop. But do explain why her calling you Dami is so horrible? Like Tim said, it’s closer to your actual name than many of the others she’s called you, shouldn’t you be happy? Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to get her to do for ages now?”

“But that’s precisely the problem!”

Everyone and everything around him stopped, slowly turning to face him.

“What?”

“She never misses an opportunity to call me by some random name that is only remotely close to my own, yet she didn’t take it. There must be something wrong with her! Maybe she’s sick or someone must have truly offended her or she’s dying or—”

A beat.

“Are you fucking serious? You interrupted a perfectly good book because you were worried about Pixie Pop? God, Demon Spawn, I’m glad you’ve finally developed a crush on someone and as long as you don’t hurt her, go off and ask her out, but this is Jon’s job. He’s your best friend. You can fret about your crush to him.”

“A crush?”

“A crush, Damian. You like her. Romantically,” Dick explained on the behalf of Todd.

“No I don’t— Oh my god I like Mari why did none of you tell me?”

“We just did!”

Mari was back to calling him weird names the next day. Damian breathed out a sigh of relief. She was alright.

(And Jon had had a field day when Damian had called him because finally his best friend was crushing on someone and he couldn’t wait to try and help him come up with plans to woo said crush.)

One day he had stepped into Aroma Mocha barely awake and simply went straight to a table and nearly fallen asleep there. He had even forgotten to order a coffee. Three minutes later, someone walked up to him and placed a coffee in front of him along with a cupcake. Damian lifted his eyes to the stranger, ready to tell them to fuck off and go away, only for him to meet the eyes of Mari above him.

“I didn’t… order these?” It came out more as a question than a statement, much to Damian’s dismay. Oh well.

“I know, Dalimil, but you need to get something to stay here. Also you look like you got run over by a bus and like you haven’t slept in three weeks, worse than Tim usually does, which is precisely why here’s a salted caramel cupcake and a chai latte with added caffeine in it.” Her voice remained stern as she pushed the cup closer to him. “You’re welcome, by the way, Damir.”

“I’ll come pay soon—”

“No you won’t. It’s on me, because that’s what friends do. You can give me good tips some day to make up for it though if you want to.”

Friends…?

Oh.

That sounded nice.

Damian made sure he gave Mari three times the amount of money he had to pay for his coffee the next time he came by as tips. She had stared at him like she’d seen a ghost but to her credit, she never said anything about it or tried to refuse it.

After another few weeks, Damian finally gave up on getting his favourite (when had that happened anyway?) barista to spell his name correctly. If he only got her to spell some name correctly he gave her, that would be good enough. He’d once told her his name was Han Solo (in his defense, Dick had made the entire family watch all of the Star Wars movies in two days and that was the first name he could think of), and well, she had most definitely not disappointed and once again had twisted the name.

Mari had ended up writing ‘Handsome Squidward on his cup. Damian had barely managed to groan before he shaking his head fondly at her. He’d been far too tired to be able to react more strongly. Once again she had ended up putting extra caffeine shots in his coffee. Damian was no longer sure whether he was addicted to the caffeine or seeing Mari — or perhaps both. ‘Both’ was a likelier correct answer.

“Soo, what’s it today? You’ve gone through just about everything in our menu by now. Do you want to have something you’ve already tasted before or do you want me to still find a new thing I think you might like?”

“Maybe something you think I may like. Thank you, Mary.”

He noticed the fond smile on her face right away, though it took a few seconds to actually register. For once, he couldn’t see mischief in her eyes, nor did she look like she was planning on some grand scheme like she usually did. It was nice, he decided, seeing her like this.

“Name?”

(They both knew it was just for show at this point.)

Damian considered it for a second. He wanted her to spell the name — any name — he gave her correctly at least once, but it took him a moment to come up with one. While he enjoyed their routine of calling one another by weird, incorrect names, but he still needed that damned victory at least this one time. After that, he wouldn’t care.

“Batman.”

She couldn’t misspell that one unless she decided to mess with him even more and use a completely different name — after all, only a handful of people would dare to even accidentally disrespect Batman in Gotham, and she didn’t seem to be one to do so.

Mari rolled her eyes and told him to go wait for his drink. He did.

“A special coffee for Batman,” she called, trying to contain her laughter. Damian decided it was kind of adorable. At least she used the name he’d given her for once. Victory.

“Here you go, Mister ‘Yes I definitely am Batman himself, I even wear the correct ever present scowl on my face, there’s no way I’m not him’. I hope you enjoy it,” she said chuckling and handed him his drink. She was warm as their hands brushed against each other and Damian could have almost sworn that there was a spark between them at the touch.

“I am fairly sure I will, Miss ‘I can never make a bad coffee unless it’s black and I try to make you suffer as much as possible on purpose’. Thank you very much.”

Damian went to sit down and drank it, finding it was better than anything he’d tasted before. This was what he wanted to have more of. It was just sweet enough to make him want more, but not too sweet so he could easily have a dessert alongside it if he wanted to. It also tasted more like coffee than the mochaccino he had started with had tasted like. Bitter, but not enough to make him gag.

In short, he absolutely loved it.

Then he noticed scribbles on the cup from the corner of his eye. Damian turned it around in his hands and flushed red as he read the text written on it.

Damian W. <3

Call/text me *** ***-**** xoxo

— Marinette

To put it simply, he was irritated. Not only had she not written down the name he’d given her again, but she had also written his actual name which was something he’d been trying to make her do for months now. To make it more complicated, yes, he was irritated but also absolutely smitten with her.

And god if he wasn’t ecstatic to find out she liked him back.

So, seeing as Damian liked her a lot even if he was frustrated with her and it was her that took initiative, he took his phone out of his pocket and texted the number he gave her. It didn’t take long before his phone went off and he got a reply. A quick glance at her confirmed she was on her phone and smiling at it.

DW: Hello. (12.18 pm)

MDC: heya ! i’m glad you decided to message me ! (12.20 pm)

DW: Of course I did. You’re my friend and I also like you. (12.21 pm)

DW: Although I doubt you should be on your phone during work. (12.21 pm)

MDC: your fault for texting me during work (12.24 pm)

MDC: anyway (12.24)

DW: Your fault for giving me your number and not telling me when your shift ends. (12.25 pm)

MDC: ANYWAY (12.25 pm)

MDC: did you like the coffee I made you ? (12.26 pm)

DW: Yes, I did. What was that? I would like to have it again, although not right now, since I just finished it. (12.27 pm)

MDC: I made it specially for you. can’t find it on the menu. I’m glad to hear you liked it ! (12.36 pm)

DW: I am honored that you decided to do that. I truly appreciate it, Angel. (12.37 pm)

DW: Or should I call you Marinette? Or Mari? Please tell me I am not making you uncomfortable. (12.39 pm)

MDC: dw about it ! you can call me whatever you want as long as I get to call you mine ! (12.42 pm)

MDC: wai t what (12.42 pm)

MDC: hey anyway I had an actual reason to give you my number (12.43 pm)

MDC: date today at 6 ? we could meet up here once my shift’s done and over with (12.46 pm)

Damian looked over to the counter, only to find Marinette already looking at him — and, with a smile (that damned smile that was too adorable for her own good), she winked at him. She was going to be the death of him if she kept on being like this.

Smiling, he turned back to his phone and started typing.

DW: A date sounds great. I’ll see you at 6, then, Angel. (12.51 pm)

_____

Dandin -- dimwit, buffoon, idiot D'occasion -- second-hand, used Tu me dois 10 euros, j'ai gagné -- You owe me ten euros, I won D'accord -- Alright

_____

@ladysblackcat @daminett4life @tinyterror333 @annabellabrookes @7-sage-7 @theyellowfeverexperience @thethirdwheelfriend @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @kris-pines04 @daminette-december2019 @bluerosette23

#daminette #maridami #damian x marinette #maribat #Daminette december #marinette dupain cheng #Damian Wayne #damian al ghul #dc #ml x dc #ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #fanfiction #ethel's writing #coffee shop AU

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years

Text

To Serve and Protect - Chapter 2

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

hey, did you guys realize today is Monday? because I totally didn’t. again, I’m absolutely INSPIRED by your responses to this. as a warning, next week’s chapter isn’t quite ready yet, and next week is finals week,

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump coming a bit later. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. -- rated teen for later chapters

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 on AO3

“Oh, this is too good,” he says out loud, the lit end of his cigarette bobbing with the movement of his lips. And then he smiles, for what feels like the first time in years, watching as the dark-haired detective wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Everything is starting to come together nicely.”

He takes a long drag of the cigarette, watching it light up in his reflection in the window, and flicks the ashes onto the floor beside him. It’s something the boss would yell at him about in his own quarters, he knows, but the empty apartment is far from the lavish house perched at the top of the hill. But he’ll only be here for as long as it takes to complete the Master Plan, which — he huffs out a laugh, an eerie, emotionless sound — is taking shape much faster than he anticipated.

———

What the hell kind of mess did you get yourself into this time? she asks herself, and she knows that she should be more worried about the damn stalker that she apparently has, but that’s not even what she finds herself focusing on. Instead, somewhere far beyond the blank lines of the legal pad on her desk, Emma sees Killian — Detective Jones — his leather jacket and his unnervingly blue eyes and his damn desire to be with her, to protect her. Part of her wishes, almost, that she hadn’t met him at the bar that night, that she hadn’t connected with him so emphatically, or at least that she hadn’t invited him back to her apartment. That she hadn’t learned about the stalker. She almost wishes she could go back to two days ago — less than, really — her life was much simpler, and the biggest problem she had was Mayor Mills requesting files from her office.

“Emma?” Ariel calls, walking up to the open door of their shared office and peering around the corner, finding Emma staring intently at an empty page of a legal pad with her head propped up on her fist. When Emma still doesn’t answer — just as she didn’t the first two times she tried to call her name from down the hall — Ariel turns the corner completely, propping herself against the doorframe, and tries again, cupping her hands around her mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “Earth to Emma Swan, is anybody home?”

Finally, Emma looks up from the blank page, meeting the eyes of her office mate. “What? Do you need something?”

Ariel half-laughs, though still worried about her friend, and walks into the office. “Emma, I’ve called your name, like, six times,” she says, a slight exaggeration, though those are a normal part of her personality. But, leaning on the edge of Emma’s desk, the smile that usually graces her face disappears. “Are you alright? You just seem really out of it today.”

Emma sighs, dropping her pen on the legal pad so she can hold her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head, but refusing to look up at her friend. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Ariel asks, her voice soft.

Yes, Emma’s inner voice screams, There’s so much. But instead, she shakes her head again, then crosses her arms on the desk and rests her forehead against them. “No, I’m just— I just need to find something to distract myself from it, to be honest.”

“Well,” Ariel says, and Emma can hear the smile in her voice before she picks her head up off the desk. “I have some good news for you, then, because Zelena just gave us a whole list of things to do for this new case.”

------

“For the record, Jones, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Graham, the sheriff, is sitting on the edge of his desk, the office door closing the two of them from the rest of the small precinct building.

“Noted,” he comments, leaning back in his chair and resting his boots on the edge of Graham’s desk. The sheriff glares down at them, but makes no move to remove them himself, nor does he ask Killian to do it.

A beat passes between them. Graham cards his fingers through his hair. Killian throws a rubber band ball in the air and catches it in his prosthetic.

“Tell me again what happened,” he asks, and Killian rolls his eyes, but tells the story again.

“I met her at the bar last night. I bought her a drink, we started talking, you know how that all works.” Graham hums in agreement. “I went to walk her home, and I noticed him standing across the street from her apartment. She invited me up, and I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to tell her what I thought she needed to know.”

Graham hops off the edge of his desk and begins pacing in the space between it and the chairs, but with Killian’s feet still propped up on the desk, he can only take three steps in each direction.

“And you think the best thing to do about this is continue to spend time with her so you can catch this bastard before he has a chance to do anything?”

“Yes,” Killian responds simply, his eyebrows accentuating the word.

He throws the ball up in the air and catches it again.

“Can’t we just… I don’t know, post a car outside her place? Send someone to watch him? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

“Graham, this man has only killed his victims after they noticed him and came to us, remember? If he sees someone patrolling her apartment, or even waiting around it, he might get spooked and act faster. Emma works at the law firm across the street from here, so I can pick her up after work and spend nights with her without anything seeming off, especially since he saw me go home with her last night.”

“Wait.” When Graham turns on his heel to face Killian, his eyebrows make a sharp ‘v’ across his forehead. “Emma… Swan? David Nolan’s foster sister?”

“Foster sister,” he says, mostly to himself as he runs his thumb against his bottom lip, since it answers quite a few questions that had come to him since he left her apartment earlier that morning. “That explains the different last names.” Now it is his turn to snap his eyes to Graham. “I always forget that you know David.”

“Yes, he and I were deployed together, but you know that. However, you may not know that I dated Swan briefly a few years back."

Killian tosses the ball up in the air, but it falls to the floor and bounces a few times before Graham stops it beneath his boot.

If Graham had to describe the emotion that crosses Killian's face, he would name no less than six: surprise, embarrassment, confusion, discomfort, worry, shock.

“You… what?”

Nodding, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, staring at the floor again. “Yeah, when I— not long after David and I got back from our tour and I moved to Storybrooke, she and I went on a few dates. Nothing big came of it, obviously, but…” He knocks his fists together in front of him, then leans down to pick up the rubber band ball, turning to Killian to hand it to him. “Yeah.”

A beat passes between them.

Killian throws the rubber band ball in the air, catches it.

“And you can keep them separate? Business and pleasure?” Graham turns to him, but his eyes are fixed on the rubber band ball in his hand, and he watches as he grinds his jaw together.

“This isn’t about my pleasure, this is about Miss Swan’s safety.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Jones.”

His eyes snap to Graham’s, somehow more grey than blue, and when he replies, Graham is almost entirely sure he has never heard more venom in his voice. “Whether you believe me or not, sheriff, I am completely capable of doing my job.”

Not for the first time, Graham is amazed by his insubordination. But the thing that Graham has learned about Killian Jones over the years is though he might have an attitude, a smart mouth, and a need to speak his mind when he shouldn't, you can't deny his track record.

The man is a damned good detective, whether Graham wants to accept it or not.

And, worse than that, he knows it.

Moreso, Killian is the lead detective on the stalker case and no one knows more about the man they're looking for. There's no reason to turn down his request, Graham realizes, except that he wants to.

Killian tosses the ball in the air, catches it.

“Fine,” Graham says finally. “But this is still an open investigation, so you can't tell her more than she needs to know.”

When Killian pulls his boots off the desk and lets them fall to the floor, Graham can feel his desk rattling from the impact. Running his fingers through his hair, he tugs on the end of it, making some of the strands stick straight up, and that muscle in his jaw ticks again.

“If this man is after her, then she deserves to know as much as she can to keep herself safe from him.”

“Jones,” he tries, but the detective sitting next to him does not respond, just continues talking.

“She deserves to know what he looks like, and what he did—”

“Jones.”

“—to those girls, because if she doesn't, then he might just—”

“Killian!” he yells, and his bright blue eyes snap up towards him as his words stop abruptly. “Don't let yourself go down that path. We'll do all we can to protect her, okay?”

Killian lets out a shaky sigh and covers his face with his hands, but Graham can still tell when he nods.

“Aye,” he whispers, just loud enough for Graham to hear him before turning his eyes back towards Graham. “That's— of course, yeah.” His shoulders rise and fall with his deep, slow breath. “Any other ideas? Things I can do to try to keep her safe?”

After a moment’s thinking, Graham nods, pushing away from his desk, heading towards the door to his office.

“Yeah, there are a couple more things. I don't want you to do this alone.”

Killian sighs, and Graham can feel the argument coming before he even opens his mouth, even with his back to the detective. “I really don’t think—”

“Honestly, Jones, I don’t really care what you think,” he bites back, opening the door and sticking his head out into the bullpen. “Mills!” he calls, startling his youngest detective from the paperwork that he’s intently focused on.

“Yes, sir?” he replies, practically jumping out of his seat, and Graham just motions for him to relax.

“Can you come in here for a minute, please?”

At this, he really does jump out of his desk chair, straightening the front of his dress shirt as he crosses the bullpen. “What’s going on, sir?” he asks, and Graham motions for him to go into his office. When he sees Killian in one of the chairs, he practically stops in his tracks, and when he raises his startling blue eyes from the ground to glare at Henry, he does stop, pressing back against the wall behind him as Graham closes the door to the office.

“Really, mate?” he growls, his glare still pinning Henry against the wall. “The rookie? You’re giving me the rookie?”

“Killian,” Graham sighs, rolling his eyes, but he’s useless against the force of Killian’s anger.

“I tell you that I have a lead on the stalker, on a serial killer, and you sic the rookie on me?”

“If you don’t want me, I’ll just—” Henry starts, turning back towards the office door as he tries to hide the embarrassment on his face. Killian has voiced his disinterest in working with him before, most of it stemming from his royal bitch of a mother, he thinks were the exact words he growled from the very same seat he’s in now, though there were quite a lot more people in the office. Sure, yes, his mother is the mayor, and she may have pulled a few strings to get him the job when he came back to Storybrooke, but that’s not to say his academy training in Boston and his time with the Seattle Police couldn’t have just as easily done the same. He’s just as qualified to be here as anyone else, maybe even more, but all Killian can see is who he is, blinded by some kind of vendetta against his mother from way back when he first came to Storybrooke.

“Stop,” Graham says, reaching out his hand to stop Henry from trying to leave the office. “And you can stop, too, Jones.”

Killian snaps his mouth closed. Henry leans back against the wall behind him.

“I know you have something against young Mills here, but he is a highly qualified detective, and you’re going to fill him in on the case over lunch and discuss how you can include him in this whole charade.”

The muscles of Killian’s jaw jump under the stress of his grinding teeth. Henry bites back a smile. But when neither of them answer, Graham crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you understand, Jones?”

“Aye.”

“Mills?” he asks, and both of them snap their attention towards him.

He still has to bite back a smile, but he manages to nod. “Yes, sir.”

“So, I do have a few orders of business to get through first, if you don't mind?” he asks, leaning closer to her as he drapes his arm across the back of her chair at the bar.

“Orders of business,” she repeats, mimicking his accent with her eyebrows high, but the smile that covers her face shows she is more humored than upset. “Such technical terms to be using on our second date.”

Now it's Killian's turn to smile, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Second date? Did I miss the first? Surely I would remember a thing like that.”

Emma laughs softly, setting her hand on his arm. “Fine, then it's our first date,” she corrects, but that just makes his smile grow wider, turning down towards his outfit.

“Well, damn, if I would have known that, I would have dressed for the occasion, brought a bottle of champagne.”

“Killian, get to the point,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry, darling.” He tenses, leaning away from her. “I just — Graham doesn’t want me working on this alone, so over the next few days, we have to figure out how to work Detective Mills into this whole plan of ours,” he says, much more serious than just moments before. "If you have any brilliant ideas, I'm all ears, because neither of us could come up with anything when we talked earlier. But, as long as it's okay with you, you'll be under my protection for a while. I'll pick you up from work, drop you off in the morning, and we'll spend some time at my apartment and some at yours to make sure that the man we're searching for is actually after you.”

Somehow, hearing these words from him makes this whole scenario scarier, though she wouldn’t have thought it possible after the constant spine-chilling fear that has been washing over her since Killian revealed the big news to her last night: she’s possibly being stalked. “Do I— do I need to do anything? Should I tell David, or my boss, or…?”

“No,” he says quickly. “Keep doing everything just as you normally do. If there's a normal time that you go to the grocery store, to the gym, to David's, then keep doing it, we'll talk more about your schedule tomorrow when we meet with Mills. We want him to think that we have no idea he's watching you, give him no reason to think we're on to him, because that's when he gets dangerous.”

“Okay,” she says, but fails to hide the shakiness of her breath. “That's…” She really doesn’t even know what she was going to say, her words — hell, her thoughts half formed for practically the entire last 24 hours.

But when she says nothing else for a few seconds, Killian reaches up and rests his hand against her cheek.

“Hey,” he says softly, turning her face until she is looking at him, and she doesn’t know exactly what he sees when he looks into her eyes, but something in his makes her sure, somehow, that he wants to do everything he can to keep her safe. “Emma, I promise you that you will be okay. I am going to protect you, Detective Mills and Sheriff Humbert will protect you, and if we need to, then we will get James and David involved and I am damned sure that they will protect you, too.”

She attempts to smile, but it is barely fully formed before it disappears.

“Why?”

He blinks once, then again, his soft eyes searching for meaning in her expression. “What do you mean, love?”

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

“To be honest, I've been chasing this bastard for six months, have watched as he's killed women that have come to me for help, but I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that you're not next.”

Her only reaction is to pull her bottom lip up between her teeth, chewing gently on it, but her face is still covered with worry.

She’s been worried before. Hell, she grew up in the foster system, her childhood was drowning in fear. Both of her older brothers, the only family she ever had, went off to war. She was left, alone, terrified, in a Boston jail by the only person she ever gave her heart to. Sure, she’s known fear. But this… is something else entirely, apparently. This is a fear that somehow even cuts deeper than the fear that overtook her in those few weeks she spent in jail before her lawyer was able to find proof that she was telling the truth.

He must notice her lost in thought (though there’s really no way for him to miss it, her unfocused eyes, the way her pointer finger moves silently around the rim of her water glass), and he leans closer to her, the tips of his fingers wrapping softly against her shoulder as his lips almost brush the shell of her ear.

“And believe it or not,” he whispers. “I have come to grow quite fond of you.”

Slowly, the corners of her lips turn up in the beginnings of a smile, and seeing the change in her, he lets his own grow bigger, leaning slightly away from her to better see her face.

“Now you've intrigued me, Jones,” she mumbles, just loud enough for him to hear over the noise of the bar, thankful for the change of subject even though, moments ago, she would have begged him to tell her more about this case. “Do go on.”

“Why wouldn't I be fond of you? You're funny, strong, adorable.” He leans back towards her, and this time, he lets his lips touch the shell of her ear. “And so god damned attractive that I can't stand it.”

With his breath hot on her cheek, she feels a wave of attraction roll through her, settling beneath her stomach as she turns to him, his pale blue eyes wide and fixed on her face.

“We need to talk about this,” she whispers, and she can swear that they're the hardest words she's ever had to say.

He pulls away a few inches, his eyebrows knitting across his forehead. “What do you mean, love?”

“If you're going to be protecting me, spending time with me, pseudo-dating me, then we should talk about… about us. About what we are.”

He leans back farther, his back finding the wooden back of the chair, but he tightens his arm around Emma's shoulders. “Of course,” he says, trying to hide the pang of guilt that snaps in his chest. He should never have assumed that what Emma wanted aligned with what he wanted— he's been taught to be better than that. Just because he was going to protect her by no means obligated her to return his affection for her. And her actions tonight, looking back over them at this moment, said the same thing. “Tell me your thoughts, love. I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just because I saw him while I was taking you back to your apartment by no means means that I didn't want to be there myself, but I also understand that not everyone wants to have to see their one night stand every day for the foreseeable future.”

“No, no,” she says softly, and he definitely doesn't miss the way she leans into his side, smiling up at him.

“Good thing you're not a one-night stand, then,” she says, almost a whisper, and a smile grows across her face. He returns it, and they sit there like that for a few moments, stupidly smiling at the other, until his begins to falter.

“Maybe that should be something on your laundry list of business that needs to be discussed.”

“What?”

“We slept together, Emma. That's not something that should be overlooked when you're assessing our situation.”

Suddenly, her head turns to face him, almost snapping into place, and her eyes are wide. “Please tell me that you didn't tell Graham we slept together.”

Killian can't help but laugh. “Of course I didn't, especially after he told me that the two of you dated a while back.” Though he wouldn't have thought it possible before that moment, her eyes widen further, her cheeks beginning to darken with embarrassment. Killian chooses to ignore it, as much as he wants to press the subject farther. “All he knows is that I went to walk you home when I saw our suspect outside your apartment, so I followed you up and informed you that you might be in danger.”

Her hand finds his on the bar before them. She runs her thumb across the back of his before looking up at him, her green eyes shining bright with excitement and affection and something that Killian can’t quite name.

“Okay. Don't take this the wrong way, Killian. Please. I— I like you. And I don't know about you, but that's sort of a big deal for me. I want to take a shot at whatever this is, a shot at us, but I know that we didn't meet under the best circumstances, so if what you want is different, then I'll just deal with having to be near you—”

“Emma,” he says softly, repressing the urge to lean forward and press a soft kiss against her cheek. “Of course I want to be with you. I would be an idiot not to, and anyone that looks at you and doesn't realize that is a git."

“Thank God,” she finally breathes, letting out an actual sigh of relief, smiling up at him for a moment before the bartender appears in front of them with their plates.

------

tags: @shireness-says @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @darkcolinodonorgasm @profdanglaisstuff @stahlop @teamhook @snowbellewells @carpedzem @pepperspotts@imlaxdris71 @gingerchangeling @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @scientificapricot @resident-of-storybrooke @ultraluckycatnd @itsfabianadocarmo @galadriel26 @jennjenn615 @therealstartraveller776 @nightskylover @xarandomdreamx @kristi555 @nikkiemms @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove - if you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know

#my writing #cs ff #captain swan fics #fanfiction #wordsbymeganmichael #the detective fic #detective! killian #I'm hoping to have next week's done in time #but we'll see #if I make a lot of progress today then maybe I'll work on it some #I also moved some scenes around so I hope things still make sense #funny #I took out the one to make it shorter #then put another one in anyway #have fun with this #also please never stop leaving feedback #I love you all so much

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fieryanmitsu · 4 years

Text

Splash | A3! (Tasuku/Female Reader)

This is a gift-fic for 🍀 Anon! Thanks again for spreading some positivity around the A3! fandom! As promised, here is a little gift for you~ This is a Tasuku/Reader story about them spending some time together at the beach! Since you said that I could choose the personality, I went with a shy female reader who surprises us with a bit of a mischievous streak! For some more context, the reader is a worker at a flower shop and she is already in an established relationship with Tasuku.

Please enjoy!

SPLASH

CHARACTERS: Tasuku Takato

PAIRINGS: Tasuku/Female Reader

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

Hearing the bell above the door ring, you looked up from the bouquet that you were wrapping and saw that the person who had walked in was none other than your boyfriend. It had only been a few months since the two of you had started dating, and you still felt shy calling him that. Even thinking about him that way made your face heat up.

“Tasuku! I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” you greeted him with a smile. “Are you here to pick something up for Tsumugi?”

“Yeah, he realized that he ran out of fertilizer, so he wanted me to pick up a couple of bags.”

“Give me just a second. I’ll grab it for you once I finish wrapping this bouquet,” you replied.

“Take your time. I’ll just look around while I wait.”

Hearing Tsumugi’s name made you remember how thankful you were to the blue-haired man. It was only with his intervention that you’d managed to work up the nerve to ask Tasuku out on a date, after all.

Once you’d put the finishing touches on the bouquet and gently set it aside in the flower cooler, you stepped into the back room and grabbed two bags of the brand of fertilizer that you knew Tsumugi favoured.

Seeing you bringing out the fertilizer, Tasuku quickly walked back over to the counter to join you. As he walked over, you took another glance at him and noticed that his skin was much darker than it had been when you saw him a few days ago.

“Did you get a tan since I last saw you, Tasuku?”

“Hmm? I guess it must have been from yesterday. A few of us went to the beach to help out Omi’s friend at their beach hut.”

“Really? That sounds fun… I haven’t been to the beach in a long time,” you responded wistfully. “I would love to go sometime, too, but my friends aren’t really into the beach.”

You turned to the cash register and quickly punched in the total for the two bags of fertilizer. As you began to write out a receipt, you didn’t notice that Tasuku had fallen silent.

“Okay, so the total is 1,320 yen with tax.”

Tasuku counted out the money into the coin tray and then hefted up the fertilizer in his arms. However, rather than turning to leave, he stared at you with a thoughtful look. You weren’t used to being scrutinized like this and you felt a blush creep up your neck.

“Is-Is there dirt on my face or something?” you asked self-consciously, rubbing at your cheek automatically.

After another moment of silence, Tasuku finally opened his mouth.

“You have a day off on Friday, right? Let’s go to the beach together.”

It took a second for his words to sink in, and your eyes widened.

“Th-the beach? But weren’t you just there?”

“Yeah, but you want to go, right? So, let’s go,” he replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders, his eyes pointedly not meeting your gaze.

As if his embarrassment were contagious, your eyes flickered down to stare at your hands, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips.

“Ahhh, the breeze feels so nice!” you exclaimed as a warm wind blew past you.

“I’m glad it’s not too hot today, or this wouldn’t be as pleasant,” Tasuku responded as he finished setting up the parasol over your towels and bags. “Was there anything you wanted to do?”

“Hmmm, do you mind if we just walk along the water first?” you asked. You would rather bury your head into the sand before you admitted to Tasuku that you wanted to stroll around because it meant you didn’t have to stare at his half naked body directly. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a nice body – rather, it was too nice, and staring at it made the blood rush to your head.

“Sure, that sounds fine to me. It’ll be refreshing to feel the water around our feet.”

As you were about to head towards the water, Tasuku’s hand suddenly enveloped one of yours. You were sure that there must be a goofy grin on your face and that your skin was as red as if it were sunburned, but you happily leaned into his side as you walked.

Once you reached the water’s edge, you giggled as the waves washed over your ankles. You never would have dreamt that Tasuku would have offered to take you to the beach. Especially since he had grumbled the whole car ride to the beach about how much of a pain it had been when he had been here last week. Yet, here he was again. The thought that he had wanted to make you happy, despite his own indifference about the beach, made you feel like you were floating on cloud nine.

With a spring in your step, the two of you strolled in a comfortable silence until you suddenly spotted something glistening in the sand in front of you. Kneeling, you saw that it was a beautiful, iridescent seashell.

“Ah, Tasuku, look at this! Isn’t this seashell gorgeous?” you asked, plucking it out of the sand carefully.

“Mmm, I guess so?”

“This would look amazing in the terrarium I’m making… Maybe I can even make it into a seaside theme…” you murmured to yourself as your mind turned back to work, where you had recently begun working on some decorative terrariums.

“Do you want to look for more?” Tasuku interrupted.

At the sound of his deep voice, you suddenly realized that you’d completely zoned out and you flushed furiously.

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to ignore you! And it’s fine! I’m sure that looking for seashells would be boring – we should do something that you’ll enjoy more.”

Rather than responding, Tasuku walked past you and began sifting through the sand ahead with his hands. You could feel a hot feeling catch in your throat. Tasuku was always a bit brusque, and sometimes you weren’t quite sure what he was thinking. However, it was moments like this that reminded you of why you had fallen head over heels for him. He was a bit clumsy, but his actions always showed how kind he was deep down inside.

“Is something like this okay?” he asked, showing you another small shell.

“Yes, that’s perfect!”

Soon, you were both crouched down shifting around in the sand, excitedly showing off the seashells that you found to each other. After setting aside another pretty shell, you looked up to see Tasuku bent over in front of you.

Suddenly, you felt an irresistible and childish urge. Before you could really think about it too much, you cupped your hands and dipped it in the water in front of you… and sent a huge splash of water right over Tasuku.

“GAAH!” Tasuku sputtered, whipping around to glare at you. The look on his face under his wet hair caused you to giggle uncontrollably.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” he growled.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” you apologized through your laughs. “I-I couldn’t h-help it!”

Your boyfriend gave you an unamused look, but it was quickly replaced with a devilish smirk that made your heart skip a beat.

“Well, two can play at that game. I hope you’re ready to reap what you sow.”

And, then, suddenly, Tasuku’s handsome face was in front of yours. The next second, you were screaming as he hoisted you over his shoulder.

“Tasukuuuuu!!” you shrieked. Your scream only rose in volume as you were subsequently tossed into the air and landed in the ocean with a giant splash.

You spluttered and coughed as you brought your head out of the salty water. After you regained your footing in the shallow water and pushed your wet hair out of your face, you could only glare balefully at your boyfriend.

“That was a dirty move!” you exclaimed.

Tasuku only snorted and shrugged, pretending to play innocent. Wanting to wash that smirk off of his face, you dipped your hands into the water again and splashed him once more. With a yelp, he sent a wave of water back at you, and, soon, the two of you were laughing as you kept splashing each other. He even managed to toss you into the water again, despite your protests.

Finally, when you were both tired out from chasing each other in the water under the hot sun, you trudged back up to the shore. It was at that moment that you realized you had completely forgotten about your seashells, which you had been piling on the sand earlier.

“Ah, they’re all gone!” you lamented as you scanned the area where you had been searching earlier.

“They must have washed away with the waves,” Tasuku remarked. “We can look again for more, but how about we get you dried off first and grab a bite to eat?”

“Sounds good to me! I want to try that curry you talked about!” you responded with a smile, taking the hand that he offered you.

“Uh, that was definitely a one-time thing. Please don’t expect them to have that there normally…”

Hope you all enjoyed this short little story! It’s a different style than how I usually write (this might be my first attempt at second-person POV, now that I think about it), so please do leave a comment and let me know what you all thought! Also, please do reblog if you enjoyed it! Thanks again for reading~

-Anmitsu

#a3!#a3! game #tasuku takato x reader #takato tasuku #tasuku takato #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3 act addict actors #act addict actors #a3 #a3 game #gift fic #anmitsu writes

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my-love-peterp · 5 years

Text

Mistaken Chapter Seven

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST DROP ME AN ASK

please like and rb/comment <3

Word Count: 4268

THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: So this is definitely a chapter on my list of necessary revisions HOWEVER, I’m writing one from some other characters POV just to shed some extra light on the circumstances surrounding what happens in this chapter. I think for sure we’ll get some Tony vignettes and maybe Steve and Darcy as well, just assessing Kaida and Tony and their states of mind (fragile, not great) and get into some motivating factors. Also, I know it’s a long time in coming but the big bad is coming soon. It’s not just Kaida vs herself as the main conflict in this piece.

Warnings: drinking, smut, the like

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

The next day, I was reading the next book on my to be read list when Peter came screeching into the common room. “Cranewood!!” He practically shrieked as he ran, hips first into the back of the couch I was lounging one. He miscalculated his own speed and toppled over the back, faceplanting right into my lap.

“Oh my god, oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t-oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry I just totally invaded your personal space and literally put my face there and oh my god.” He cut his own self off and blushed so deep, the tips of his ears almost flowed red. Peter licked himself back up and adjusted his blue sweatshirt before running his hands through the hair on the back of his neck and refusing to make eye contact with me.

“Peter?”

“Y-yeah what’s up Kaida,” he managed to squeak out before coughing and clearing his throat, lowering his voice to compensate. I just stared back at him expectantly, dog-earring my page before slamming the book shut between my thighs. He blinked twice before shifting uncomfortably between feet. I swear, for an adult man, this boy sure acted like a gawky sophomore a lot.

“Oh. Oh yeah!!! We’ve met before. Cranewood School for Girls. Technically you and Spider-Man met but... I’m hurt that you were never even going to mention the first time I saved your life. What’s up with that? And also how did a Hydra ghost end up on Long Island at an elite prep school for upstanding young women and-“ I tuned him out unconsciously.

In truth, I had completely forgotten my run in with Spider-Man when I was 13. My sister and I were much too busy then still readjusting to a normal lifestyle we’d never had and covering our tracks while breaking enough laws to provide for ourselves, day in and day out.

Nadia had laundered enough money that We had more than enough for a down payment on a small apartment in the Long Island area and I was proficient enough in my mimicry and illusion work that we were able to enroll in school with a late start due to our “parents” and their extremely generous donations. It certainly helped that Nadia and I were both whip-smart.

I remembered the day Spidey was talking about. Some jack booted Hydra thug had stormed the grounds and held my class hostage, because his primary target, Anna, who was the daughter of a senator, was my classmate. Luckily, she sat about as far away from me as popular so the Agent was never able to see my face. I didn’t realize the whole upset was over until I had felt a large hand rubbing my back.

Of course, it was Spider-Man that came to my rescue. That day seemed to repeat itself over and over with no end sight. Of course, he was comforting me. His super hearing was the first power I’d ever assimilated by accident. We should test that more in the lab.

As I opened my mouth to finally suggest a battery of tests to Peter, FRIDAY started shouting instructions to be heard over the loud clang of the emergency bell.

Science could wait.

A few months later

The alarm cut through my concentration. It turned out to be just a bigger Code Green false alarm. We’d had two in the last week. I’m not blaming it on any specific individuals but there’s was something to be said in the 200% uptick in near Code Green’s since Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis, intern and mechanical engineer extraordinaire returned from Reykjavik. But who was I to complain? After the relocated to the Tower back in May, just three months ago, there were more Strawberry pop tarts in the pantries than I’d ever seen before in my life. And it was so relieving to have another ‘devil may care’ woman around the Tower.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Natasha for all that she is but she’s just a teacher to me. And Wanda read as more of a mom friend in my mind. Darcy is the kind of girl you make up desperate housewives drinking games with. We gravitated toward each other immediately, bonding over baking, needling Tony, and then bemoaning the lack of clubbing appropriate company. She also held no judgment for me about my past, which I couldn’t believe until I saw her and Bucky making googly eyes at each other from across the room, then it all clicked.

Darcy Lewis had become my best friend, big sister and closest confidant and just a week’s time. Now, a few months later, there were still no hydra threats and my probation was set to be lifted this evening. “The perfect time to go clubbing “ Darcy had declared it, before enlisting my strengths to remove, forcibly if necessary, the science squad from their labs. And then to force them out into the world of the living. The only member to straight up refuse was Tony, as was expected. We had been… Cordial to one another but never anything more. I am nearly positive he had Friday keep tabs on my location just so he could avoid me at all times. Inevitably, we would run into each other Coming and going from our quarters or as we made our way to and from our designated lab spaces. I still didn’t quite understand why Tony lived on the same floor as the rest of the Avengers when I knew damn well he had his own penthouse in the tower.

Anyways, my lab was certainly something to behold. The calling it my lab was a bit of a stretch considering I didn’t build anything really, I just tested my powers and checked my biological markers with gadgets that Tony, Bruce, and Dr. Helen Cho had come up with together. We were still waiting for a contact from a group called the guardians who would potential he be able to determine what part alien I am. But it was the world’s most high tech library/relaxation room/artist’s studio. All to make remaining in it all day for the sake of data aggregation tenable.

To say I was bored out of my mind at first was an understatement. But over time I began to have visitors. Darcy was a daily, and surprisingly, so was Pietro. Peter and Bucky also visited, if less frequently. And, oddly enough, Vision was there almost all the time. I asked him about it once and he shrugged (how does a former AI program shrug so effectively) and simply stated that my presence combed his mind. Whatever that meant.

In any case, I wasn’t as bored or lonely anymore. In fact, I could almost swear that something was developing between Pietro and I.

Earlier this week, as I was doing the Times word search and also project in my powers to deflect incoming projectiles, my hair was flipped up and into my face, causing my concentration to skip which led to a tennis ball smacking me right in the face. Above me, Pietro burst out laughing and DUM-E beeped apologetically.

“I don’t think I can forgive you for this,“ I deadpanned, reaching back to jab him in the kidney, which he promptly dodged, all the while still cackling. When his laughing fit finally subsided, he stood back up straight.

“I have an idea, “he announced proudly.

“Stop the presses everyone, and called the Vatican, Speedy here has an idea. It must be a miracle. First one in a decade. The world must be ending,” I replied, looking at him and trying not to smirk. I will give him props because the obscene shocked and hurt that filled his face moments later was almost convincing. He chuckled and moved to sit on the stool next to me. He said nothing, only staring at me.

“Okay Zippy, what was your big idea?”

“You haven’t tested your instinctual and biological responses enough. For example, the fight or flight instinct is recreated too imperfectly in simulated situations to be of any use to you. However, there is another way around that beyond throwing yourself into open combat.” I tilted my head, waiting for him to continue. He leaned forward placing his hands on my side and leaning closer. Hesitant but not opposed, my eyes fluttered chat. Instead of kissing me as I had assumed (hoped!) was his plan, I felt his lips brush against the shell of my ear. I shattered at the sensation, anticipating.

“I have a question “, he whispered. I mumbled my acknowledgment and it took me a few seconds to process what he had said and by that time it was already too late. “ are you ticklish,” he had whisper gently. Now he was mercilessly attacking my side with one, extremely quick fingers, whenever I moved to try to escape, he was there.

I collapsed to the ground, giggling breathlessly before I cut myself and put on my grumpy face. Pietro smiled lazily and shifted so his knees were on either side of my thighs.

“ if you tickle me again, I’ll scream,” I warned him.

“ I bet I could have you screaming my name,” he replied cheesily.

“ I actually hate you right now. I’m considering making you my official arch nemesis. I might make T-shirts. And badges. Definitely badges.”

“Who’s making badges? Didn’t you know nemesis badges are so last season? This is why you should consult the great and powerful Darcy on all things,” came the snarky voice of my best friend from the lab door. I urgently pushed Pietro up and off of me. But as was the theme of the day, I was seconds too late, and Darcy saw us in a position that looked extremely compromising without context.

She raised her eyebrows at me, cheeks twitching as she managed, for once, to hold back whatever retort she thought of once she saw me beneath Pietro. Instead, she readjusted herself and offered me a hand to pick me up off of the slightly dusty floor. I made a mental note to give DUM-E the Swiffer tonight.

After I was back on my feet and thoroughly dusted off, Darcy approached the silver-haired man who was currently leaning against one of my shoulder high bookshelves, jabbing her finger into his sternum. “You hurt my sister and I know an Asgardian who can make your life a living hell. And no, I’m not talking about Thor. Plus, you should be scared of me, I’ve bested him in combat once before and I can certainly take you. So watch yourself Maximoff,” she growled before stomping away, grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me along behind her. “We’ve talked about this,” she hissed at me after her suite door slammed behind us. She’d been silent the entire elevator ride down to her floor. I loved Darcy but she was still a little paranoid about FRIDAY always being present and listening in.

“Darcy it wasn’t like that, he... tickled me?”

She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, I bet he did. Looked like he wanted to do a lot more from where I was standing kid. I’m telling you he’s bad news. What do you see in him anyway?”

I scoffed at her insinuation that somehow, Pietro would be the rotten one between us. “Dee I was literally sleeping with Tony Stark a few months ago while I had intimate knowledge of his fiancés fate. Plus I’m not exactly innocent in literally any sense if the word...” I trailed off but she just glared at me, which was her way of telling me that we weren’t leaving until I answered all of her questions.

I sighed and plopped myself down on her cozy armchair, putting my feet up. “It’s just... he’s easy to be around Darcy. It’s not hard, I don’t have to think about anything twice, there’s no pressure. He’s funny, makes me smile, puts up with my shit. And he doesn’t want more from me than I’m willing to give. We’re as easy as breathing.” I blinked, shocked at the words that had just come out of my mouth. Sure, I would admit to having a crush on the guy, he was hot and snarky. I loved that. Wait, love? I really was losing my mind.

“You know what, forget anything I just said. Let’s go out clubbing like you suggested and find me a man to get under for the night. I have to blow off some steam. I’m delusional and sappy over here.”

Darcy shrugged, noncommittally. “What?!” I demanded, confused as all hell.

“If you really feel that way about him, you should tell him. He may not be pushing you to give more than you’re ready for, but is he going to be prepared to give you everything you want, or is he just here for the safe convenience of it Kaida? You two have been prancing around each other like orphaned fawns, afraid to let yourselves get hurt and calling it sacrifice for the other. Or maybe he just doesn’t care and wants to play dirty because you’re available and convenient. “

I was a little hurt at her words but I could see the truth behind them. It was time Pietro and I had a chat. But not before I went out and had fun with my best friend. I relayed that thought to Darcy who excitedly squealed as we plotted to get the Science Squad out and about with us.

That brings us to now. Several of us piling into the biggest limo I’d ever seen. Bruce, Jane, Nat, Clint, Thor, Wanda, Pietro, Sam, Helen, the super soldiers, and even Peter had elected to join Darcy and I out tonight. It was certainly going to be one for the history books.

Smushed as we were in the back of the vehicle, it was oddly calming. For the first time today I felt as though I had time to just think for myself. I brushed my hand along my inner left forearm and shivered as a chill climbed down my spine. The perfectly raised but horrifically off-kilter writing simply read ‘cereal?’ today. Not much to go on if I were actively looking for my soulmate. Not that I would.

Whatever being it was that decided that two halves, or sometimes thirds or fourths of the same soul, would be imprinted with the first and last words their counterparts said for that day, was a complete and total madman.

It wasn’t a whole lot to go off of. I knew they were older than me because I’d gotten the marking before I could speak and I was advanced for my age. I knew they were New Yorkers just by the way they’d mention certain places and things offhand.

But I wasn’t looking for them. It was fairly obvious to me, at that point, that becoming a fixture in my life was beneficial to absolutely no one. And, based on the blip of feeling or insight I’d get mentally from my soulmate bond, whoever they were had a strong sense of duty. Someone who felt duty bound to a person like me would only end up dead.

And yeah, maybe I was kidding myself and these were really just excuses to protect myself from losing more of the people I cared about but honestly who gave a fuck. There were millions of people in this city. What were the odds we’d even run into each other?

Too high. But there was nothing I could do about that.

And then, after what felt like hours, the car stopped and the group spilled out on to the sidewalk before scrambling to the door of the club, bypassing the line. It was one of the classier, more exclusive establishments in town but not too high brow to preclude any riff-raff.

Cue Darcy Lewis, the bane of all rationality. Darcy’s personality was that of an instigator. I, on the other hand, would never back down when challenged. That meant five tequila shots in five minutes in addition to getting three random numbers. Just for fun. A few shots later and Darcy hauled me on to the dance floor.

We writhed and twisted around each other, alternating between cackling at one another and concentrating on looking appealing and feeling sexy. Her hands roamed my body and rested on my hips as I playfully ground myself back into her.

I could see Natasha posted up in the corner, sipping a sea breeze and keeping her eyes open. Bruce stood a few feet away from her, nervously twitching but slugging back some whiskey. Clint was at the bar pounding back beers with Helen, Jane, Thor, and Sam. All seemed deeply invested in a manic take the Asgardian was telling, arms flailing and making weird shapes as he attempted to act out whichever feat of heroism was on tap for tonight. Wanda stood behind them but looked a little lost. That’s when I noticed that Pietro and Peter were both missing.

Peter was easy enough to find, he was perched next to the top of the stairs, keeping up surveillance of the entire place, the boy having no idea how to relax. I was about to mention Pietro’s absence to the brunette behind me when the wind rushed around me. Suddenly, I wasn’t on the dance floor with Darcy but back at the bar with Pietro.

“What the fuck dude,” I bit out, slapping his arm. “You can’t just speed someone without permission, it doesn’t work like that.” Pietro just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. It was the kind of smile that got him off for everything. And now was no exception.

“But Kaida, you promised to show me what body shots were some day. I would like to do them now if that is okay. I still have not learned all of your silly American customs.”

I was just gone enough to nod eagerly while my body flushed hot. Body shot demonstrations were requested and so they would be done. We started simple, cleavage shots, I showed him with Darcy and then he practiced on me. His scruff scraped pleasantly against my overheated skin and I trembled. Then Darcy whispered salaciously in Pietro’s ear as I rested up against the bar. In a flash, Pietro‘s hands were squeezing around my hips and I was laying on top of the bar, shirt hiked up.

Tequila was poured and salt sprinkled around my Navel by Darcy freakin' Lewis, who, just hours earlier, had scolded both Pietro and I for our touching antics. But now, here she was, encouraging Pietro to haul me on to the bar. Before I could process that emotional whiplash, Pietro’s face was hovering over my stomach, a wicked smile filling his expression. I squirmed and he responded by dipping his head, using his tongue to swipe up the salt from my body before continuing down and sucking on my navel, slurping up all the tequila. My body was positively on fire. I opened my mouth in a breathless moan and nearly choked when my best friend shoved the rind of lime between my teeth. Her face was quickly replaced by Pietro’s. His eyes burned into mine, his pupils were blown, dark and hungry. He placed his mouth over mine, biting down surprisingly gently so lime juice with a hint of a taste that must be pure Pietro flooded my mouth. Icy fire burned through my veins as I completely forgot the discomfort of the hardwood bar pressing against my back. We were drawing closer and closer to each other as Pietro decisively removed the line from my mouth.

The trance was broken by a cough and a throat clearing. The Spiders Two, Peter and Natasha, were standing behind Pietro, arms crossed. Nat’s face was expressionless, but Peter‘s emotions were somewhat clear. He looked uncomfortable, annoyed and something else I couldn’t quite get a read on. My mouth fell open in a drunken grin, as I waved awkwardly to them, attempting to lift my head and slide off the bar and to my feet. Unfortunately, I was still more than a little boneless from the whole “Pietro‘s lips and tongue on my body“ situation, so, while I did manage to slide off the bar, landing on my feet and my high heels was a whole different story.

Long story short, I simply didn’t. Fortunately, when you’re friends with other enhanced people, their reflexes are typically pretty good. So I felt long, pale arms lock around my middle and stop me from falling. I grinned widely again at the feeling of thick ropey muscles encompassing me.

As I righted myself, the arms remained around me, hints of spicy cologne filling my nostrils when I slouched back into the warm body that stood behind me, closing my eyes and tilting my head back to nuzzle into Pietro’s neck. His breath caught and he let out a weirdly high pitched squeak in surprise.

“Oh shoot,” I stammered reflexively, looking down, “did I step on your foot or something? I know these heels can be a bitch.” It took me a minute to realize why what I was seeing felt so wrong. Instead of the tight black jeans Pietro had been wearing that night, my rescued had on dorky khakis and a blue button up. Peter.

“Fuck, Peter I didn’t know it was you, god damn I like almost assaulted you there. I’m so, so sorry. Jesus Christ, no more tequila for me ever.” I just kept rattling off apologies until he waved me away and Darcy took my arm to lead me out to a cab that was pulling up for us. It was time for me to go home, so Clint was being sent with me to supervise and make sure I made it back to the Tower in one piece and then he’d take one of Tony’s cars to drive back to his farmstead. “I’ve gotta take the kids to school tomorrow. Laura has a doctor’s appointment and I’m trying to be a good dad. You know, the whole nine yards. Or at least as good of a dad as a world-renowned assassin can be.” He ended up using the ride to babble on TL me about everything Nathaniel was getting up to at the moment and the big fiasco when he found out he was named after a girl and the killer meltdown when his parents rebuked him.

Clint deposited me in the elevator and hit my floor for me before he took off to the tunnel leading towards our parking garage. For the first fifth floors, everything was silent save for the occasional squeak of a gear or run of a pulley. Until the elevator stopped on one of the lab floors. I should have realized at that moment that all but one member of the Science Squad had been out that night, but it didn’t until I saw him step into the elevator beside me.

We stiffened simultaneously as Tony and I took the other in. Taking opposite corners, we studiously ignored each other as the elevator began moving. It was uncomfortable and deafeningly quiet, but that was probably more than I deserved. And then, as though whatever cosmic being had a direct line to my thoughts coupled with a sick sense of humor, the elevator froze, the lights went dark and an alarm started blaring, quickly followed by the emergency sprinkler system.

So to recap, I was trapped in a metal box, in the dark, being pelted with cold water, quite similar to what my parents used to do to Nadia and me.

It was at this moment that I had my worst panic attack to date. The sharp sense of panic cut down whatever buzz I had built up from the night before. Pure unadulterated terror flooded my chest as I collapsed to the floor, twitching. My chest heaved with silent sobs, my trauma reminding me that if I made a sound, Nadia would be punished and vice verse. Tears streamed down my cheeks and bile coated my throat. I could hear tony working frantically to desired the elevator panel and talking at me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. It didn’t matter. I was too far gone.

Minutes, maybe hours passed. Before I could think clearly, I was entirely disassociated and then sleeping in a wet puddle on the floor of our stalled elevator.

When I woke up the next morning, I was in my own bed, drowning in an oversized hoody that I recognized as one I had stolen from Bucky weeks ago, that if I had to guess, he had originally stolen from Cap. It was royal blue number with a vintage style logo for the Brooklyn Dodgers, whose move was still a sore spot for Steve Rogers.

I sat up groggily, head pounding. As I finger combed my hair and stood to use my restroom, I heard gently snores coming from the plush sectional in my living room. Lo and behold, the Tony Stark was slumped over, not even under a blanket. The events of last night all came flooding back to me and I flushed a bright pink in embarrassment. I’d never shown just how deep that particular weakness ran for me. I turned back and tried to tiptoe out of the room and down to the communal floor for breakfast when Tony’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I think it’s time we had a talk.”

TAGLIST: @peeterparkr @private-bucky-barnes @laurfangirl424 @bucktitybarnes

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may-odaigahara · 5 years

Text

if you love me won’t you say something?

So, uh, as promised, here’s the first chapter SuperReignCorp fic that I promised. It’s also up on AO3 for your perusal! If you could leave a comment/kudos over there, I’d really, really appreciate it.

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Kara surprises even herself as she and Sam flirt relentlessly, much to the chagrin of Lena. Will the three women be able to navigate their increasingly complicated relationships, and will any of them ever just look up what "polyamory" is? Will they all be able to find their happy ending?

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Over a year from now...

“Hey, darling,” Sam greets Kara with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Is Lena home yet?”

Kara sighs fondly, shaking her head. “You know she isn’t. Apparently, she has to supervise the situation in the lab personally. Let me take your bag.”

Sam hands her gym bag off to Kara, who hoists it up onto her shoulder as they slowly make their way to their bedroom.

“Oh, I know what that means,” Sam says. “That’s code for ‘I really want to play with the new compounds the R&D team just invented.’”

Kara laughs. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Is Ruby off at her friend’s house?”

“Yup, they’re really powering through that group project. She’s sleeping over there, too.”

“That’s a choice. A true test of friendship.”

“More importantly, that means we have all night to think about having sex while we’re actually all falling asleep instead.”

Kara grins at that and playfully smacks Sam’s butt. “Well, I’m feeling pretty awake right now. Do you think Lena will be mad if we start without her?”

“Furious. She called me into her office today to talk about some of our potential acquisitions and she stared at my legs nearly the entire time. She’s debilitatingly horny.”

“Well, you are wearing that.” Kara deliberately takes a moment to let her gaze travel up Sam’s long, long legs, perfectly on display thanks to the pencil skirt she’s wearing.

“I am, which reminds me, I desperately want to change. My pair of comfy yoga pants is screaming out my name.”

“Certainly a good choice to stop me from staring at my legs.”

“Whoever said I want you to stop?”

Sam flashes Kara a smile from over her shoulder as she walks into their bedroom. Kara bites her lips, openly admiring the sway of her girlfriend’s hips and the swell of her ass.

“You want some help changing?” Kara calls after her.

“Debilitatingly horny, Kara!” Sam responds back, from the other side of their bedroom door.

Once she’s changed into appropriate loungewear, and after Kara is finished checking her out, they head into the kitchen. Kara pours them both glasses of wine (stemless, naturally, she’s caused enough accidents already), while Sam whips up a quick cheese plate to stave off Kara’s legendary appetite until Lena gets there. They cozy up on the couch, the TV playing in the background, as they talk about their day and steal kisses and pecks and endlessly flirt. Much like with Lena, Kara just feels so free with Sam, free to express her love and her sexuality and every little feeling she has in her heart.

At one point, though, Kara just can’t take it anymore and bunches the front of Sam’s shirt up in her hand and pulls her close, kissing her deeply and passionately. Sam sighs into the kiss, gently looping her arms around Kara’s neck and drawing her in even closer. Kara never wants to leave this moment, hoping for the golden light of the setting sun to turn into amber to preserve them forever.

“Wow, you two did start without me.”

They both look up without a hint of guilt about them as they see Lena walk into the living room, a playfully stern expression on her face.

“We both still have our clothes on,” Sam says. “For us, that’s pretty good.”

“Kara, your hand is still on her boob,” Lena says.

Kara looks down to see that is, in fact, the case. Very pointedly, she leaves it there, which makes Sam laugh. “I see nothing wrong with this.”

“You two are hopeless. Let me change out of these awful work clothes and then we can order some dinner.”

“Do you want any help?” Kara and Sam both ask, at nearly the same time.

“No!”

Once they hear the bedroom door shut, they look at one another for a moment. And then they start making out again. Lena walks out just as Sam sticks her tongue in Kara’s mouth, prompting an exceptionally loud moan.

“Guys.”

Kara and Sam once again both look up at her.

“She started it,” Kara says.

“No way, you definitely started it. If you weren’t so impossibly attractive I wouldn’t be so interested in kissing you.”

“Guys, please,” Lena says. “Can we order some food? I’m starving.”

“That does sound great. All Sam gave me to eat was cheese,” Kara says.

“And fancy multigrain crackers, I’m not a monster.”

“Yeah, but that won’t come close to sating my hunger. Can we get some Vietnamese food? I want at least three banh mi.”

“Lovely. Any objections from the peanut gallery?” Lena asks, looking pointedly at Sam.

“So rude of you, my love,” Sam says. “I’m fine with that, as long as we order something with vegetables in it.”

“There are plenty of vegetables in banh mi!”

“Kara, c’mon,” Sam says.

“Great,” Lena says. “Being the adult in the room, I’ll order.”

“Need I remind you that you’re the baby in the group?” Sam asks.

“Be nice to the person getting you dinner,” Lena smiles sweetly.

Sam stands up and wraps Lena in a tight hug. “You’re my favorite. Don’t tell Kara.”

Kara also joins in on the hug, squishing her two girlfriends as much as she can. “Don’t worry, you’re Kara’s favorite, too.”

“You’re too much,” Lena says, feigning protest, but the blush on her cheeks and her delighted smile say otherwise.

“We got her,” Kara says, looking past Lena to Sam. “She’s blushing.”

“Mission accomplished,” Sam says. “Also, can we use our L-Corp connections to make our food arrive faster? I’m really starving, too.”

“I already put the order in, so you’re just going to have to wait like a normal person, Arias,” Lena says.

Thankfully, their food doesn’t take long to arrive, though Kara does tear through an entire bag of beef jerky in the meantime. They sit down at the dining room table, the last vestiges of sunlight filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and setting the clean, modern architecture of their shared penthouse alight in deep oranges and reds.

“Hey, can I be sappy for a moment?” Sam asks.

“Honey, I think you know my stance on sappiness pretty well by now,” Kara says, smiling.

Sam ducks her head, a pleased smile on her face, as Lena reaches out and squeezes her upper arm.

“I guess I do. I just wanted to say that I’m so happy that we all found one another and that we figured this whole thing out. Just a year ago I never would’ve imagined that I’d be entering a relationship with two incredible women, and look at us now.”

Kara threads her fingers through Sam’s and gives her hand a quick squeeze. Sam smiles gratefully at her.

“It just blows my mind,” Sam continues. “There were moments where I thought that I – I wouldn’t be enough for Ruby, but now I know I have you two to support me. It’s just incredible.”

“We’re here for you, Sam,” Lena says. “We’ll always be by your side, and Ruby’s.”

“Yeah, that little munchkin has really wormed her way into our hearts. We’re sticking with you, through thick and thin.”

“Thanks so much, guys,” Sam says. “I love you both very much.”

“We love you too, Sam,” Kara says.

“Absolutely we do,” Lena says.

Sam lets all of this love and affection wash over her for a moment, suffusing her with such a warmth and joy that she feels ready to burst. A sort of giddiness comes over her that reminds her of how it felt once they really started to figure everything out.

“Hey, on a lighter note, do you guys remember all of the drama we had to go through to get to this point?” Sam asks. “What a mess that was.”

“That was quite an experience,” Lena says. “I can’t believe you got together with Kara before me. Me! The person who’s had a crush on her since day one!”

“You had a crush on me since day one, too,” Sam says, grinning. “Though I could never tell. I honestly wasn’t sure if you liked me half of the time.”

Kara can’t help but laugh and Lena just pouts. “Mean.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Sam says. “You just like to play things a little too close to the chest.”

Lena sighs dramatically. “Well, I’m glad you figured it out eventually.”

“We certainly did,” Kara says.

Present day

Lena introduces Kara to Sam, and it's all over from there.

Kara finds Sam to be, simply put, quite fascinating in her multitudes. She’s a caring, loving mother, a tough-as-nails, no-nonsense CFO (she’s heard people around L-Corp call her the “sweetest shark you’ll ever meet”), and clearly a good friend of Lena’s. And, on top of that, if Kara’s being totally honest with herself, Sam is gorgeous, too. She feels like she can appreciate Sam’s beauty in a sort of objective sense, like she could with Lucy.

All of this means that, of course, Kara desperately wants to become friends with her. She doesn’t want to just become acquaintances or have them learn to tolerate one another for Lena’s sake, she wants them to be real, honest-to-god friends. As always, Kara can’t think of any better way to start a friendship than to share a meal. Which is why she finds herself leaning against the doorway to Sam’s office, a list of nearby restaurants open on her phone.

“Kara,” Sam greets, smiling, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes – a business smile, exactly what Kara wants to grow beyond. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your assistant – great dude, by the way – tells me that you conveniently have a whole hour free right at noon. Want to grab lunch?”

“This is off the record, right? I just had a reporter sniffing around the offices and he was a pain to deal with.”

“Completely off the record, we’re just getting lunch together as friends. Though if you want me to write a scathing article about that annoying reporter, I’d be happy to.”

Sam laughs, and Kara counts that as a win.

“You know what? Let’s do it,” Sam says, standing up. “Unlike Lena, you’ll find that I actually enjoy leaving the office every now and again.”

“That’s good to hear. I had to convince Lena not to convert that one conference room by her office into a bedroom.”

Sam just shakes her head. “I love Lena, but she can be crazy sometimes. That’s like in college when I had to stop her from bringing a sleeping bag down to the engineering labs. So, where are we going, Danvers?”

Sam grabs a baseball cap from the coat hooks on the door to her office and jams it onto her head, its casual flair clashing pleasantly with her sharp business clothing. Kara is struck by just how pretty Sam is for a moment, and it takes her a moment to find her voice again.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Kara says, as they slowly make their way to the elevator. “I have a couple of options. There’s a good vegan restaurant pretty close by, if you’re as dedicated to salad as Lena is, a really fun Uzbeki place literally a block away, and if you really don’t care about that blazer that I can only assume costs as more than my entire outfit, there’s an incredible barbecue place that just opened up in the building over.”

“I’m a risk-taker, Kara,” Sam says. “Let’s go with barbecue.”

Kara beams at her. She likes her already.

“You’re eating all of that for lunch?” Sam asks.

Kara looks down at her plate of food, which is piled high with brisket and accompanied by a side of cornbread and baked beans.

“Yeah, let’s say I’m bulking?” Kara answers.

“Is that a question?”

“I just really like food,” Kara says, somewhat bashfully.

Sam just shrugs. “Respect. You must work out a lot.”

“Yeah, I do. I did, like, all of the sports in college, so I’ve at least kept up with staying in shape. It’s fun, and if I have a really hard day at work, I can just go to town on a punching bag.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at that. “No kidding? I know we just met, but I have to say, it’s hard imagining you taking your frustrations out like that.”

“It really works! It’s very cathartic. And, look, I know I have the whole ‘Sunny’ Danvers reputation, but I get pissed off, too. Especially working with Snapper Carr as my boss, goodness.”

“Yeah, I think I know how you feel. I’ve spoken to that man once. Once.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?”

“Let’s just say that he knows who’s signing off on his paychecks.”

Sam says this with such imperiousness that it only makes it funnier when she, moments later, bites into her pulled-pork sandwich and sauce dribbles down her chin. Kara can’t help but laugh.

“Sorry,” Kara says. “That was just incredible timing.”

“You laughing at me, Danvers?”

“I’m laughing with you, Arias.”

Sam cracks a grin at that. “Good answer.”

It’s in that moment Kara decides that, yeah, she does really like Sam. She can only hope that Sam likes her, too.

(Sam does like her, too.)

“So, after he pushed me into the pool, I decided to swim an entire lap just to show off and when I make it back over to him, I splashed him with as much water as I could,” Kara says, grinning. “Needless to say, we both got kicked out of mathletes.”

Sam and Lena both burst out laughing, drawing the attention of some of the other patrons in the bar.

“Wow, what a turn,” Sam says. “You had a weird high school experience, Kara.”

“Seriously,” Lena says. “At my boarding school it was all political intrigue and backstabbing and sex and way, way too much cocaine. So boring.”

Sam and Kara just stare at one another for a moment, before staring at Lena.

“How could you possibly think that’s boring?” Kara asks, bewildered.

“We’ve known each other for how long and you haven’t told me any stories about your boarding school days?” Sam says.

“Oh, it’s really nothing. This was one of the tamer boarding schools, and – oh, excuse me,” Lena says, as her phone goes off. She glances down at the number before smiling apologetically at Kara and Sam. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this. CEO stuff.”

“No problem,” Kara says.

“Make that money, sister,” Sam says.

“Thanks,” Lena says. “You two will be okay with each other, right?”

“Lena, answer your damn phone before they think you’re ignoring them,” Sam says. “We’ll be fine.”

Lena gives them one last apologetic glance before picking up her phone and swiftly exiting the bar to find a quiet spot to hold her conversation.

“Oh no, our mutual friend has left us alone,” Kara says. “Whatever will we talk about?”

“I have no idea!” Sam says. “Our social interactions are always so awkward!”

They stare at each other for barely a second before they both start laughing.

“That was a good one,” Kara says, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “Hey, how’s Ruby’s soccer team doing?”

“Incredibly! My little girl has a killer instinct out on the field. I’m so proud,” Sam says, hand to heart.

“You’re terrifying. I respect that.”

“Oh, am I?” Sam asks, leaning in a little closer. “Are you scared right now, Danvers?”

Though Kara’s heart is hammering in her chest at their sudden proximity, and though it feels as if they’re now the only two people in the bar (she doesn’t have the time to unpack all of that right now), she just raises an eyebrow, staring defiantly back at Sam. Kara knows she’s not usually like this, given how prone to stammering and quick to getting flustered she is, but Sam just brings this side out of her. It fascinates and terrifies her in equal measure.

“Should I be?” Kara asks, playfully.

“Good answer,” Sam says.

Their conversation flows easily, and Kara is more thankful than ever that she started grabbing lunch with Sam whenever they could find some time. When Lena does come back, a dozen apologies waiting on the tip of her tongue, she sees Sam and Kara laughing uproariously at something. They’re sitting angled towards one another, away from the bartender and all of the other patrons, lost in their own little world. And, their knees are touching. Lena feels her stomach churning.

“Lena!” Sam says, finally tearing her attention away from Kara. “What’s the damage? Is our company still afloat?”

“Well, our more irritating board members will be furious that I’ve put the final nail in the coffin of our weapons division,” Lena says, managing a smile. “But, yes, you will still have a job after this weekend, Sam.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Sam says. “Work is the only way I get to see your pretty face every day, Lena.”

“You’re so sweet,” Lena says dryly. “So, it seems as if you two are getting along well.”

Kara and Sam exchange a glance.

“Well, yeah, I would hope so,” Sam says. “We’ve been grabbing lunch together when we can.”

“We’ve been trying to invite you!” Kara is quick to say. “You’re just always, y’know, busy. Jess is very adamant about that.”

Lena sighs dramatically, trying her best to hide her excitement over Kara’s enthusiasm to include her. “Yes, she is, tragically, very good at her job. I’ll have to carve out some time to join you. I’d hate for you to have all the fun.”

“Exactly!” Kara says excitedly, reaching out and grabbing Lena’s hands. “We have to spend more time together. We can be like the all-women three musketeers. Hmm, wait, what famous female trios are there?”

“Sleater-Kinney,” Sam throws out immediately.

“Charlie’s Angels?” Lena adds in.

“Ooh, and Destiny’s Child!” Kara says. “Okay, wait, I guess there are a lot. There’s TLC, too, and…”

If someone were to write out a transcript of Sam’s current internal monologue, it would just be the word “fuck” in all-caps. This awful meeting they’re in, where a small contingent of board members are desperately arguing against Lena’s proposed green energy initiatives, has managed to go two full hours past its scheduled time. Sam was supposed to leave to pick Ruby up from school thirty minutes ago. Normally it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, since Ruby is preternaturally understanding for a teenager, but she had a huge test today that was really stressing her out and Sam wants to be there for her.

“Gentlemen, how much longer is this going to take?” Sam finally asks, staring pointedly at the men responsible for her being kept away from her daughter.

“We have to figure this out now!” an awful, wiry, pink-faced man bloviates. “The end of the fiscal year is almost upon us, and if we’re going to force ourselves to take on these green initiatives, we’re going to have to be serious about finalizing the budget.”

You’re going to die before the climate crisis gets bad enough for you to care about, so you’re useless in this conversation, Sam thinks and nearly says out loud, but doesn’t.

“Fine,” Sam says. “Let me pull up some data, since you’re only ever impressed by spreadsheets.”

Lena flashes her a sympathetic look as she angrily pulls out her laptop. Before she can dive into her mountains of data, she quickly pulls up her messaging app to find someone to pick up Ruby in her stead. Her contact list is awfully thin, and there’s basically only one option who actually lives in the city.

Kara.

Hey, I’m really sorry about this. Can you pick up Ruby from school? I’d really appreciate it.

As soon as she sends the message, she feels extremely foolish. She’s almost friends with Kara, maybe, but it certainly doesn’t feel like they have the kind of relationship where Kara would be picking up her daughter from school. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Kara, it’s more that she doesn’t want to inconvenience her. Ruby and Kara have only met once before, on top of everything else.

As she waits for Kara to respond, she quickly pulls up a spreadsheet and throws it up on the projector screen.

“We’ve conducted an extensive cost-benefit analysis of these green programs,” Sam says. “I’ve highlighted the obvious benefits we’d get at one, five, and even twenty years out. Lena, would you mind expanding upon this?”

“Certainly,” Lena says. “Green programs are our future. As you can see, investing in our future results in…”

Sam turns her attention back to her laptop screen, where she’s surprised to find that Kara has already responded.

I’d love to!!! Ruby and I are going to be best friends, just you wait. Just text me the address and I’ll be there right away!

This message is followed by about twenty emojis that Sam can’t even begin to decipher the meaning of. It’s so cute that she has to cover up her smile with her hand, and quickly texts the address and an exuberant thank you back to Kara. She also quickly texts Ruby.

Hey, munchkin. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but Kara is going to pick you up from school today.

Ruby, who’s probably just gotten out of classes, quickly responds.

No problem!

Kara is cool

She has to finish telling me the story about how she almost met CRJ, too

Sam lets out a sigh of relief. Ruby will be in good hands.

When Sam finally gets out of the meeting, after she and Lena have successfully eviscerated the absolutely fools on the board, she drives off to where Kara told her to meet them. It’s at a local burger place, unsurprisingly, and she finds the two of them sitting on the roof of Kara’s car.

“Arias!” Kara greets cheerfully. “We saved one for you.”

“Kara really wanted to eat it, but she didn’t!” Ruby adds in.

Kara reaches into the greasy, paper bag perched on the roof of her car and tosses a burger wrapped in foil at Sam, who catches it easily with one hand. If she’s being honest with herself, Sam really enjoys the impressed look that Kara gives her at that.

“She did, huh?” Sam asks, smiling. “How nice of her.”

“Lena texted me too and said that you were stuck in the world’s worst meeting,” Kara says. “Burgers always make me feel better.”

Sam peels away the layers of foil and nearly moans out loud at the sight of the cheesy, double-patty monstrosity in her hands. She takes a hearty bite.

“Can’t disagree with that, Danvers,” Sam says, between bites. “This burger is incredible, I’ve never been here before.”

“Kara has been to all of the burger restaurants in the city!” Ruby says excitedly. “We have to try them all, mom, they sound so good. She’s ranked them all, so it’ll be easy to pick and choose which ones to go to first.”

Kara blushes but looks exceptionally pleased by Ruby’s enthusiasm, and Sam feels absolutely delighted.

“Well, that sounds like a good adventure,” Sam says, mussing up Ruby’s hair with her free hand. “Where does this place rank?”

“Number three, actually, this place is super good,” Kara says. “My only knock against them is that their fries aren’t quite as crispy as numbers one and two, but that’s a small flaw.”

Sam laughs. “I love how into food you are.”

“We can get burgers with Kara, mom! She’ll teach us all their secrets,” Ruby says.

Sam’s smile grows even wider. Ruby’s a sweet kid, sure, especially for a teenager, but even she doesn’t usually warm up to adults this quickly. Kara really is something special.

“Well, I’m down for it,” Sam says, before turning her gaze to Kara. “Danvers?”

“Oh, getting burgers with two of my favorite people in the world? I’m so in.”

Kara and Sam just smile at each other for an extended beat, before Kara looks away, bashful, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Sam just chuckles before taking another bite of her burger.

“So, Rubes, how did that big test go?” Sam asks.

“Eh, not bad,” Ruby says, shrugging. “I had time to double-check all of my answers, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Always good to double-check your answers,” Sam says. “I’m sure you did great.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Ruby says. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

Their conversation flows easily as Sam finishes up her food. Already she feels as if the stress from the day – and she had been holding on to a lot of stress – has already melted away. She wonders if this is perhaps Kara’s superpower: getting overworked businesswomen to just relax, for once. It’s a good one, in any case.

“Alright, kiddo, I think we should head home,” Sam says. “Go get in the car and grab the aux cord, it’s your turn for music.”

Ruby’s face lights up and she practically sprints towards Sam’s luxury sedan, leaving just Kara and Sam in the parking lot.

“Hey, thanks again for picking her up,” Sam says. “I really appreciate that.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. Ruby’s school is super close to CatCo, anyway,” Kara says. “Besides, she’s great. We didn’t just talk about burgers, too. We ended up talking a lot about biology, since that’s what her test was in and I majored in that in college. I like to think I helped her appreciate the subject just a little bit more.”

“That’s so nice of you, Kara. And, wait, you majored in biology?”

Kara shrugs. “I double-majored in biology and communications, and minored in sociology. I wanted to do everything.”

Sam chuckles, wholly unsurprised that Kara has the degrees to back up her obvious smarts. “Well, seems like you succeeded there. You’re very impressive, Kara.”

Kara smiles at her again and Sam gets lost in it. She wants to stay in this moment forever, even though they’re in the parking lot of some burger place in National City. The sun is setting, suffusing even this place with some sort of magic, and Kara herself seems to glow beneath the orange and red and pink light.

“Hey, get dinner with me,” Sam says. “If you want. This Saturday. Consider it a thank you for picking Ruby up. And for this delicious burger.”

Kara smiles, once again messing with her hair.

“I – I would love that, sure,” Kara says. “Let’s do it.”

Sam smiles back at her, feeling suffused with a warmth that can’t be explained away by the National City sun.

#superreigncorp #superreign #supercorp #reigncorp #fanfiction #supergirl

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laraslandlockedblues · 5 years

Text

Ok actually I know the tags on my gif post I just did said I wasn’t sure when I’d be back, but I’m feeling strangely articulate tonight so here we go. Long-winded under the cut.

TL;DR - Real life is (and will continue to be) a busy bitch, a writer’s ego is a fragile thing, and my Lightning Struck series (Cullen/Evelyn) can now be considered on indefinite hiatus.

Hi! Yes, I’m alive and well and I really do appreciate the messages asking if I was all right and checking on me. You’re all too sweet and kind, and I’m so grateful for each and every one of you. Keep that in mind as this ramble continues, please.

This has been a weird year already, and it’s only March. Normally I’d be like “IT’S ALREADY MARCH?!” but no, this year...It’s only March. That’s how I’ve been feeling.

January started off with a weird mood for me. Over the holidays I had the usual family stress and blahness that comes with adulthood, but a few fandom things happened too that put me into a rather...difficult headspace, shall we say. For one thing, I will say I’ve noticed I’m not the only one who’s pointed out that it feels like the fandom is dying. And it is. Which is sad. I feel like I only just got here - I’ve played DA for years but I only really started to interact with its fandom in late 2017, so for me it was still all fresh and new and exciting. Seeing that die down, compounded with the Tumblr wank, especially, was really disappointing.

As a creator, too, it was hard not to take that personally. It was hard not to take people moving on to other fandoms and interests and things as an indictment on my work. Rational brain knew that that was the problem, rational me knew that we were all just moving on because other things were catching our interest. It’s natural. But dumb, idiot writer brain was struggling with the fact that I was feeling like I was screaming into the void.

What bothered me more was that I even cared. I never once wanted to care about that. I always preach writing for oneself, and that’s why I write. But I hated the fact that for a time I’d gotten so much feedback that I noticed its absence when it died down a little. And that’s not anyone’s fault, I’m not begging for comments or feedback, seriously. Again, rational me was shrugging and still wanted to write for me because it was fun and I enjoy it, but the fragile writer ego we all carry around inside us took a hit and began to doubt.

It stopped being fun. Especially because it wasn’t necessarily a total lack of feedback - it was, for me, a lack of feedback on what I was actually, currently working on. Over the holidays for some reason I began to get comments on WIPs that I hadn’t updated in ages - asking me for updates. Now, everyone has their own opinion on those sorts of comments, so this is only my own, and take it with a grain of salt and everything I just mentioned above.

It sucked. It absolutely, 100% sucked. Seeing the email notification that I got a comment would bring me so much joy - only to open it to see that it was a comment on something I hadn’t written for in a long time asking me when I’d feel like providing more content for that fic again. I began to feel like fic was a transaction and I was piling up debts. I started to feel like I owed fandom and readers what they wanted, instead of doing this for the reason I started in the first place - for myself.

I know that Rylen is niche. I know that fics that have very little to do with canon are niche. I know that Abby isn’t always super likable. I know that John is off-putting because he’s such a morally ambiguous OC who has nothing to do with DA and makes really shit decisions. I know all of that, and I’ve never expected any of those fics to get any sort of response, so the fact that they’ve gotten the response that they have still blows my mind and makes me insanely, insanely happy. And so I hated that I felt ungrateful, and that I was doubting my work, and that writing and fandom was beginning to feel like a labor and not something I loved.

The more I noticed I was struggling with working on updates, the more I started to think a break might be in order. When some RL stuff finally cropped up, the fact that I was sort of forced into a break was a blessing in disguise, to be honest. I leaned into the skid and let myself step back to reevaluate why I do this and what I want to get out of it. I fell into a new fandom and worked on random pieces of writing for it, which I threw into the voids of ao3 on a second account and only shared for myself and a few friends who were also falling into that fandom with me. I rediscovered the joy of writing and not caring what response I get. I reignited my love of crafting a story a certain way because I wanted to and not because I thought it was where anyone else thought it should go.

I remembered why I love writing in the first place - for myself.

And with that, I finally began to let go of some things, and let myself mull over decisions I’d been putting off or avoiding. I shrugged off the stress of expectation and “owing” anyone my time or effort, and I’m finally back to enjoying myself and my writing, free of doubt.

With that, I have some news, good and bad. The bad news first - my Cullen muse has left the building. I have waited, and hoped, and tried, but at some point he walked out the door and he hasn’t made an appearance since. That isn’t to say that I don’t still love his character or content about him, but personally, I can no longer write his POV or romance. The ability to do so has eluded me for months now, but I’ve accepted this sad truth at long last. Unless he’s trading banter with Rylen or Abby, his muse is no longer whispering in my ear. And that makes me sad, and for all I know he’ll reemerge some day, ready to help me write again. For now, though, that isn’t possible. Which does, unfortunately, mean that my Cullen/Evelyn WIPs are currently either abandoned or on an indefinite hiatus (I’ve tagged them appropriately on ao3 if you’re curious). If I do manage to return to them, I expect to only focus on Moments Passed and Miss Grey. As for what I’ll do about Beautiful Disaster...I’m not quite certain yet.

It did also mean that I was able to let go of something that had bothered me for a while as well. I’m almost positive no one noticed since it’s been kind of off radar for a while, but - my fic What Are the Odds has been orphaned. I’m still proud of it as a fic, but it came with a lot of baggage and my Cullen/Evelyn pairing was just ever so slightly OOC to the point that comments on it made me cringe. I’m a firm believer in not deleting, and so off to the fandom as an orphaned work it went, to be enjoyed without me having to be aware of it at all.

Now, the good news is - I do 100% still plan on writing Abby/Rylen. Their muses are still there and whispering to me, and I definitely want to continue working on the WIPs I have for them. At the moment After Rain might be slow to update (need to figure out how I’m navigating some canon plot to get me from point A to B to C to D and on). But I plan on trying to finish it as well as the others that I have for them. Abby/Ry live on, because I absolutely love them so much, and the idea of writing for them is back to bringing me joy.

I cannot make guarantees on update speed for the foreseeable future, possibly for the rest of the year. Currently RL continues to be a shitshow, as I was reminded today, and writing more than a sentence here or there has been difficult. In a few months I will also be moving, and once at my new destination I actually have a Big Project (a writing one I hope to be able to share here, if people are still around/Tumblr is still a thing) that I intend to make my full time focus. My goal has always been to be a writer, and while fanfic has been an amazing way to explore my writing style/storytelling/character voice, I have plans to get published. I’ll have a better opportunity to put those plans into realistic action later this year, which I’m actually really, insanely excited about.

If you have made it this far, THANK YOU. I love this fandom, and I’ve met so many wonderful, lovely, supportive, talented people in it and I have missed you all dearly during my time away. In no way was this a call out post directed at anyone in particular, and in no way was this a “woe is me, please give me attention” cry for help. I’ve just had a lot of thoughts and feelings during this break, and I actually wanted to sort of vocalize them because: 1) wow I already feel better after doing so, and 2) to let other writers know it’s 100% valid to need to take a break or occasionally get in your head about needing validation/feedback/wonder why we do this when it just feels like screaming into a fathomless void. It’s natural and normal and totally human, and if you’re feeling that way, find someone supportive to help you through and take a step back. Everything will be waiting there for you when you’re ready for it. And remember - do it for yourself because it’s something you enjoy.

#lara rambles #long post #do n/ot/ reblog #seriously please #no reblobbies #thank you for the love while i was away #i'll try to be around more often now #xx

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pikapeppa · 5 years

Text

Cullen/Lavellan modern AU: New Start

@schoute and I did another fic/art trade and BOTH OF US ARE SCREAMING AND WE ARE NOT OKAY ❤️❤️❤️

As my part of the trade, I wrote three more chapters of Luck and the Law: the Origin Story™ of our modern AU Piper Lavellan and Cullen’s relationship! They are up on AO3 here!

In the meantime, here is the second chapter, in which Piper makes her way to Kirkwall after having her heart broken in Ansburg.

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

Piper hefted her backpack higher onto her shoulder as she trudged toward the pub. Three buses and two days of travel had finally brought her to Kirkwall.

It was past dinnertime and past dark, and Piper was exhausted. All she’d eaten in the past two days was the leftovers that her boss had insisted she take from the restaurant when she’d gone in to plead for her last paycheque, but the leftovers were long gone by last night, and Piper was so hungry it felt like her stomach was sticking to her spine. She hadn’t had a cigarette since the night Peronn had stolen her money, and her head was a constant throbbing ache. Peronn was the one who’d started her smoking, and the thought of a cigarette touching her lips made her want to retch, but the withdrawal wasn’t making her abstinence any easier.

She covered her mouth to hide a yawn as she locked her bike up near the pub. Really, she shouldn’t be going to a pub at all; her first concern should be finding a place to stay. But she was at a loss as to where exactly to go. She only had a few hundred bucks to her name, and she’d have to stretch that for at least a few days in Kirkwall until she found a job. The cheapest hostel in this city was a place called Imshael’s Haven in a part of the city called Darktown, but it had a one-star rating on Google, and multiple people had left reviews saying their shit had been stolen while staying there. There were a couple of other hostels in a slightly more expensive neighbourhood called Lowtown, but Piper balked at the thought of losing half of her remaining funds for a few nights in a bed.

But what was her alternative? In the past, she’d happily crashed on the couch of anyone who’d offered. But that was before her so-called friends had beaten her up and taken all her money after making her think she was one of them - that she was a member of the group, and that she was loved…

She shunted the thought of Peronn’s baby blue eyes to the back of her mind and pushed back her hood as she neared the pub. The Hanged Man, it was called; she’d heard a few people talking about this place as she’d gotten off the bus, and they said it had a good reputation for cheap but tasty appetizers. If Piper was totally honest, she would love a drink too, but it was probably a bad idea. She should be saving her money, and the last thing she needed in her pitifully empty stomach was booze.

Especially given what had happened the last time she’d gotten drunk.

Peronn’s smiling face intruded into her thoughts once more: his handsome, vile, lying face. Piper shivered and hunched her shoulders, then pushed open the door to the Hanged Man.

A lively wave of conversation met her ears, carried by the gritty sound of a grunge rock song that Piper vaguely remembered from the 90s. The pub was dark and cozy, with a low ceiling and red walls decorated with mug shots of famous criminals from all around Thedas. The bar was along the left-hand wall, manned by a pretty woman around Piper’s age with short dark hair, and at the back of the pub, there was a small stage with a karaoke machine.

Karaoke? Piper thought with a flash of amusement. No one had mentioned that. Not that she would ever do karaoke - she couldn’t sing to save her life - but it was funny that they offered it here.

She made her to way to the bar, then leaned against it to wait for the bartender’s attention. A minute later, the bartender sashayed over with a smile.

“Hey there,” the bartender said. “You look like you need a drink.” Her grin was wide and cheeky, but to Piper’s pleasant surprise, the bartender’s gaze didn’t linger too long on Piper’s obvious facial wounds.

Despite her exhaustion, Piper found herself smiling in response. She scoffed and slumped her elbows on the bar. “What gives you that idea?” she drawled. She fully expected the bartender to comment on her face; the livid scabs and bruises were the most noticeable thing about her face right now, after all.

But the bartender surprised her again by not mentioning her face at all. Instead, she jerked her head at the speaker in the corner. “This song,” she said. “It makes me want to drink. I fucking hate it.”

Piper listened a bit more carefully, then snorted a laugh. “You’re right. I hate this song too. I could do with something more upbeat.”

“Right?” the bartender said enthusiastically. “Something fun to dance to.” She shimmied her shoulders a bit.

“Yeah!” Piper laughed. “Something like-”

She broke off as the next song started. A slow grin lifted her wounded lips as she recognized the distinctive 80s tones, and she and the bartender made eye contact.

“Fuck yeah, the Safety Dance!” they said at the same time.

Piper gaped at the bartender, who stared back at her with wide eyes, and then they both burst into laughter. Piper laughed and laughed until her diaphragm started to hurt. The bartender’s bubbly energy was infectious, and the past two days had been so awful that Piper felt like she hadn’t smiled in ages, and it just felt so good to find something funny again, even if it was the stupidest thing in the world.

She finally wiped her eyes, and the bartender chuckled as she held out her hand. “I’m Rynne,” she said. “But you can call me Hawke. Everyone does.”

Piper shook her hand. “I’m Piper,” she said.

Hawke grinned, then released her hand. “What can I get for you, Piper?”

“Um, I heard you guys have food,” Piper said. “Do I order at the bar, or…?”

Hawke nodded. “Yeah, or you can take a seat at a table and a waitress will come help you out. Whatever you like.”

Piper hesitated. She could go sit at a table; it would probably be more comfortable than sitting at the bar, and her back was still hurting from the shitty bus seats. But Hawke’s face was so open and friendly, and as pitiful as it sounded, Piper could use a friendly face after the terrible few days she’d just had.

She shifted onto one of the bar stools. “I, uh, I’ll sit here, if that’s okay…?”

“Of course!” Hawke said. “I’ll never say no to a pretty girl sitting at my bar.” She winked at Piper and handed her a menu. “You can help me pick what song should play next. I mean, I only get a little bit of choice - the boss usually picks a playlist and we stick with that, but I’m allowed to choose two songs per hour.” She chuckled as she pulled out two shot glasses and placed them on the bar. “I usually make sure I pick songs that will bug the shit out of him.” She turned around and pulled a bottle of tequila from the lower shelf behind the bar.

Piper smirked as Hawke poured the shots. “I bet your boss loves you for that.”

“Oh, he does,” Hawke assured her cheerfully. “Everyone loves me. I’m fantastic, can’t you tell?” Then she pushed one shot glass in Piper’s direction.

“Cheers,” Hawke said. “It’s on me.”

Piper’s eyes widened. “Oh, no,” she protested. “No, that’s way too nice, you don’t have to-”

Hawke waved her hand dismissively. “Go on,” she coaxed, “go ahead. Consider it a ‘welcome to Kirkwall’ shot.”

Piper released a soft exhale, then gave Hawke a rueful smile. “All right. Thanks a lot,” she said softly. She lifted the shot and clinked her tiny glass against Hawke’s before swallowing it down.

The cheap tequila was a harsh but pleasant burn as it made its way down her throat. She hissed in a breath through her teeth, then looked at Hawke. “How’d you know I just got here?” she asked.

Hawke shrugged as she briskly placed their glasses into the sink. “The backpack, the post-travel slumped posture, take your pick,” she said. “We also don’t see many Dalish elves here.” She cocked her head to the side. “Actually, I can’t think of any aside from my friend Merrill. She’s doing a kind of Dalish cultural exchange thing, though, and she’s going to the university part-time.” Her thoughtful gaze settled on Piper’s face. “I don’t get the sense that that’s why you’re here.”

Piper shrugged casually and dropped her eyes to the menu. “Nah, not me. I’m just travelling, you know, making my way across Thedas, seeing all the sights. You don’t see a whole lot when you just stick with your clan.” She kept her voice light and tried to pretend she was just a normal traveller who wasn’t standing on the precipice of total poverty.

“Sounds amazing,” Hawke said brightly. “Where were you last? Markham?”

“No, I came from, uh. From Ansburg,” Piper said. She swallowed hard and flipped to the second page of the menu.

“Ansburg!” Hawke laughed. She seemed oblivious to Piper’s growing distress, for which Piper was thankful. “I heard that place is a shithole this time of year.”

Piper looked up with a sudden grin. “I was told the exact same thing about Kirkwall before I came here!” she exclaimed.

They both burst into laughter again, and Hawke playfully flicked Piper’s menu. “Kirkwall is way better than Ansburg. You’ll see if you decide to stay a while! Now hang tight for a minute,” she said, and she nodded to the middle of the bar, where a couple of customers were waiting. “I have to go and, you know, do my job for a second.”

Piper snorted with amusement. “Sure,” she said, and Hawke bustled away.

A few minutes later, Hawke returned and took Piper’s food order with brisk efficiency. The cheerful bartender drifted back and forth between Piper and the other patrons who stepped up to the bar, flirting and making conversation as she filled their orders and made change and swiped credit cards, and in between their friendly bouts of chat, Piper watched Hawke working with a wistful kind of envy.

I wish I could be a bartender, Piper thought suddenly. Maybe Hawke was just making it look easy, and it was probably a shitty job on busy nights, but it seemed like so much fun: chatting with people, pouring drinks and listening to music, and just helping people have a good time after a long day of work. Piper had never really thought about bartending before. She supposed it was partly that she’d never stayed in one place long enough to do it. But it wasn’t like she was qualified, either. She’d never tended bar before.

At one point, while Piper was eating her sweet potato fries and Hawke was packing the dishwasher, Piper asked about her name. “So why do people call you ‘Hawk’?” she said. “Are you a birdwatcher?”

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “No, you dumbass, it’s my last name,” she chortled. “But I should tell my brother you asked that. Then maybe he won’t be so pissy about not being the one that people call ‘Hawke’ around here.”

Piper smirked and raised one eyebrow. “What have you got against birdwatching?”

“Nothing,” Hawke said innocently. “Actually, I should start telling people we’re a family of birdwatchers. It would be a nicer thing to be known for than ‘the family with the sick father’.” She shot Piper a rueful smirk as she swiftly put the wineglasses away.

Piper frowned. “‘Sick father’? Your dad is sick?”

“Yeah,” Hawke said. “He’s got cancer. Don’t worry about it,” she added, waving her hand casually before Piper could speak. “It’s… I mean, it’s not fine, but it’s… it is what it is. He’s getting treatment to make him more comfortable, so that’s good. My mom and brother aren’t dealing with it so well, but I mean, you can’t blame them, can you? It’s fucking cancer, after all.” She chuckled and gave Piper another rueful little smile. “Family, huh?”

Hawke’s smile was warm, but her eyes were sad, and a sudden, sharp pang of longing for her own late father speared Piper in the chest. She swallowed hard. “Yeah,” she said huskily. She took a hasty gulp of her water, then lowered her glass and returned to wolfing down her fries.

Hawke was quiet as she continued her tidying. When the dishwasher was empty, she leaned her elbows on the bar. “So. Now that we’ve got some food in you and you’ve heard my little sob story, are you going to tell me how you got those bruises?”

Piper lifted her eyes back to Hawke’s face. Her expression was still open and friendly, and very slightly expectant.

Piper swallowed her mouthful of sweet potato and smirked. “Bar fight,” she cheerfully lied. “You should see the other guy. Actually, best that you can’t. The sight of him would make you barf.”

Hawke grinned. “You know, I could almost believe it. I bet you’re a scrappy little thing when you’re cornered, aren’t you?”

Piper grinned. “Well shit, you already know me so well and I just got here.”

Hawke playfully fanned herself. “Why, thank you. Getting inside pretty Dalish girls’ heads is my special skill. Among other places.” She wiggled her eyebrows lasciviously.

Piper scoffed in amusement and threw a fry at her. Hawke snickered, then started wiping down the bar while Piper returned to her food, but Piper had lost a little bit of her appetite.

She knew Hawke didn’t believe her, and she was grateful that the friendly bartender wasn’t pushing any further. As the days since the Peronn incident had gone by, Piper had stopped feeling sorry for herself, and was starting to feel increasingly stupid instead.

It was just so fucking embarrassing. How naive did you have to be to withdraw thirty grand in cash from the bank, then go drinking? If it hadn’t been Peronn and Maara and Duncan who stole her money, it would have been someone else; Piper was convinced of this. Peronn was a liar and an asshole, sure, but Piper was an idiot - a stupid Dalish bumpkin, just as Maara had said - and she was just as much to blame.

Given how foolish she’d been, she didn’t really want to talk about what had happened. Besides, if she told someone what had happened, it would mean admitting how naive she’d been, and that would make it all the easier for her to be taken advantage of again.

And Piper never wanted to be betrayed like that again.

Hawke eventually floated back to the bar and refilled Piper’s water. “Listen,” she said, “I’m not going to pry, even though I’m dying for details. Just tell me this: should we go to the police? I’m friends with the police captain and her husband, and my brother is-”

Piper scoffed and waved her hand. “No no, of course not. I told you, it was a bar fight…”

She trailed off as Hawke gave her a skeptical look, then slumped on her stool and sighed. “I got beaten up in Ansburg,” she said. “So the Kirkwall police couldn’t do anything anyway.” She poked a cold fry in her garlic aioli and refused to look at Hawke.

Hawke was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Did you know the people who did it?”

Piper shrugged listlessly. “Sort of.” Not as well as I thought I did, obviously, she thought, with a pang of resentment at herself.

Hawke drummed her fingers on the bar, then reached over and plucked a sweet potato fry from Piper’s plate. “If you wanted to try and press charges, there’s this lawyer who helps people out. I don’t know him, but he’s kind of the notorious good guy in Kirkwall. Works for a big fancy firm during the day, helps out the little people who can’t afford a lawyer in his off time.” She shrugged and munched on the fry. “We could see if he could help you out.”

Piper wrinkled her nose. “You can’t be serious.”

Hawke swallowed her mouthful of sweet potato and raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

It was Piper’s turn to give Hawke a skeptical look. “Come on. A lawyer who just goes around helping people for no money? Nobody is that nice.”

After the words left her mouth, she belatedly realized how bitter she sounded, and she bit her tongue. But Hawke only laughed. “You know what, I thought the same thing. But I actually know someone that this goody-good lawyer helped. This kid Emile, who works at the best coffeeshop in town. His dad tried to get him imprisoned for possession of elfroot, and this Rutherford guy worked it out so he only got community service instead of jail time.”

Piper frowned, momentarily distracted. “Wait. Elfroot is illegal in Kirkwall?”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Yeah. This city is so backwards in some ways. But my point is that this Cullen Rutherford guy is for real. He’s like Batman or something, but without the violence.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Or the mask and costume.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Whatever. What I’m trying to say is, maybe if you contact him about these assholes who beat you up…”

Piper shook her head. “No no, don’t worry about it. It was - I shouldn’t have - honestly, I just want to put it behind me.” She tried for a casual smile, though the topic of conversation was making her feel agitated. “It was basically a bar fight. I was asking for it, seriously. Don’t worry about it.” She bit another cold fry. “Besides,” she added around her mouthful of food, “I’ll get some badass scars from these hits. People will think I’m a pirate or something.”

Hawke’s narrow-eyed frown transformed into a smile, and she chuckled. “That is true. You’ll have some very sexy scars. I’m almost jealous.”

Piper relaxed as Hawke latched onto her attempt at levity. Then a man’s voice broke into their conversation.

“Hawke, bad news.” A dwarf in business-casual clothes - with the shirt amusingly half-unbuttoned - approached Hawke with a frown. “Sabine just gave notice. She’ll be gone in two weeks.”

“Ah shit,” Hawke sighed. Then she shrugged. “It was just a matter of time. Her kid is such a fucking brat.” Then she turned to Piper. “Hey, are you looking for a job?”

Piper raised her eyebrows in surprise, and the dwarf cleared his throat loudly. “Hawke, remind me again. Who’s the person in charge of hiring here?”

Hawke turned a sunny smile on the dwarf. “Oh Varric, I’m just screening candidates for you. You should be thanking me!”

Varric - who was clearly Hawke’s boss - sighed and shook his head, then made eye contact with Piper. His eyebrows rose as his gaze drifted over her battered face. “You all right, kid?”

Piper sighed internally, but gave Varric a devil-may-care grin and leaned her elbows on the bar. “I’m great. You should see the other guy.”

“She’s very scrappy,” Hawke added cheerfully, and Piper shot her a quick grateful glance.

Varric smirked. “A rowdy one, are you?” He gave Piper an appraising look, then shrugged affably. “Well, feel free to apply for the position. This place really needs a second full-time bartender.” He tipped her a quick salute, then sauntered away.

Piper opened her mouth to protest - she wasn’t a bartender, she couldn’t apply - but Hawke punched her arm playfully. “You’d better apply!” she said. “Sabine was good, but she was boring. I feel like you and I would have a shit ton of fun behind the bar.”

Piper eyed Hawke’s smiling face. Hawke was being so nice, and she seemed to really give a shit about what had happened to Piper, and it was all so… suspicious.

Piper ducked her head and tugged on a strand of her wavy silver hair. “Why are you trying to help me out?” she asked. “You don’t even know me. I could really have beat someone up, for all you know.”

Hawke shrugged and leaned her elbows on the bar. “I don’t know. You just seem like you could use the do-over.” She shrugged. “Shitty things happen to good people sometimes, and it sucks,” she said matter-of-factly. “Doesn’t mean everything has to be shitty forever, right? Or else what’s the point of living?”

Piper stared at her dumbly. Hawke was so… optimistic. And it wasn’t like Hawke’s life was great either, if her dad had cancer. Piper wistfully remembered feeling that optimistic. A mere three days ago, she’d been so hopeful, so happy, thinking her dreams were coming true…

Her chest hurt. Her throat felt swollen. She swallowed hard, then laughed half-heartedly. “I guess.”

“Good,” Hawke said brightly. “Then you’ll apply for the job?”

Piper laughed again, then shrugged helplessly. “I don’t… I’m not a bartender, I’ve never tended bar before.”

“Neither did I before I started working here,” Hawke reasoned. “You’ll pick it up in no time, I promise.”

Piper gazed at Hawke’s hopeful face, then finally laughed and shrugged. “Ah, what the hell. Sure, I’ll apply.”

Hawke snapped her fingers happily. “I knew you’d come to your senses,” she said. She reeled off Varric’s email so Piper could send him her resumé, then gestured at Piper’s empty plate. “You done with-”

“Thanks, Hawke,” Piper blurted. “I, uh… just… you know. Thanks.” She rubbed her nose awkwardly to try and ward off the stinging of her eyes.

Hawke smiled slowly at her, then waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen my bar dancing. And believe me, I love dancing on the bar.”

“So do I!” Piper said in surprise. “Like that routine in-”

“Coyote Ugly?” Hawke finished excitedly, and Piper beamed at her, and then they both burst out laughing again.

Hawke delicately wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. “Damn, I’m glad you left Ansburg. Why’d you decide to come to Kirkwall, anyway?”

“Oh,” Piper hiccuped. “Uh, I saw a poster for some band I’ve never heard of, doing a show here tomorrow night, so I thought I’d come check it out.”

Hawke nodded. “New band, new place, new start?”

Piper smiled. “Exactly.”

Hawke smiled approvingly. “What’s the name of the band?”

“Blightfall.”

“Oh!” Hawke straightened. “We’re going to that show - me and my friends, Merrill and Anders. I know the lead guitarist, so we’ll get to stand right at the front. Want to come with us?”

Piper stared at her in surprise. “How do you know everyone?” she asked incredulously.

Hawke snorted a laugh. “What do you mean?”

Piper shrugged. “First it’s the police captain, then this Batman-lawyer guy-”

“No no, I don’t know him, I just know about him,” Hawke interrupted.

Piper shook her head impatiently. “And now it’s a member of this band I wanted to see tomorrow. You know everyone!”

Hawke lifted her shoulders and batted her eyelashes flirtatiously. “What can I say, I’ve got a magnetic charm. Everyone flocks to me.”

Piper snickered. “You’re so full of shit.”

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “And you know me so well already,” she quipped. She tilted her head quizzically. “So, how about it, Pipes? Want to come to Blightfall with us tomorrow?”

Piper eyed her cautiously. An invitation to a show with a new group of people - people she didn’t know and had no reason to trust, and who could so easily betray her…

But it was just a concert. Going to a concert with a new acquaintance didn’t make her stupid or naive.

Did it?

Piper took a deep breath. New beginnings, she told herself. I have to start somewhere. It was as Hawke said, after all: if she couldn’t move past the shitty things that Peronn had done, what was the point?

She forcefully shoved the thought of Peronn aside and lifted her gaze to Hawke. “Sure,” she said. “Sounds like fun.”

Read more on Piper and Cullen on AO3!

#piper lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullen fic #cullavellan #cullen/lavellan #cullen/inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #cullen x inquisitor #cullen modern AU #luck of the law #pikapeppa writes #SCHOUTE IS AMAZING AND DESERVES ALL THE BEST FIC #I HOPE I MAKE HER PROUD

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bastardreynolds · 5 years

Note

ooh 13 or 18 macdennis for the prompt 👀

original prompt post

13. “No, that’s not how you do that”

18. A new mattress

i’m something of a loose canon and so combined these two prompts into one fic. enjoy this utter chaos.

fic after the “keep reading” break but i would prefer if u would read here on ao3 because tumblr fucked up the formatting and got rid of all my italics, which imo add to the tone in important ways

Mac and Dennis Buy a Mattress

“So you’re telling me,” Dennis says. “That your mattress just spontaneously caught on fire?”

Mac shuffles awkwardly in his seat. “Yes.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not lying, dude. I was just minding my own business, thinking about God, checking out our new flamethrower and –”

“Wait, so you were using the flamethrower inside?”

“No, that’s –”

“You realise that you actively doing things to cause the fire doesn’t make it spontaneous, yeah? You do understand what the word spontaneous means?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t do it, Dennis!”

Dennis raises an eyebrow and Mac glares at him.

“I’m just asking you to check the bank account to see if we’ve got enough for a new one. Also, my room smells like burnt mattress so I’m gonna crash in your room tonight.”

Mac suddenly can’t look Dennis in the eye, but simultaneously pushes himself further towards Dennis’ end of the couch.

“Check it yourself, asshole.”

“You know that I always forget the password for the internet thing.”

“My god!” Dennis is getting increasingly exasperated. “My god, fine! Also I know we don’t have enough, because you spent all our goddamn savings on the flamethrower, which you then used to set your mattress on fire!”

Mac pouts, and fixes Dennis with a look that is completely and utterly pathetic, but still has its desired effect, making Dennis give in and say, “Fine. Fine, I’ll ask Frank. Also, we’re getting the new one today, because I don’t want you sleeping in my bed.”

Two hours later at the mattress store, Mac and Dennis stand facing a rows and rows of beds. Mac’s hands are resting on his hips and he’s glaring at the overwhelming number of options in front of them like he’s resisting the urge to whip out the flamethrower and make the entire store spontaneously catch fire. Dennis slings his arm around Mac’s shoulder, to make sure he doesn’t run off and do something dumb.

“Where should we start?” he asks Mac.

Mac’s frown deepens. “I didn’t think it’d be this complicated. Last time I bought a mattress –” he pauses to think. “Actually, my old mattress was just your old mattress when you upgraded.”

“Okay, well,” Dennis starts to lead him toward some of the mid-range queen mattresses. “My personal recommendation is this one. Perfect balance of hard and soft, and optimal bounce for banging.”

Mac ducks out from under Dennis arm and sits down on the mattress, bouncing gently to test Dennis’ assertion. “I don’t know dude, I feel like it needs more bounce.”

Dennis chortles. “No, no, no, Mac. Trust me, when you’re plowing a chick, this mattress is perfect.”

Mac hums, but doesn’t seem convinced.

“Okay, let me show you,” Dennis says, because it’s really the only option left. “So I’m the girl in this situation,” he says as he climbs on and lies in the middle of the mattress. He pushes himself up on one elbow and looks at Mac. “Now come straddle me.”

“What? Why, dude?”

“Trust me.”

Mac shrugs and moves towards Dennis. When he’s kneeling beside him, he grabs Dennis’ waist and tries to roll him over. “What are you doing?”

“Rolling you over, duh.”

“Why? That’s not how you do this. What are you –”

“Well if you’re a chick I’m gonna roll you over,” Mac says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t like seeing their front. It wigs me out.”

Dennis blinks. “You don’t like seeing the faces of the girls you bang?”

“It’s not the face so much as the,” Mac gestures vaguely at his own front, and Dennis thinks it’s maybe meant to indicate tits and things that make it clear that Very Gay Mac is fucking a woman.

“Okay, whatever. Just don’t roll me over, okay.”

“But if you’re the girl –”

“Then I won’t be the girl, I don’t care. Just straddle me, it’s important.”

Mac does as he’s told and swings his legs over Dennis waist, settling comfortably at the top of his thighs.

“Now,” Dennis instructs. “Feel how easy that was. And notice how the mattress gives way just the right amount under your knees.”

Mac nods. “Dude, you’re right.”

“And then, when you thrust, the girl – the uh, the other person –”

“A hot chick.”

“Yeah, whatever. The other person, they also get a fantastically sensual experience, because the physics of the mattress are perfectly in tune with the thrusts of an expert sexual partner.”

Mac places his hands either side of Dennis’ head, lifts his hips, and then thrusts down, and repeats several times. “I can see that.”

Dennis notices Mac’s boner, but doesn’t comment on it, because he’s kind of used to that shit by now.

“Um excuse me, sirs,” a voice says from behind them. Mac’s head twists to fix the stop assistant with a scowl. “You can’t, uh – do that on the display mattresses.”

“Buddy, I’m doing your job for you right now,” Dennis rebuts. “Do you want a sale or not?”

The shop assistant doesn’t reply, and just sort of gawks.

“Well, do you? Do you?”

“I mean – I guess so?”

“In that case, you’re welcome. A good mattress needs to be good for plowing, and that’s what I’m perfectly demonstrating to my friend right now. I’ve basically sold him on it, you know?”

“And he’s right,” Mac adds.

The shop assistant doesn’t seem to know how to respond. “You still can’t – I’m going to have to ask you to dismount – to, uh, to get off the bed.”

Mac rolls his eyes, and pushes himself away from Dennis, flopping down next to him.

“Can you believe this asshole?” he asks.

“I know right,” Dennis responds, turning his head to meet Mac’s eyes.

“I think you’re right about this mattress though, dude. Could definitely get some plowing done.”

“If you’re going to make a purchase can you please do so and leave,” the shop assistant begs.

So they buy the mattress, and after an extended argument at the till decide to waive the $100 delivery cost (which is quite frankly extortionate), because there’s no reason they can’t just strap it to the roof of the Range Rover and drive it home. It turns out it’s harder to secure a mattress to the top of a vehicle than initially thought, but after several attempts, and Dennis taking a trip to the hardware store to buy more rope, they’re relatively confident it’s fine.

“So, I was thinking –” Mac starts, staring up at the mattress.

“You’re not riding home on the roof,” Dennis cuts him off, and Mac frowns.

“Why not?”

“That’s so unsafe, on so many levels. And illegal, probably. And not a thing that grown men do.”

“Think of the core strength I’d need to stay holding on. It’s totally manly.”

“I’m not – we’re not having this argument. Just get in the car.”

They’re half way home, and crossing a bridge over the river when Dennis has to swerve to avoid some piece of shit old lady who obviously shouldn’t be on the road.

“Die quicker, you bitch!” Dennis shouts after her red Toyota, for good measure.

By the time either of them realise what’s happening, it’s too late to stop it. There’s a creak, and a snap, and then the mattress is sliding off the roof of the car, and falling into the Schuylkill River. The whole thing seems to happen in slow motion, but Dennis just sits in the driver’s seat of the car and stares like an idiot as his money (Frank’s money) bops languidly under the bridge.

“Oh goddamnit!”

Frank refuses to give them more money for another mattress (I’m not gonna keep bailing you out every time you throw a mattress in the Schuylkill River!) This is how Mac ends up sleeping in Dennis’ bed.

It’s about two weeks into the whole arrangement, when Mac rolls over to Dennis and asks, “So when you fuck in this bed, are you normally on top or underneath?”

“What?” Dennis asks, blinking and looking up from his phone screen.

“I mean, where does the chick normally go.”

“It – it depends. Depends what we’re doing, what role –”

“But you are on the bottom sometimes?”

“Yes. What does this have to do with anything?”

Mac shrugs. “Was just thinking about it.”

The next night Mac asks, “So what about blowjobs?”

“What?”

“Is the mattress any good for getting head?”

“Yes. For giving head too, but – What are you doing? What is this?”

“I miss my mattress, dude. I bet some homeless dudes dragged it out of the river and are going at it right now.”

Dennis frowns, because not only is that an unpleasant image, but Mac’s questions are also completely bizarre.

The next night, Mac restarts the line of questioning. “And so, for handjobs?”

And then the next night. “Do you ever do butt stuff?”

And the next. “What about just for making out, you know?”

It’s then that Dennis can’t fucking take it anymore. He screams, and then he’s kissing Mac. It’s hot and furious, and he isn’t surprised when Mac kisses him back, arches up against Dennis, breaks the kiss to push Dennis’ shirt over his head.

Afterwards, Dennis’ head is resting on Mac’s shoulder, and Mac’s fingers trace the outline of his spine. “The bounce was pretty fucking great, dude.”

Dennis hums. “I told you so.”

“Gotta try it again though. For the scientific method.” Mac’s words are complete nonsense, and Dennis kicks at his ankles to shut him up, but their legs just end up tangled together.

“And facing you was okay and shit too. I didn’t even know dudes could do it facing each other.”

“Oh my god, will you shut up for one second.”

“I’m just saying it wasn’t how I thought it’d be. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m gay.”

“I know you’re gay, Mac. Everyone knows.”

“Hey, you have no way of knowing for sure that I’m gay.”

“Your dick was in my ass like ten minutes ago.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t prove anything, that –”

“Just shut up and go to sleep or I won’t let you fuck me again.”

Mac is silent for a moment, and Dennis thanks God and Jesus and all of Mac’s Catholic Saints because he just wants to go to sleep.

“You so will let me fuck you again,” Mac says.

“I’m not replying to you anymore.”

“I’m gonna give you a blowjob tomorrow morning, so be ready for that.”

“If you don’t let me sleep I won’t be ready.”

Mac seems to find that argument compelling, because he hums and lays a kiss to Dennis’ hair, and whispers goodnight, before mercifully shutting the fuck up. True to his word, Mac gives Dennis a blowjob the next morning, and they’re late to work, because Dennis drags Mac into the shower with him and returns the favour.

By the time they’ve saved up enough for a new mattress, it’s no longer a priority, or even a necessity really, because even with a second bed, there’s no way that Mac is going to extricate himself from Dennis’ space. And that’s just how it goes.

#ask #macdennis #macdennis fic #iasip #iasip fic #mac mcdonald #dennis reynolds

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stillthewordgirl · 6 years

Text

LOT/CC fic: Captain Cold and Me (chapter 1 of 6)

Sara Lance, unbeknownst to her high school classmates, has connections to some of Star City's most popular super-powered heroes--but no powers of her own. Then the mysterious Captain Cold saves her from an attack…and does his best to convince her that he’s not the bad guy everyone seems to think he is. And maybe not all of the "good guys" should be trusted...

Author's note: This story is a weird amalgamation of things. It started when I saw a book titled "The Supervillain and Me" (check it out!) on the YA shelves at Barnes & Noble. That, of course, gave me CaptainCanary vibes. After I bought and read it, they were even stronger. I posted about that on Tumblr, and people encouraged me to write the CC high school AU I was considering.

So I did! It takes the skeleton of the book (which is very much its own thing-again, read it!)-at least at first-adds some (very adapted) Arrowverse characters and plots, and stirs it up with my own weird imagination. I own nothing of this but my own words, and I make no money off it.

This will be six chapters (all but one already complete), posted one a day until Tuesday. Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta, and to @sylvanheather for her thoughts! And happy birthday to @dragonydreams!

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

“Sara! Sara, did you hear?”

Sara Lance closed her eyes in resignation as she heard the footsteps of Felicity Smoak, her best friend, hurrying up behind her in the halls of Star City’s Kanigher-Broome High School. She loved Felicity, she really did, but she knew what was coming here, or suspected at any rate, and she really didn’t want to talk about it.

Felicity, however, was going to tell her anyway.

“Principal Hunter got a special guest for the assembly today,” she said breathlessly, adjusting the strap of her backpack where it was slung over her shoulder, swiping her dark hair with its blond roots out of her face. “Do you know who it is?”

Sara could guess.

“Nope,” she said, however, continuing to stroll toward physics class. “No idea. Fliss, did you finish your lab report yet? I want to ask Dr. Stein…”

“Sa-ra!” Felicity actually stomped her foot. “This is important! Don’t you think it’s probably a super? Should I go fix my hair? Redo my makeup before the assembly? We need to get there early so we can get a seat!”

Felicity had a real thing for supers—and the top team in Star City right now was the Black Canary and the Green Arrow. Sara’s friend had a massive crush on the Arrow (maybe on the Canary too), but she didn’t know what Sara did: That the Black Canary was Sara’s annoying big sister, Laurel, and the Arrow was Laurel’s rich-boy boyfriend, Oliver Queen.

Sara had known Laurel and all her quirks since birth, and she’d known Ollie for nearly as long as she could remember. It was tough to be awe-inspired by the girl who continually left sopping-wet towels on the bathroom floor or the boy who’d once been so helpless without servants that he’d kept buying new underwear rather than admit he didn’t know how to use the washing machine.

They’d both acquired their powers (for Laurel, a sonic scream, flight and a degree of invulnerability, and for Ollie, perfect aim, a literal inability to miss his mark, in addition to greater strength and agility) at about the same time, a handful of years ago, around their 16th birthdays, just like most supers. While Sara’s parents had made sure Laurel had a chance to learn and become accustomed to her powers, they’d balked at letting her take on the role of a public superhero despite her wishes.

Oliver hadn’t even entertained the notion, as far as Sara knew. He’d happily used his aim to win drinks in darts tournaments at Star City’s (not so) finest bars, and his strength to impress girls who weren’t Laurel.

Until the day everything changed.

It’d been an assassination attempt, everyone said, one that targeted both Commissioner Quentin Lance and Ollie’s mother, Moira Queen, who’d been mayor at the time. A massive earthquake centered on the old City Hall, undeniably unnatural, as it hadn’t affected anything outside a relatively small radius. At first, everyone had suspected a super gone rogue, before investigation had revealed the device detonated by a disgruntled former police officer.

Quentin and Moira had survived. Dinah, Sara and Laurel’s mother, who’d been on her way into the building to meet her husband for lunch, had not. Neither had Tommy Merlyn, Ollie’s best and oldest friend and the son of Moira’s deputy mayor. He’d been sitting on the front steps, waiting for his perpetually late friend to show up.

They didn’t have costumes or names yet, and they wouldn’t go patrolling for a few months. But in many ways, that was the day the Black Canary and the Green Arrow were born.

And then there was Sara, just a few years younger. Sara didn’t have powers. She had a second-degree black belt—about to test for third--but no powers.

It wasn’t good enough. It would never be good enough. Sara sighed. Felicity, unaware of her thoughts, elbowed her.

“Come on!” she said. “Earth to Sara Lance! What do you think?”

“I think I want to skip it,” Sara muttered, shifting her own backpack.

“Skip English class?” Felicity blinked at her. “That’s not like you.”

Apparently, Sara had completely missed the thread of this conversation. She sighed again. “No. Never mind.” She gave her friend a onceover. “You look fine. And we get there early if you want. Just don’t expect me to squeal and wave and go all fangirl with you.”

Felicity grinned and gave her a one-armed hug. “Sara, I just don’t get you at times, but you’re the best.”

“You know it.”

Felicity (and Sara) had guessed right. The Green Arrow in his hood and green leather and Black Canary in her black leather and domino mask had strolled out onto the stage at the assembly, exhorting the students not to bully each other and to stay in school, etc., etc. Sara had rolled her eyes so hard they hurt, while Felicity did indeed squeal and wave and go all fangirl. She was still gushing when the assembly let out, and they headed for what Principal Hunter called the senior Creators Club—and Sara privately called Kanigher-Broome’s catchall hangout for Star City’s young, social and slightly geeky.

Sara’s father didn’t really like her being home on her own any more, not since…since her mother died. He was still concerned that the would-be killer (who had died in prison last year) hadn’t acted alone, and that the whole family could be a target. Quentin not only went armed as part of his commissioner duties, he often had an entourage with him at all times—and Laurel was the Black Canary. Sara was…just Sara. So, to keep her dad happy, she stayed at school a little longer, working on whatever homework or projects came her way, chatting with Felicity and other classmates, pretending things were…normal.

“Did you see? The Green Arrow winked at me, Sara!” Felicity did a little dance step in the corridor on their way toward the senior lounge, dodging students headed in the other direction. “He did! I swear it. Right at me.”

Ollie had probably been winking at Sara. He knew perfectly well that she hated when he and Laurel made appearances at her school. “Mmhmm,” she agreed absently. “That Green Arrow. Quite the flirt.” Ollie was a flirt, or he had been. The Green Arrow was anything but.

“Do you think I should go blond again?” Felicity stopped, facing Sara, wrapping her fingers around a tendril of her hair and holding it out to inspect it critically. “I like the goth-y look,” she commented, starting to turn to head toward the lounge again, “but…oof!”

She collided right with a tall, thin boy, knocking his bag out of his hands and knocking her own glasses off her face. Grasping desperately for them, she grabbed the edges of his worn black jacket instead, the glasses clattering to the floor. The boy reacted with a startled noise and stepped back, tripping over his own bag, making a faint sound of pain as he did so.

Sara stepped forward in concern, reaching out to steady him, even as Felicity stooped and felt around for her glasses. But he caught himself without incident, shaking his head, and Sara stopped wondering if she’d imagined that pained gasp.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

The boy, who had dark, very short hair with what might even be a few glints of premature silver in it, was still looking aside, stooping to reclaim his bag.

“I’m all right,” he said in a low tone as he straightened. “Really. Thanks.”

Felicity gave a cry of victory and stuffed her glasses back on to her face, standing again. ”Sorry!” she told the boy cheerfully, then frowned. “Wait. Do I know you?”

He gave an almost curt shake of his head, looking at Felicity, then finally glancing at Sara. His eyes—an icy blue that was so striking that Sara sucked in a breath--widened, and he turned away abruptly. Sara blinked, watching him duck into the senior lounge. He’d been quite good-lucking, really, she thought. Those cheekbones and eyelashes were totally unfair in addition to those eyes.

“Sara! Sara!”

Felicity would keep Sara-ing her until she responded. With a sigh, she looked at her friend, who was still gaping at the door to the lounge. “What?”

The other girl looked upset, for some reason. “Don’t you know who that was?”

“…no?” The boy had looked vaguely familiar, though everything about him—his hunched shoulders, his downcast eyes—screamed that he didn’t want to be noticed.

“That was Leonard Snart. Snart, Sara!”

The world stopped. “Oh.”

Snart. The son of Lewis Snart, the crooked officer who’d tried to arrange for her dad’s assassination, who’d rocked Star City with the explosion that had killed her mother and so many others. For a moment, Sara couldn’t breathe. The memories were still so strong…the search for survivors, the hunt for suspects, the news that’d trickled out about motives and targets. The trial, which had, mercifully, been extremely brief.

“How do you know?” she asked numbly, stepping to the side to let other seniors by. “I mean. I know he had two kids, a son and daughter. But neither of them went here…before…”

Felicity sighed, running a hand through her hair. Her gaze was sympathetic and troubled.

“Remember that hackerspace thing I was involved with a few years back?” she asked. “Over in the East Side? I ran into him there once or twice. Never talked, barely knew his name. He’s a quiet kid. It took me a minute to recognize him here. He shaved off his curls.” She glanced away. “It’s not like I was going to bring it up after. But…Snart. Sort of a memorable name.”

“Yeah.” Sara stood, frozen, another moment, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he had anything to do with it. I just…I thought both of them went into foster care in Central. I remember reading…”

She’d once read the articles about the case obsessively, determined to figure out if anything could have saved her mom, could prevent something like that from ever happening again. She’d always wondered if Laurel or Ollie could have, if they’d been using their powers for hero-ing back then. But it was the kind of thing she’d never had the heart to ask.

“I know.” Felicity’s voice was low. She sighed again. “I can’t figure out why he’d even want to come back here.”

“Um. I might know something about that…”

Both of them turned at the sheepish voice behind them. Barry Allen, shuffling his feet, gave them an uncertain grin. Felicity squeaked and put her hands on her hips. She’d dated Barry briefly, but while it hadn’t lasted, they were still friends. And as Sara well knew, withholding information was majorly against the Felicity’s-friend code.

“Spill, Allen,” she said, fiercely enough that Barry paled a little.

“Well, not really the reasons,” he clarified, switching his gaze to Sara, his cheeks a little pink. She smiled despite herself. Barry was such a lovable dork. “But some of the story behind it.”

Felicity folded her arms and fixed him with a glare that was probably supposed to be intimidating, then gave him a regal nod, as if to tell him to carry on with it.

“My dad met him, Snart—uh, Len—in Central City, when he was there doing some, ah, charity work.” Barry continued. Sara remembered that his dad was a doctor, and that his family was originally from Central. “His little sister, she’s happy there, in school, with a good family, but Len wanted to come back here to at least finish school.” He bit his lip. “Dad helped him with the emancipation paperwork. I don’t know where he’s living, but he’s come by our house for dinner once or twice, at my parents’ insistence. Doesn’t talk much.” He sighed. “Be nice to him, OK? He’s had a rough road, but he’s an OK guy. There’s good in him.”

His pleading gaze was on Sara, who really had no intention of holding Leonard Snart responsible for his father’s misdeeds. She nodded, then smirked, deciding to try to lighten the mood a little.

“Aww,” she teased. “Gotta crush on him, Barry? He is really cute.”

Barry blinked, then turned pinker. “What? No! Uh. Not that I have a problem with that.”

Barry and his current girlfriend, Iris West, were currently the leading contenders for most likely to get married right after graduation. It was just a lot of fun to tease him about it.

Felicity got a particularly evil look on her face, but Sara, still smirking, cut back in.

“Of course I’ll be nice to him,” she said, then sobered. “Having a horrible parent doesn’t make him a bad person.” She nibbled her lip a little, thinking. “He’s kinda one of his dad’s victims too, in a way, isn’t he?”

Barry nodded, growing serious himself. “Yeah. I mean…he hated the guy. Hated. It’s not like he’s talked about it, really, but…”

“Join the crowd,” Sara murmured, as Felicity nodded next to her. “No worries, Bar. In fact…”

She shouldered her backpack, took a deep breath, and headed for the lounge. “In fact, I think there’s something I need to do.”

She could hear Barry and Felicity following her, but she ignored them, stopping in the entrance and scanning the room. There. The dark-haired boy was sitting by himself at a table in the far corner, pulling a laptop out of his much-abused bag and opening it on the table. He glanced up as she approached, a flash of something darting over his face, and Sara felt a pang of empathy.

“Hey,” she said as he met her eyes, his own gaze opaque. “I just wanted to say, sorry about my friend. She’s a klutz.” She took a deep breath (ignoring Felicity’s protests behind her), then held out her hand. “I’m Sara Lance.”

The boy—Leonard—held her gaze for a long moment, then stood. He was tall, Sara thought, eying him. And…yeah. Cute. Hot, really. Mm. He didn’t look like a senior in high school. College student, at least.

“Hey,” he said in return, so quietly that she could barely hear him. “It’s OK.” He shrugged. “It was an accident.”

“Your laptop’s all right?” Sara darted a look down at it. It was an old machine, she thought. But that didn’t mean it didn’t mean a lot to him.

“It’s fine.” The corner of his mouth tugged up a little, a tiny little smile, but a smile nonetheless. Sara felt like she’d won a victory. Then he reached out and took her proffered hand.

A firm, calloused grip, one that didn’t back down because she was a girl. Sara liked that. And he didn’t seem to find her gesture overly formal because they were only in high school. His handshake was steady, and so were his eyes, and damn…

“Leonard Snart,” he said so quietly that she could barely hear him.

“Pleased to meet you, Leonard,” she said quietly in return. “Glad you’re OK.”

She’d been pulled away from Leonard nearly immediately, and that was OK too. Felicity had wanted to talk about the physics lab she’d been uninterested in earlier, and then to gush about the Green Arrow and the Black Canary some more. Then Barry and Iris had come over, asking about the upcoming talent show, and she’d gotten distracted again.

When the club hours had ended and they’d all been told to go home, Sara glanced around, but Leonard Snart was already gone. She shook her head, then bade other friends farewell and walked with Felicity toward the parking lot, where the other girl turned to her.

“Do you need a ride home?” Felicity asked, a touch distractedly. “It’s no problem. I can drop you off on the way.”

Felicity drove like a bat out of hell. Sara loved her friend, but she was actually glad to have an excuse not to trust her life to the Fliss-mobile today.

“Nah. My dad is actually home tonight. He wants us all to have dinner together, for once,” she demurred. “Should be here soon.”

Felicity gave her a cheerful wave, then headed toward her old Cobalt, peeling out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. Sara shook her head, then checked her phone.

Nothing. But after only a few moments, it chimed. Sara, watching the other seniors trickle out one by one, checked it again.

“Sorry, honey,” her dad texted. “Stuck here late. Can Felicity give you a ride?”

Sara bit her lip. Why hadn’t he sent that a few moments ago? But she’d thought that this dinner thing might actually happen. She could text Laurel, but her sister and Ollie almost certainly had something more important going on. Hero-ing and whatnot.

“Sure,” she texted back after a moment. “See you later.”

Then she started for home.

It wasn’t a long walk, really. But with the level of violence in Star City these days, neither her dad nor her sister usually liked her walking home alone, especially not later in the day. Whatever. Sara had a black belt. She could take care of herself. Her grip tightened on her backpack. Right? She’d be fine.

Sara was crossing the railroad tracks just outside the edge of the Glades when she heard the footsteps. Two people, at a guess. Well. People went for walks here too. Probably. She listened, heart beating just a little faster, then scanned the street ahead of her. Stores and other businesses closed down early here these days. Nothing seemed to be open, and traffic was nonexistent.

She picked up the pace, just a little. The footsteps picked up too. And then they were three sets. Four?

Sara abandoned her pretense and ran. There had to be someplace she could duck into, she thought, her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. There had to be!

A male voice behind her called out something in a snarl. Sara didn’t look back, pelting down the uneven sidewalk, scanning the quiet street, wondering if she should yell or...

Someone grabbed her backpack, jerking her to a stop, and Sara kept enough presence of mind to turn fighting. She lashed out at the man with a hand, fingers stiff, jabbing toward his eyes and connecting. He yelped, putting his hands to his face, and she pulled away, turning to run ahead.

But there were two more men there, young and scruffy, thin and looking a bit strung out. Sara didn’t hesitate. She struck out at one’s face, then kicked hard at his kneecap, sending him tumbling to the ground, then rounded on the other, who gaped at her a moment, apparently stunned by her reaction.

Sara drove her foot into his groin without a flicker of sympathy, stepping past him as he folded, drawing a breath to run again. She’d done it, she’d defended herself, she could...

The first man, however, hadn’t been as down for the count as she’d hoped. An arm looped around her neck even as she took a step, pulling her back again, and...damn. Something cold and metal pressed against the skin just under her right ear, something sharp.

“Money!” her captor hissed in her ear, arm tightening. Sara could hear the groans from the other two, interspersed with cursing. She tried to take a deep breath, thinking about what she had in her bag.

“I don’t have any,” she said after a moment. “I don’t! Really. Look!”

“Yeah, right!” The knife pricked harder...but then the man did move it, reaching down toward her bag, and his other arm loosened just a little.

Sara took advantage of it. She stomped on the instep of his foot, hard, then threw an elbow right into his solar plexus when his grip loosened. He crumbled and she turned to run again, taking a step, then two...

“OK, pretty girl, freeze!”

There had been a fourth man. And he had a gun. Which was now pointed right at her head.

Sara froze.

The man was to her right, but she could see him, and the gun, out of the corner of her eye. He held it steady and seemed far more calm and competent than the other men. Which made him far scarier.

For a long moment, he studied her, then let out a snort of laughter. Sara wanted to bristle at the derision...but she didn’t dare move a muscle. Supers were said to have a sixth sense about people in trouble, and while Laurel and Oliver said it was nebulous and impossible to measure, there was a measure of truth to it. Surely one of them would come to her rescue? It would be mortifying...but at this point...

“Someone will pay ransom for you,” the other man said, finally. “Girl like you in a place like this? Someone’s gotta be looking for you.” He chuckled again. It was not a nice chuckle. “Maybe we’ll even give you back. Maybe not.”

Sara took a slow breath. She couldn’t let this man just kidnap her. And she had to move before the other men regrouped. They were all getting to their feet, muttering to each other.

Then there was a noise to her left, a thud as if of someone landing on the ground. A sense of chill. Sara nearly looked, hoping for Laurel or Oliver, but the gun was still pointed at her and...

“Duck—and close your eyes!”

This isn’t the time to look a gift hero in the mouth. Err, something like that. Sara did as she was told, dropping to a knee and squeezing her eyes shut.

The blast of cold came from the left, so close to Sara’s face that she could feel the frost forming on her eyelashes. Somewhere, a corner of her brain registered that was new, that there wasn’t a super with ice powers in Star City, or none that she knew of. (Or that Felicity knew of, which was even more conclusive.) She heard yelps from the men and the crackle of what seemed to be ice, and braced for the crack of a gunshot...but none came. Just more thuds, as if of bodies falling to the ground.

“OK. You can look.”

Sara opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was the four men, all stretched out on the ground, all covered by a sheen of frost. A sigh of relief escaped her lips even as she flinched, wondering.

“Are they...”

“They’re just out...cold. You all right?”

Sara looked up.

The figure in front of her, extending a hand to help her up, was no one she’d ever seen before. Black pants, black boots…and then a blue parka over the top, fur-fringed hood pulled up over his head. His face was obscured by a pair of goggles, but a smile tugged at his mouth as he looked at her.

“It’s OK,” he said, keeping the hand extended. “I don’t bite. Unless it’s frostbite. Heh. Maybe that’s a potential name.”

Bad puns. Why did supers love them so much? Sara stared at him long enough that the smile fled, but he kept the hand held out to her.

Male, from the voice. And about her age, also from the voice. Sara frowned, trying to place it, but then took the offered hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Um,” she said. “Thanks. Really. I thought I had that, but...the gun...”

“I saw. You were badass. I just figured I should help out.” The tone was admiring. And he still had her hand. Sara looked down at it, noting that he also wore black gloves, but the super let go then, taking a step back courteously.

“You’re new,” she said, still a little shell-shocked. “Ice powers. That’s...new.”

“Yeah. Sort of.” The boy...man?...walked over to the four men and studied them. “I’ll alert the cops that they’re here. They’ll thaw out soon enough. We should get going...hey, wait!”

Sara had already turned away and started walking as fast as she could, not quite running. The super caught up to her easily, though, jogging along next to her, glancing her way.

“That was really impressive,” he said. “What...what’s your name?”

This guy, hero or not, was starting to annoy her. Sara frowned at him, although she kept walking.

“I said thank you,” she gritted out. “What do you want?”

“Just making conversation.” He almost sounded hurt. “Hey, like you said, I’m new. Thought maybe...”

“You thought wrong.” Sara took a breath and stopped. “Look. Iceman, or whatever your name is...”

“I think that one’s taken.” The drawl was amused. He smirked at her, an infectious expression, and she almost smirked back. But...she already knew far too much about two of the city’s main supers. She didn’t need, or want, to know any more.

“Thank you,” she said again, trying to project sincerity. “Truly. Now, I have to get home.”

He nodded, but didn’t move, the smirk fading into something more...wistful? Somehow it touched a chord, and Sara studied him a moment longer, intrigued despite herself. Then, cursing her curiosity, she turned and headed down the street.

And that jerk kept following her.

“I could see you home,” he said.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You are fine,” he retorted. “But I can still make sure you get there...”

“Goodbye, Iceman.”

A sigh. Then: “Goodbye, Sara.”

She whipped around, but he was gone already, apparently faded into the trees at the side of the street in one of those near-patented super moves.

Ass. Sara studied the trees, curiosity surging again, then turned and headed home as fast as she could, feeling the irritating sense of someone watching her the entire way. She made it in the door, slamming and locking it behind her, then dropped her backpack on the floor and closed her eyes.

She’d been rescued by the world’s most infuriating superhero.

Par for the course.

#captain cold and me #captain canary #arrowverse #sara lance #leonard snart

6 notes · View notes

goldenchildkatsuki · 6 years

Note

hey! I was wondering if you can do a tattoo parlour au for the kacchako prompts? I haven’t really seen this kind of au for this ship yet and it would be awesome if you were the one who wrote it, since I really love your writing :)

It took some time but it’s finally finished!

Summary: Uraraka and Bakugou are two tattoo artists in a well respected tatoo parlor that has been chosen to shoot the television series “Tattoo Fixers” in. A show where people can get their horrible tatoo’s fixed by two of the most respected artists in town. Both artists make a sketch to cover up the original tattoo and it’s up to the client to choose which sketch they’re going for, for the cover up. At the start of the season Bakugou comes up with a competition. The artist that has their designs chosen the most by the end of the season is allowed to tattoo something of their choice on the loser.

Writes note: I asked on Tumblr to send a cliché fanfiction trope in my ask box and I would make a decent Kacchako drabble out of it. This is for the fourth ask I received. I was so super excited when I received this, I thought of how I could make this interesting and I immediately thought of the show “Tattoo Fixers” that’s being aired on TLC. Then I thought of how Amy and Jake from Brooklyn 99 got together and it spawned this fic. (see the end for more notes)

Word count: 5.365

AO3 link: (x)

“Kirishima!Jot one more down for me!” Uraraka yelled as she kicked in the door of thebreakroom. Bakugou closely followed her and pointed his finger at his coworker.“I swear to God, pick up that marker and you’re dead punk.”

Kirishimaswiveled his chair from a desk to the whiteboard and shrugged. “It’s not myfault that she’s killing it.” He picked up a red marker and tallied a pointunder Uraraka’s name.

Uraraka letherself fall on the big leather couch in the center of the room, put her feeton the armrest and put her hands behind her head. “He’s right! If you wouldjust step up your game then…” Before Uraraka could finish her sentence Bakugouplaced himself on her stomach, squeezing all the air out of her. “Shut up! Theguy was totally eyeing you the second he came into the parlor, how was thatfair?”

Urarakatried to push him off but he refused to budge, she tried to wiggle out but heonly made himself more comfortable.

“You soundbutthurt.” Uraraka huffed.

“Oh comeon!”

Kirishimachuckled. “You do sound a bit butthurt dude.”

Bakugoushot up and walked over to him. “I will sit on you too if you don’t stopbacking her up.”

“Was thatmeant to be an actual threat?” Uraraka taunted him.

Bakugouglared at her from across the room and she mischievously smiled back at him. Hetried hard to contain his cold stare but he couldn’t help but break characterwhen she beamed like that. The corners of his mouth started to twitch andbefore she could notice he turned away and stuck his nose in the air.

“Instead offucking around shouldn’t you two be working or something?” Bakugou bellowed.

Kirishimaswiveled his chair back to the desk and took a pen he had tucked behind his ear.“Cut me some slack, I’m just working on some possible designs.” He thickened afew lines of a design and squinted at it. “Besides I’m not one of the stars ofthe show.”

“And one ofthe actual stars of the show actually doesn’t have to work for another tenminutes.” Uraraka framed her face and stuck her tongue out. She sat up andraised an eyebrow at Bakugou. “So what are you going to do? Maybe you shouldjoin Kirishima in practicing if you want to win.”

Kirishimathrew a pen from the desk at Bakugou. “Better get started buddy.”

Bakugoutucked the pen behind his ear and poked his tongue in his cheek, he walked tothe couch as he nodded, impressed by the nerve his two coworkers had to insulthim.

“Kirishima,what’s her score?” Bakugou asked.

“44.”Kirishima answered without having to take a look at the board.

Bakugourubbed his chin. “44. And what’s mine?”

“42.”

He heardUraraka trying to hold back a giggle.

“I’m notthat far behind Pink Cheeks, so don’t think you’re going to win.”

Urarakastood up and started walking to the door. “We’re reaching the end of the seasonthough.” She sang.

“Oh I know,and I’ve told you before, but I’m kind enough to tell you again; I’m going tofucking win!” He yelled at her as she left the room.

“Okottomo!”Uraraka sang from the other side of the door.

“Shut itTsukao.” He rolled his eyes at the door.

Bakugou hatedhow well Uraraka has had gotten to know him over the year they’ve workedtogether, it made her an expert in knowing exactly how to push his buttons.Normally Bakugou would have a lot more to fire back with when she was teasinghim like that. He had a whole arsenal of snarky comments that he would’vegladly used on Uraraka. But because she’s winning, it was easier for her toshut him up and have the last laugh.

Though hesounded so confident only seconds ago he couldn’t help but slightly doubt theodds of him actually beating her after the last episode. He didn’t doubt hisown skills and creativity. He had worked hard on developing his own style thatdifferentiated himself from other tattoo artists, focusing on creating his ownbrand, his own label, something that people got jealous over when they saw hisdesigns inked on other people’s skin. It had taken Bakugou 14 thrown awaysketch books, walking away from a prestige visual arts school and isolatinghimself almost reaching the point of breaking down to find a way of sketchingthat screamed his name. It was raw, it was rough but detailed, something no onecould recreate or perfect. Just how he liked it.

You had tohave specific taste and a good pair of balls to slam money on the table and askfor one of Bakugou’s designs, which more people had than expected but it stillmade it hard to win. After he and Uraraka would draw the cover up for theirtattoo, the customers took twice as long looking at his design than they did atUraraka’s. First they would state how much they admired his design but then putit aside by saying it’s ‘probably toomuch for them’.

Uraraka onthe other hand, didn’t have a specific style at all. Bakugou has stared at her notebookfor too long, trying to figure out what it was, and he almost ended up flippingover a table when he just couldn’t put a finger on it. When he looked at herand the tattoo’s she had, he thought he could maybe find some sort ofcorrelation. The tattoo’s she had were overall simple. Nothing to exactly say ‘ooh!’ and ‘ah!’ over. She had little words that had meaning to her. Smallsymbols on her fingers and wrist. And someone was working on inking aconstellation starting from her neck down to her shoulder blades on her.

What shedrew and inked on people was never ‘simple’. Other coworkers have called herthe ‘artist of the people’ almostbeing able to nail the preferred style of the customer right on the head. Hecalled her ‘too much of a people pleaser’,but honestly. It was impressive. Considering she had only drawn for fun sinceshe was old enough to hold a pencil, having no proper education or mentoringwhen it came to art.

It made hera perfect fit for the show and a worthy contender for the competition heinitially came up with.

“You knowshe only riles you up so she can call you that right?” Kirishima commented.

“I know.”

“It’s kindof cute though, those names you have for each other.” Bakugou could hear thesmile forming on Kirishima’s lips.

He scoffed.“Fuck off already!”

“I mean…”

Bakugouwalked towards the door and kicked it open. “I’ve had it with both of youtoday!”

The door promptlygot stopped and Uraraka popped up from behind the door. She pulled her whitemask down to her chin.

“That’s abummer, you have to spend the rest of the day with me!”

He noticedthe crew has touched her up. He noticed that her lashes were longer and darkerthan usual. That was the only thing that stood out to him. The rest of themake-up had most likely ended up on a wet wipe and in the trash.

Bakugou wasthankful that Uraraka didn’t let the whole television situation go to her head.Like him, she wasn’t too bothered about voice overs and sit downs, or wardrobeand make-up. They’ve even discussed fame and publicity and both of them couldn’tseem to implicate it to themselves. They were more happy for the parlor and theincrease in work load.

ForUraraka, art came first. It has always been about the art, the craft and the parlor.

One of thesurprisingly many interests they shared.

Uraraka pointedat the station where the client was sitting, anxious of all the camera’s andlights being set up around him.

“Wannawatch the winner at work?”

“I don’tmind having a mirror besides me when I work on my next client to be honest.”

She let outa breathy laugh and punched his shoulder. “Real funny, so are you watching orwhat?”

Bakugou grinnedand Uraraka let her mask snap back over her mouth. Her eyes nearly closed asshe smiled at him underneath her mask. She clapped her hands together and madeher way to the station as Bakugou followed her.

He stoodnext to one of the camera men and watched Uraraka talk to the client, trying totalk over a few things. It looked like she was trying to comfort him. Theclient kept nodding at her as she let her positive attitude reflect on him. Sheshowed him her design one more time, as a reminder of what he was here for.

It was goodthe client was captivated by the sketch and didn’t notice her hands shaking asthey tightly held on the paper. Bakugou turned away and shook his head. Thestar of the show was ten times more nervous than someone that has probablynever been around these many cameras before. Bakugou knows she wouldn’t admitit, but it’s obvious she’s terribly scared of fucking up. Knowing her shewouldn’t care that she fucked up on television, but she would care more aboutthe client. They came here in the first place to get their messed up tattoo’sfixed after all. And it’s also the people pleaser in Uraraka, always wanting tomake sure to deliver the best result possible.

Urarakadoubted her own talent and skill. What for? Bakugou had never seen her delivera client something that was even slightly off. And she knew it too. He’s toldher, in an attempt to pry those feelings out of her, but of course she jokedaround the compliment. Not even taking it seriously because it came from him, asarcastic little shit that was hardly ever genuine to anyone. Bakugou has neverfelt bad about that title, but it was frustrating that she wouldn’t believe himbecause of that. She deserved to get praise, more than she already received,because it’s clearly not enough for her to believe in herself.

Thedirector demanded silence on the set, which was Uraraka’s queue to put heranxiety aside as much as possible and start. Her shoulders that we’re nearlytouching her ears, gradually came down as she set the first lines of ink on theclients skin. Bakugou caught her eyeing at him a few times as if she looked forvalidation from him. Her gaze became more and more focused as camera’s startedto swivel around her and came in closer for close up. She took a look at herclient who had started soaking up the chair with sweat. Uraraka turned off themachine and pulled down her mask to whisper something in the guy’s ear, whichmade both of them laugh. When the laughter died down she continued her work.

Bakugoucouldn’t help but envy her. He barely took his time to check on his clients, hewouldn’t even know what to say since he was used to all those lenses and lightson him. Even when they weren’t recording and he would get an anxious client hedidn’t exactly know what to do or say. It was always Uraraka that jumped in didall the talking. She was capable of so many things that he wasn’t. It wassomething Bakugou hardly ever admitted about anyone, his ability clearly abovethe rest until she came along. The gap so clear that his pride couldn’t evendeny the thought that all round she was more capable than him. But he also knewthat she could learn plenty from him too.

That’s whatmakes them work together.

He was gladthat reaching the end of the tattoo session Uraraka seemed to have herconfidence back. The confidence she projected moments ago and made her a strongopponent. Bakugou didn’t have to get close to see that the end result wasawesome. The client was visibly excited and even a little bit in awe when hesaw the end result.

Thedirector yelled to stop rolling and immediately a couple of productionassistants flocked the chair and guided the client to another room to shootsome sit down scenes and a couple of voice overs. Poor guy barely had time toproperly thank Uraraka. Before any of the crew members could do the same thingto Uraraka, Bakugou approached her. She pulled down her mask and rubbed thesweat of her forehead, afterwards she raised her hand for a high five.

“I can’tbelieve you’re high fiving the winner, that’s like waving the white flag.��Uraraka laughed.

“Fuck offit’s not. Am I not allowed to tell a coworker they did a good job anymore?”

“Youhigh-fived me, you didn’t tell me.”

Bakugousighed. “You’re difficult you know that?”

He tried tohold back the mischievous side that she so easily knew how to get out of himand decided to make an attempt at being genuine.

“You did agood job.”

“Thankyou.”

He had afeeling this was one of the few acknowledgements that reached her. It was oneof the few times she looked into his eyes for more than a couple of seconds.Like she had much more to say but it didn’t feel right to say out loud. It wasthe first time she let him see her blush. It was the first time she didn’tlaugh the moment away. She simply smiled.

Aunexpected touch pulled Bakugou out of his thoughts and made him turn around.He met the always over-radiant facial expression of the producer. Therewouldn’t be a single time he couldn’t be caught with a toothy smile, pattingsomeone on the shoulder or yelling words of encouragement through the parlor.

“Katsuki,Ochako, my modern day Picasso’s!”

“Too muchGoda.” Bakugou tried to conceal his slight irritation in his voice.

He gave a fewsturdy pats on Bakugou’s shoulder. “Too much? Too much?! Don’t be so modestKatsuki! There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging your talent. It’s because ofyour talent I know this season is going to be a success!”

Urarakawinced as Goda continued to pulverate Bakugou’s shoulder with every word thatcame out of his mouth.

“Goda,”Uraraka interrupted the praise. “Did you want to talk to us about something?”

Immediatelythe producer stopped and pointed at Uraraka.

“Ochako, asalways, very sharp! Yes, I wanted to talk to you about the season finale. Italked it over with a few people and we thought that it would be nice and kickup the rating a notch if we would show some behind the scenes footage!”

Bakugoushot his eyes to Uraraka who stayed focused on Goda.. He didn’t exactly knowhow to feel about it. He didn’t want people to get more invested in ‘every day Bakugou’ than in ‘Bakugou the artist’. He valued that artisticimage of himself more than anything else. His whole life revolved around thatimage; his income, the people he was constantly around. He didn’t want a twominute clip outshining what he prioritized during the whole season, the art.Wouldn’t Uraraka think the same thing?

“Soundsgood to me.” Uraraka said.

Bakugouturned to her.

“Only if weget to take a look at the footage first. Don’t want a scene in there of mestuffing my lunch in my face.”

Bakugou letout a sigh of relief. Uraraka noticed, turned to him and winked at him. Sheknew what she was doing.

“If you didthar she would hesitate to sue your asses.” Bakugou said jokingly.

“Oh, Iwould definitely sue.” Uraraka complemented him.

Godastarted to panic, not realizing that the two were teasing him and hurried themto one of the offices the show has claimed during their time filming there. Itwas a dark lit room, with multiple computer screens set up, wires spread outall across the floor and a concerning amount of mugs on the desk.

In front ofone of the screens there was a girl, with her nose almost against the screen,clicking away on a mouse.

“Kimi, theMichael Kahn of television!”

“Too muchGoda.” the editor spoke with barely any emotion in her voice.

Goda wentout to hold on to both of her shoulders and pulled her a bit back from thescreen.

“Why iseveryone so humble around here?! Kimi, can you please do me a favor and show thesetwo what you had in mind for the behind the scenes clip?”

Kimi rubbedher eyes and adjusted her glasses. “Sure.”

Goda pattedher shoulders, gave her a thumbs up and walked back to the door.

“Ochako,Katsuki, meet me after you’ve been through the footage, we’ll talk over thelast episode okay? Alright? Splendid!”

Kimi loadedup the file as Goda left the room, who visibly cared less about the whole thingthan her boss. She scooted aside as the file opened. Uraraka and Bakugoucrouched in front of the screen and waited for the editor to press play.

“It’s notmuch, but enough to boost the views. Tell me what you don’t like and it goes inthe trash.” Kimi told them as she looked for a mug that wasn’t empty. Whenfinally getting hold of one she pressed play and laid back.

The footagewas raw. There wasn’t anything edited yet to make it more appealing or special.It was just them. Laughing at and with each other. Teasing each other andjoking around. Working on sketches together during their breaks, occasionallybending over the other’s to make adjustments. Uraraka running over couches andchairs as Bakugou chased her for a comment that went out of line. Sleeping onand against the chairs in the stations as they passed out from eating too muchduring lunch. Racing each other in their office chairs after hours. Watchingeach other work on clients, both interested and eyes full of admiration,wearing soft smiles as they couldn’t take their eyes of each other.

The footagewas raw. There wasn’t anything edited yet. So that’s what they looked like.

They lookedlike two people that couldn’t get enough of each other.

They lookedlike they were in love.

When theclip ended, no one said a word. Bakugou pinned his eyes on the editing programas if there was more footage to be shown.

Kimicoughed and closed the program. “What do you think?”

Uraraka andBakugou shot up straight and started stumbling over their words, pointing atthe screen and gesturing to Kimi, hopelessly rambling about the footage.

“So, is itgood or not?”

“Y-yes! Imean, yes it’s f-fine!” Uraraka babbled. “Right?”

“I-I mean,yeah! I guess? I m-mean.” Bakugou stammered.

Kimi glaredat them at the messes they were and then turned back to one of her manyscreens. Slowly she leaned closer to the screen and continued her clicking.

“Good.”

It was anobvious hint for them to leave the editor’s office and they took it, avoidingmaking eye contact with each other as they left and searched for Goda. Knowingthat Uraraka doubtlessly saw what Bakugou saw too left him feeling curious. Hewanted to know how she felt and what she thought. She obviously felt awkwardyes, but wouldn’t anyone? He didn’t really know what to expect from her if hewere to ask that. He hardly knew how he felt about that himself.

LuckilyGoda’s enthusiasm didn’t allow him to ponder for too long. He welcomed to withopen arms to the couch in the waiting area and offered for them to sit oppositehim. Both of them cradled against an arm rest and stared straight ahead. Godapicked up all his papers and went straight to business.

“It’s ashame but all good things have to come to an end. We’re aiming to film the nextepisode in an hour from now. There’s nothing too special about it. We mightrecord some voice overs and sit downs but overall this a regular episode andyou two should treat it as one. I suggest you two take a break, as we talk tothe clients about privacy and other non-interesting matters.”

Goda lookedat them and waited for a response, he only got a nod out of them. Not sure whatto do himself the producer stood up and left them at the couch.

“Uraraka-“

“Bakugou-“

Theychuckled at the messy start of a conversation. Uraraka scooted an inch closerand hesitantly met Bakugou’s eyes. She raised her fist.

“Let’s doour best alright?”

“Mhm.”

Uraraka gotup from the couch and made way to the bathroom. Bakugou slouched down andrubbed his face. He had an exact hour to forget about the footage and focus onbeing able to bring some good sketches to the table for the season finale. Itwouldn’t help being around her like he usually was during breaks. It lookedlike she thought the same thing as he could just about see her bolt to thebreak room after exiting the toilet.

He decidedto take the pen behind his ear and piece of paper he saw on the receptionistdesk and draw. Nothing in particular, nothing but random shapes, thick and thinlines, with no meaning. There wasn’t anything with meaning he could think of todraw, his mind continued to be occupied with the confronting footage and thethought of Uraraka being scared away by it.

It was theslowest hour he ever had to endure in his life and he had never been this gladto see Goda walking up to him with his signature smile. Immediately he balledup the piece of paper and threw it in the nearest trash can.

“Are westarting?” Bakugou asked.

Goda was abit taken aback by Bakugou’s sudden eagerness.

“Yes, we’vealready done the voice over with the first client so we’re ready when youare.” The producer pointed back at the oneof the offices that also got claimed by the crew.

Bakugou ranback into the break room to collect his lucky drawing pencil and returned tosee Uraraka already sitting opposite the costumer, already making small talk.

He went to greetthe client and sat down next to Uraraka who didn’t shy away or create anydistance between them.

“You’regiving me an advantage here by letting me already win over the client.” Urarakajoked.

He wasn’tsurprised that Uraraka seemed to be in a much better state than he was. She wasdealing with nerves all the time and when taking her time she knew how tosuppress them. Bakugou hardly ever got nervous, he had a bad case of tunnelvision when it came to work, so this was new to him. The feelings and thoughtsthat didn’t want to go away.

But sheindirectly handed him a helping hand, by mentioning their competition. If hewould just focus on winning then his mind would become less crowded, all hiscreativity would pour out through his pencil and onto his paper.

With thatin mind they started filming the last episode. He actually started feeling goodagain, confident even, as the first three clients went for his design. He wasable to joke around with Uraraka again in between filming, seen as they both gotvery into the competition again.

The fourth customerUraraka got in the bag, but he wasn’t worried as he could connect very wellwith the fifth customer who called himself a ‘fan of his style’. Bakugou enjoyedthe petty tone in Uraraka voice and the nervous fumbling she did with her pinkpencil. He could tell she was itching to work harder, she was scared she wasn’tgoing to win.

But it turnedout Uraraka was scared for nothing. The last two client choose her designs.

LeavingBakugou at a score 46 and Uraraka at 47.

Uraraka hadwon.

When thelast customer chose her design, she said nothing. She said nothing whenpreparing for the session, she said nothing until the customer had set a footout of the parlor.

As soon asshe heard the buzzer of the door, she jumped up on the coffee table and raisedboth of her fists in the air. She threw her head back and exclaimed: “I did it.I won!”

Othercoworkers came out from their offices and stations and applauded her.

“Kirishima,the board please.” She waved at him to come near.

Kirishima, alreadyhaving prepared for this as he had a good look on her station from the breakroomwhere he stayed during filming, came out with the white board. He handed her themarker and let her tally the last scores. He fist bumped her and shrugged atBakugou.

“Dude.”

“Not anotherword.”

The filmcrew stood confused around the celebrating tattoo artists that have beenanticipating the outcome ever since the white board was put in the breakroom.

Urarakanoticed the confusion. “And it’s also the end of the season! Good workeveryone. Give yourselves a round of applause too!” She tried to better the situation.

Slowly thecrew started clapping, Goda’s applause sounded well above the rest and hewalked over Uraraka.

“Yes, Yes!Ochako is right, give yourself some praise! Everyone has done an exceptionaljob these past few months. You’re all winners in my eyes. Bravo, bravo!”

Uraraka andKirishima tried to hold in their laughter as Goda paraded towards his crew, givingthem all a pat on the shoulder and telling them to start cleaning up. As theparlor started to get cleared they two giddy artists started to dance their wayover to Bakugou that was trying his absolute best not to roll his eyes out ofhis skull.

Urarakashimmied her shoulders towards Bakugou.

“Are youready for another tattoo Bakugou?”

“Whatever.”was the only thing he could bring himself to say in that moment.

Theyprobably expected him to yell out every curse word under the sun, they expectedhim to get embarrassed having to take back his cocky statements.

Buthonestly, she won fair and square and when he took another look at her notebook,there was no way of denying that.

Urarakafrowned at him. “Okay I’m sorry, if you don’t want to go through with it it’sfine.”

“But everyonealready voted for where the tattoo was going to go!” Kirishima moaned at her.

She elbowedhim without breaking eye contact with Bakugou. “No, they haven’t. And even if theyhad, I had my own idea in mind that I was going to go with regardless, if that’sokay with Bakugou of course.”

Who was heto take away her well-deserved win?

“Fuck it,let’s do it. We shook on it and I trust you to not fuck me up.”

Urarakatook her pencil out of her bun and pointed at him. “That’s more like it. Let’sget started then.”

They leftKirishima stammering about the votes behind and went to settle at her station. Urarakawaited until the last lights and other equipment were cleared before shuttingthemselves off with the white screens.

“We’ve beenogled at enough don’t you think? Besides, I want the others to be surprised.”She told him as she put them in place. Bakugou sat on the chair and watched her.She has never looked so calm before. There wasn’t a hint of worry in her eyes.

“Where’s itgonna go?”

“Seen asyour arms are covered already, I wanted to go for your ribs.”

Bakugou relaxedhis body more. “Interesting.”

“You shouldfeel lucky, almost everyone voted for butt cheek.”

“I thoughtyou guys didn’t vote.” Bakugou squinted his eyes at her.

Urarakaalmost dropped the packet of sterile wipes. “We didn’t! Now, if you could please…”She nodded at his shirt. Bakugou kept squinting at her as he removed his shirt.He stretched, laid down and made himself comfortable.

Uraraka swallowedand put on her mask. She sat down on her chair and prepared the tattoo. Everytime Bakugou wanted tried to peek she would turn his head to the oppositedirection. He tried to feel what she was going for, but it was hard to makeout.

Even whenthe needle touched his skin he couldn’t tell. He stopped thinking about it ashe enjoyed the feeling of getting inked. It has been a long time since he had gottenone since he had been too busy with the show to think about what he couldpossibly get.

“It wasfun, wasn’t it?”

A mufflednoise tried to reach above the buzzing noise.

“Kinda,yeah.”

“It didlook like we had a lot of fun.” Uraraka continued.

Bakugouknew exactly what she was talking about.

“You thinkso?” He mumbled.

Urarakatook the needle of him and looked up, her eyes smiled at him.

“I think soyeah. I would say I have never seen myself look happier.”

“I don’tthink I’ve ever seen myself like that either.” Bakugou fixated his stare at theceiling.

Urarakawaited for a moment before continuing her work.

“Was itweird for you, I mean, all of that?”

He couldn’tstop himself from asking, he hoped he had judged the feel of the moment rightand he didn’t make her uncomfortable.

“At firstit was,” she casually answered. “I had no idea that’s how I was acting thewhole time, I could barely recognize myself. But like I said, it’s because I’venever seen that side of myself before. Now, when I think back to it, I don’t feelweird, it was nice seeing myself like that. It has actually put things into placefor me.”

She startedto talk slower and slower, careful to choose her words.

“I know howyou feel.” Bakugou answered, he turned to her and tried to replicate thegenuine look he had given her earlier, hoping it would reassure her that he in factknew exactly how she felt.

He felt thesame way after all.

He was gladshe could put his it into words. He was glad there were no jokes involved. Itwas the most genuine they’ve ever been with each other.

She looked backat him and her eyes lit up, quickly she finished up the last details of thetattoo in silence.

Bakugou noticedhow shadows started to appear behind the screens and couldn’t help but smile.

Thosefuckers had known all along hadn’t they?

Uraraka wipedthe last bits of ink away and looked satisfied at the end result. Excited sherevealed her big grin that was hidden underneath her mask and pulled off hergloves. She stood up and put her hands on her hips.

“It mightnot look like much, but I think this is one of my best ones yet.”

She pickedup a mirror laying underneath equipment. “Ready?”

Bakugoustood up and Uraraka pointed the mirror at his ribs, angled it so he could easilysee the result.

“No way.”

In her own handwritingshe had tattooed ‘Okottomo’ rightunder his peck. It was in a something he had never seen from her before. It washer style. Even if it was just her handwriting, it was hers, not something shefabricated to make sure to satisfy him.

He lookedup at her and saw Uraraka biting her lip in excitement behind the mirror.

“I shouldhave known. It’s sick though.”

“Really,you actually like it?”

Bakugoulifted her hand so she raised the mirror again.

“Surprisinglyyes. Now I really can’t escape that name, but I don’t mind.”

Uraraka dugher nails in her palms and threw her head back as she let out a little squeal.

“But it’sonly fair if you get ‘Tsukao’ inkedon you though.”

“Well, ifyou have time…?”

Bakugouwidened his eyes.

“So rightnow?”

“Yes, I guess right now.”

He smirked.“You’re on.”

Writers note: “Okottomo” = okotte (angry) + kodomo (child). Uraraka put those two words together to create a nickname for Bakugou.“Tsukao” = tsuki (moon) + kao (face). Bakugou put those two words together to create a nickname for Uraraka.

#jj writes #writing prompt #kacchako #bakuraka #bakugou x uraraka #uraraka x bakugou #kacchako fic #kacchako fanfic #kacchako fanfiction #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #uraraka #uraraka ochako #bnha #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia

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preux-chevalier · 6 years

Text

Been A Fool For Lesser Things

Well, it’s been a while since the last update, hasn’t it? Canon happenings kind of destroyed several basic foundations of this fic, but on the other hand these dumb idiots are ACTUALLY CANON NOW. So I made it work. Just pretend the fifth Koenig brother is a magical healing fairy so nothing happened to Coulson or Fitz. [Which is canon, right? Silly me.]

If you’d like to refresh yourself on what’s already happened, you can find the whole thing on AO3 here, or on tumblr in part one here and part two here. In this chapter: breakfast, Mack, and utter betrayal.

III. I Forgot How Nice Romance Is

Phil is not a morning person. In his years at S.H.I.E.L.D. he’s had to get used to some ridiculous sleep schedules (including one particularly hellish op in 2003 during which he didn’t get more than three consecutive hours of sleep for two weeks straight) but on his own he tends toward late nights and leisurely mornings. Unfortunately, he is still an active agent, even if he’s not the director anymore, and as such he’s showered, dressed, and staring blearily into the pantry at seven.

It’s honestly pretty bleak. No bread for toast, someone’s eaten the last of the good cereal - almost certainly Daisy - and as much as Jemma loves her oatmeal, he’s never been able to stomach the stuff. There’s plenty of coffee, though. A quick check of the fridge reveals some assorted fruits and vegetables and most of a carton of eggs, so at least he won’t be reduced to mainlining coffee until lunch.

The back of his neck prickles as he starts filling the coffee machine, though there hasn’t been any sound. In the field, this is where he’d start mentally reviewing sightlines, potential cover, and the available options for improvising a weapon. But it’s not an unknown assailant behind him this time. “Good morning,” he says, already knowing what he’ll see when he turns around.

Knowing, however, does not prepare him in the slightest for the sight of Melinda clearly fresh from a post-workout shower, because she’s one of those terrifying people who actually enjoys exercising first thing in the morning. Her ponytail is still faintly damp at the ends. It’s like a tease, the hint of where she’s been - he’s seen her totally soaked before (albeit clothed) more than once, and he knows exactly what it looks like when she pushes wet hair out of her eyes, and water is trailing down her throat, and her clothes don’t cover so much as cling to her-

What was he doing? Oh, breakfast. Right. Fuel for the day. Phil’s good at breakfast.

“Pancakes?” he asks, internally congratulating himself on how normal his voice sounds.

She makes a face. “Not after training. Omelettes instead?”

“Sounds good.”

They move around the kitchen with practiced ease. The whole song and dance is so familiar from safehouses and shared missions over the years that the only noise is the coffee machine dripping away and Melinda’s knife hitting the cutting board. It’s no accident that a plate appears at his side right when the first omelette is ready, and the clink of glasses and cutlery behind him as she sets the table for two has him smiling down at the skillet where she can’t see.

He takes a sip of his waiting coffee as he sits down across from Melinda. It’s perfect, of course. Phil used to wonder how she manages to add exactly the right amount of milk every single time when he’s literally never once seen her make coffee itself correctly, but then he realized he knows how to make her tea despite never drinking it, so maybe it’s just one of those things. If it means he can practically inhale glorious caffeine while he waits for his food to cool off in the morning, he’s not going to complain.

“This is nice,” Melinda says, already halfway through her plate.

Phil pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I sure hope so,” he says slowly. “I’ve made you omelettes hundreds of times. You’d think I’d know how you like them by now.”

“No, I meant…. this. Us. Breakfast together.” Her foot nudges against his under the table. “It’s nice.”

Phil can’t think of a single thing to say. Well, he can, he’s practically the king of the snappy one-liner, but “It’s even better in bed” is way too sleazy, and it’s really not the right time for “I love you” even if it is the loudest thought in his head right now. How does she do this? Thirty years they’ve known each other and he’s still falling over himself at a simple comment from Melinda May like nothing has changed at all since the Academy.

“It is,” he says finally. “We should do it more often.”

“Does that mean you’re finally going to let me do something more complicated than making cereal?”

Phil shudders. “I’m pretty sure that qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment,” he points out, laughing when she flicks a piece of egg at him.

They make normal morning small talk - or at least the closest two people who have spent their lives working for S.H.I.E.L.D. can get to normal small talk - over the rest of breakfast. By the time both plates are clean and Phil’s finished his coffee, their feet have ended up tangled together under the table.

It feels, he realizes with a jolt, like a date.

“Coulson?”

They both look up to see Mack coming through the door.

“Fitz wants to see you today. Hand recalibration time.”

“But Yoyo and I just did that a month ago,” Phil protests. It’s not like he minds, exactly, since keeping the giant hunk of metal and electronics attached to his arm working properly is sort of a priority of his. Even so, it’s usually much longer between sessions.

Mack shrugs, grabbing a mug to pour his own coffee. “Don’t ask me,” he says. “I stick to engines and I’m happy that way. Maybe there’s some fancy new gadget he wants to install or something.”

Phil and Melinda exchange a look. Fitz has a habit of tinkering with prosthetic designs as a distraction when he’s frustrated with other projects. Phil really should be worried about spending his time in the lab instead of getting things done, but he can’t help the rush of childish glee. This kind of thing is how he got x-ray hands. It’s like being a real actual superhero.

Melinda’s expression says very clearly that he’s not hiding it well enough and she’s laughing at him on the inside.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with a hand just being a hand,” Mack grumbles, oblivious.

“It was just a hand before you chopped it off,” Phil points out, laughing at the look on his former partner’s face. “Besides, I don’t remember you complaining too much about my gadgets when we got ambushed that time in Denver-”

“Shut up and get your hand fixed, Coulson.”

Melinda bats her eyelashes at him. “Director’s orders, Phil,” she says, all fawning solicitousness. Mack salutes her with his coffee and heads back out to the hallway with his nose already buried in his tablet.

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side,” Phil says, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Maybe I just like giving you orders for a change,” she says. Their eyes meet in silent recognition of what happened the last time she had, and for an long moment there is nothing in the world but the two of them and the memory of a kiss. But then her phone buzzes, startling them both, and she sighs in annoyance. “I have to meet with Piper in ten minutes. You should go find Fitz.”

“Maybe by this afternoon I’ll be able to play the piano,” he jokes. “I’ll see you later?”

“I don’t think you’ll want to,” she says. Phil frowns; he always wants to see her. Does she really- “Yoyo’s having a Scream marathon.”

Phil does not flinch. He’s a seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with decades of experience under his belt; a reaction like that would be deeply unprofessional. Besides, he’s faced real life horrors and lived to tell the tale. A few jumpscares are nothing. Really. He just… prefers other forms of entertainment.

(He thanks his lucky stars every day that Daisy hasn’t caught on yet.)

“A girls’ night it is. Got it.”

She’s been teasing him about this for so long that it’s become completely nonverbal; though the only sound in the room is the clatter of dishes as they clean up after themselves, Phil knows from long experience exactly what she’d say, and it only takes a single glance at her smug expression to confirm that she’s thinking exactly the same thing. Sticking his tongue out would be childish, of course, so he does the mature thing instead and reaches out to tug at the end of her ponytail.

But... he’s promised himself that he won’t touch. Admittedly this hadn’t really been what he’d had in mind at the time, but the principle is the same. Just because he can’t remember the last time he enjoyed breakfast so much doesn’t mean Melinda feels the same way. He never would have dared to pull her ponytail before, so he can’t in good conscience do so now, right?

Man, he feels like a twelve-year-old.

Still, Phil doesn’t like going back on his word, so he turns the movement into pretending to brush something off his shirt and beats a quick exit. Crisis averted.

He doesn’t notice Melinda’s frown as she watches him leave in the reflection of the microwave.

#philinda #agents of shield #been a fool for lesser things #preux fic #listen domestic kitchen philinda is my ultimate weakness #I could write an entire novel based on my ideas about philinda and their relationship with food alone #god knows my list of ideas has a lot of food things #ah well if music be the food of love play on and all that #also that's right phil you dumbass #you're acting weird and it's DEFINITELY too much to hope that the person who knows and loves you most wouldn't fucking notice #wow guys it's almost like actually talking to each other about your feelings is a good idea #fun fact this fic originally came about because they have a very specific type of communication problem #like they know each other so well that they understand what the other's emotional reaction will be to anything #EXCEPT they've also been thinking in friend mode for so long that they kind of bluescreen when it comes to romance between them #which means the only blindspot in their relationship is.... their relationship #bc of course it is #ac dc ac #i would die for melinda may #rachael no #aos

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purrincess-chat · 7 years

Text

Cat-astrophe

Here is my final fic! 22/22! It ended up longer than I expected, so I probably won’t get the next chapter of TTQ out tonight because I’m going out for my birthday, and I’ll be spending the next couple days with a friend, but I’ll either post it at some point this weekend or post two chapters on Monday. Anywho, enjoy 3k of shenanigans!

FF | AO3

Catastrophe

“A-A-Achoo!” Plagg sneezed as Adrien glanced around the street to make sure the coast was clear. He had to meet Ladybug for a patrol soon and needed a safe place to transform without being spotted.

“You okay, Plagg?” He glanced down at his kwami with a frown, eyebrows creased together worriedly. The small black cat rubbed his nose with a groan and sniffled.

“I’m fine,” He grumbled stuffily.

“Are you sure?” Adrien cocked a brow, and Plagg nodded. “Alright…Plagg, transform me!”

In hindsight, Adrien probably should have been a bit more concerned about Plagg, but how was he supposed to know what would happen if he transformed? It was partially his fault, but Plagg could have spoken up about it sooner, especially once Adrien found out it had happened before. In a flash of green light, Adrien’s world changed in an instant, and he found that suddenly everything was a lot…bigger. He blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing things correctly, craning his neck to see the top of the car parked on the street.

Uh-oh. The thought wasn’t his own, but the voice that carried it was familiar.

Plagg! What the heck just happened? Adrien glanced down to see two fuzzy paws on the ground. His two fuzzy paws. Plagg!

So, funny story… Adrien raced to the nearest shop window and stretched up to confirm that he hadn’t gone crazy. I should have seen this coming.

How did this happen? And why are you in my head? Adrien demanded.

Um, it’s kind of complicated, but it’s happened before. Don’t worry it’s totally fixable. All we have to do is find the guardian’s house, and he can get us back to normal. Plagg explained.

Okay, where does he live?

I don’t remember.

I hate you so much.

Adrien glanced around at passing Parisians helplessly. He was supposed to meet Ladybug, but there was no way he could go like this. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too angry with him for missing out, but maybe if he could find her on her patrol, she could help them fix this. He set out up the street with a new determination, keeping his ears open for the sound of her yoyo, but it was hard to hear over the noise of the city. He needed to get up higher…

He spotted an alley way with ladders leading up to the rooftops. Perfect. Now all he needed to do was climb up. It was an easier said than done task as he approached and realized gripping metal rungs was a lot harder with paws instead of fingers. Still, he took a deep breath and began the arduous climb up to the roof, sprawling out gratefully once they made it to the top safely. Step one complete. Now onto finding Ladybug.

What are you gonna do when you find her?

I dunno. Get her to help.

How are you gonna do that if you’re a cat? You can’t exactly tell her what happened.

I’ll figure something out, alright! Oh- there she is!

“Ladybug!” He called out, but his vocal chords only made desperate mewls. It did grab her attention nonetheless, so he supposed it worked out.

“How did you get up here, minou?” She cooed, scooping him up.

“I need your help,” He mowled, but she only rubbed his back soothingly.

“I know. It’s scary up here. Let’s get you back on the ground,” She murmured, shifting him to one side so she could grab her yoyo. He pressed himself closer as she swung back down to the park below and set him in the grass. “There you go, chaton.”

“No, wait!” He cried as she began to walk away. She paused as he screeched and rubbed against her legs in an attempt to convey his message. “I need you to help me find the guardian.”

“Oh, I wish I could help you more, but I can’t take you home, little one,” She said, petting him softly. Thunder rolled above them, and she glanced up at the storm clouds closing in. Wincing, she glanced back down at him with a contemplative frown. “Okay, but just one night. No way my papa lets me keep you, so you’ll have to stay a secret.” She scooped him back up, and tossed her yoyo once more, shooting them off quickly before the rain could start.

Adrien suddenly realized what this meant. He was going to Ladybug’s house! And he would probably get to stay in Ladybug’s room! And sleep on her bed! Maybe even next to her! Maybe this wasn’t the worse day of his life. Except…Except he’d discover who she was.

She’s going to kill me if she finds out. He groaned.

Told you to think it through first. Plagg sang pointedly.

Well, would you rather spend the night in the rain?

Valid point. What are we gonna do now though? We’ll have to find some way to escape and get to the guardian’s house.

I know, I know. I’m working on that part.

Surprisingly, Adrien recognized the surrounding area. There was the school, the park, the Dupain-Cheng bakery…The Dupain-Cheng bakery!? Ladybug landed on the terrace and lifted up the skylight, slipping inside just as the rain started outside. She set him down on the bed and fastened the latch before letting her transformation drop.

“Don’t go telling anyone my secret identity, minou,” She giggled, scratching his chin with a smile before crawling over to the stairs. Adrien sat stunned for a moment as he processed this new information.

Marinette was Ladybug.

Ladybug had been sitting behind him in class every day since he met her. The love of his life. Literally right behind him. And he’d never realized.

I want to make fun of you for this, but you’re already doing such a good job on your own. Plagg snickered, and Adrien let his face fall onto the mattress.

I’m such an idiot.

Well, at least we agree on something. Uh-oh.

Uh-oh?

If she’s Ladybug that means Tikki is her kwami.

And?

She’s gonna see right through us if we don’t act really convincing.

What do you mean convincing?

Ya know, cat-like. Scratch your ears, lick your butt, cat stuff!

I’m not licking my butt.

Do you want her to kill us?

Well, no, but-

Then get licking!

“Are you hungry, minou?” Marinette peaked up. In her hands was a small saucer, and Adrien picked up the scent of cooked chicken. “We had a little left over from dinner. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have.” She set it down in front of him and ran her hands down his back. Suddenly he felt a little self-conscious eating like an animal in front of his partner, the love of his life, and friend from school, but he spotted a small red sprite over her shoulder and reluctantly got to chewing.

Marinette smiled, pleased by his acceptance of her food offering, and headed back down to her desk. Once he finished, he decided to venture down and see what she was up to. She was sitting with what he guessed to be her homework, working diligently while she hummed softly to herself. Tikki floated close by, munching on a cookie while she oversaw her master’s work.

She eats cookies? Lucky.

Are you implying something here?

No, I’m explicitly saying it.

Camembert is quite possibly the greatest invention in the history of the world.

Don’t kid yourself with that one.

Adrien gasped as his head jerked to the side against his will, and Plagg’s laughter filled his mind. Did Plagg just control him?

Don’t you dare. His tongue slipped out and scraped down his side, and Adrien screamed quiet obscenities as Plagg continued his bath smugly.

“What do you think was up with Chat Noir tonight? It’s not like him to miss a patrol. He usually jumps at the opportunity to see me,” Marinette commented, leaning back and stretching her arms over her head.

“Maybe something came up,” Tikki offered.

“I hope he’s not sick.” She frowned.

I’m going to be. Adrien thought as Plagg swiped a paw over his face. He had no control over himself anymore.

Marinette stood up and paced over to her sink, flicking on the water. Adrien finally regained enough control to end his tongue bath and watched as she washed her face and brushed her teeth. It was still a little shocking to know that Ladybug was a real person, and not only that, but this real person. They saw each other every day and never even realized. But Marinette was amazing and talented, so it wasn’t too far of a stretch to consider, though he did feel a little guilty for figuring her out like this. When she finished cleaning up, she riffled through her dresser for her pajamas and shrugged off her blazer.

Oh no. Adrien moved to turn around, but Plagg regained control and kept him rooted in place. Plagg, no!

Plagg, yes!

This is wrong! Turn around!

You’re such a party pooper. Plagg relinquished just as Marinette began to lift her shirt, and Adrien spun around with a sigh of relief. He glanced up at her desk and noticed a magazine clipping on her wall. Curious, he hopped onto her chair to get a better look, and he came face to face with, well, his face. Lots of it.

I take it back. This view is way better.

She wants to be a fashion designer! She probably cuts them out for reference. Adrien argued, but he glanced at her computer screen which featured several more pictures overlain with hearts and found it hard to argue that one. Oh my god, Marinette is in love with me.

Ladybug is in love with you.

This is great news! Plagg, she’s…she’s going to kill me if she finds out. This is such an invasion of her privacy!

Relax. She doesn’t suspect a thing. Adrien sat back and turned to find himself under Tikki’s watchful gaze. I take it back. Panic.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Chat Noir. Looks like he’s gotten himself into a hairy situation,” Tikki remarked, folding her arms over her chest.

“What was that?” Marinette asked.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson last time, Plagg?” She growled sourly, flitting into his face with an icy glare.

“What are you talking about, Tikki?”

“Sometimes kwamis get sick, like I did a few weeks ago, and our powers can get a bit unpredictable. Transforming can be risky and have strange side effects,” Tikki explained. “For instance, it can turn you into the animal you represent.”

Busted.

We’re dead. It was nice knowing you, Plagg.

See you in hell, kid.

“Wait, are you telling me…” Her eyes narrowed as she studied the black cat crouching into a tiny, guilty ball in her chair. “Chat Noir?”

“Hey,” He mewled with a wince, and her jaw dropped.

“Ugh! You slimy, mangy, conniving little piece of shit!” She hissed. “You totally went behind my back and found out my identity!” He let out a low, apologetic howl in response, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll maim you later. How do we fix him?”

“We’ll have to take him to Master Fu in the morning. He should be able to revert them back to normal.” Tikki tapped her chin. Marinette sighed and rubbed her temples.

“Fine.” Adrien shrank down low, ears drooping in fear. So much for her being in love with him. There was no way he’d be able to tell her who he was now. He flinched as her hand began to gently stroke his back once more, and she shushed him softly. “I’m not happy with you about this, but I know you didn’t do it maliciously. You just wanted my help, didn’t you?” He nodded, and she sighed, scooping him up in her arms and carrying him up to her bed. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, so there’s not much we can do.” He let out a low growl at her awful pun, and she giggled. “You better not linger around my balcony now that you know who I am, chaton. I won’t hesitate to throw you off of it.”

She continued to stroke his back for a while until a soft purr rose from his chest. She reached up and clicked off her lamp and shifted under her blanket, and he snuggled in close which she allowed as she continued to rub his head. It was relaxing in a way he couldn’t describe, and between the warmth of her body and her steady breathing, he was soon lulled to sleep.

The next morning he woke to Marinette sliding off the bed, her hair disheveled from sleep, and he blinked a few times to reacclimatize himself to the situation. Oh yeah. Still a cat. He stretched his jaws into a yawn and followed her down, pausing when she lifted her trap door.

“I’ll be back in a few, okay?” She promised, and he sat patiently on her floor. Tikki floated down from the loft and folded her arms in front of her.

“Don’t get any ideas while she’s gone,” She warned, and Adrien heard Plagg snicker, though he surprisingly behaved until Marinette came back.

“I just have to get dressed then we can go before school starts, so no peaking, or I’ll just leave you a cat forever,” She announced with a wink, and Adrien dutifully turned around and curled into a ball, resting his tail over his eyes. “Good boy.”

After a minute, her feet padded over to him where she knelt down and unzipped her backpack. He glanced up curiously as she emptied out non-essential books then pointed inside.

“I can’t have mama and papa spotting you, so you’re going to have to sit still until we get going, okay?” She ordered, and he climbed in obediently. “Why can’t you be this well-behaved all the time, kitty?” She teased, and he let out a low grunt as she zipped him up, leaving the top unzipped just enough so that he could breathe.

The bag shook a little as she climbed down the stairs, and Adrien did his best to stay still and quiet as she kissed her parents goodbye and left the bakery. He waited patiently as she headed out into the street, and once she’d made it a safe distance from her house, she slung her bag around carefully and unzipped the top once more. Adrien poked his head out, thankful for the fresh air, and she giggled.

“It’s kind of a shame we have to change you back, chaton. You’re a lot cuter as a cat,” She chuckled, and he growled in protest. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He stretched up to nuzzle her cheek, and she hugged him to her chest willingly and began scratching his head. A low purr rumbled through his chest, and Marinette sighed.

“Don’t think that you can act cute and get out of your punishment later. I’m still going to kill you for discovering my identity,” She reminded him, and he stretched up to lick her nose which rewarded him with another melodic giggle. “Hey, I mean it!” She paused outside a small shop, and Adrien craned his neck around to see. “Here we are.”

Master Fu was a small old man who waited inside with an expectant smile. Marinette greeted him without batting an eye, and Adrien had to wonder how long she’d known him, and why Plagg never mentioned him before. If he was a guardian of the Miraculous, shouldn’t he have heard of him?

“We seem to have ourselves a bit of a catastrophe,” Marinette explained.

“Plagg, again?” Master Fu tilted his head to the side with a playful smirk. He stood up and paced over to his chest of drawers and riffled through them for a moment before coming back with a jar of tea leaves. Marinette sat down and set Adrien in her lap as Master Fu prepared the tea. The two made small talk while it steeped, and Adrien realized that they were more familiar with each other than he thought. How often did Ladybug visit him?

“The tea should be ready now,” Master Fu announced, sliding it forward. Adrien crept toward it and sniffed at it curiously, turning when he heard the door clicking open once more. He howled in protest when Marinette tried to slip out, and she paused to turn back with a wince.

“I didn’t want to see who you are if you didn’t want me to. My identity may be known now, but I was going to offer you your privacy if you still wanted it,” She said quietly, and he turned and padded quickly to her side, rubbing against her legs and mewling for her to stay. “If it’s what you want...”

He nodded and waited for her to sit back down before he crouched in front of the bowl and lapped at the tea. He hacked and shook himself as his mouth filled with the bitter taste, but in a flash of green light, he was back to normal. Plagg flitted down and continued to lap at the bitter drink happily, and Adrien ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth and wiped a hand across his face, hoping to wash the remnants of the flavor away. The room was silent, he realized, except for Plagg’s noisy gulps, and Adrien turned to see Marinette adorned with a shocked expression, her hand cupped over her mouth as the other pointed at him.

“Hey,” He chuckled nervously, waving with one hand. She didn’t move. Not a single muscle. “Oh, c’mon. It’s not that surprising is it, Bugaboo?” At that she sobered, eyes narrowing into a glare before she stormed from the room. “Hey, wait up!” She was halfway out the front door when he caught up with her.

“I don’t want to talk to you. You’re in trouble,” She squeaked, covering her face.

“I know, I know. You’re going to kill me,” He soothed, placing a hand on her hip and cupping her burning face with the other. “Looks like we knew each other after all.”

“It would seem that way.” She nodded, letting her hands slip from her face and fall back to her sides with a sigh. “I liked you better as a cat.”

“I think your bedroom wall begs to differ.” He winked, and she growled, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m burning all of them tonight,” She announced.

“What? No! My beautiful face, don’t do that!” He gasped in horror.

“Nope. I’ve decided.”

“Bug! That’s not nice,” He pleaded.

“I hate you.”

“Oh, c’mon. You love me.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she slapped her forehead with her palm.

“Shouldn’t you go home?” She asked around her hands.

“Yeah, probably. My father will send out the army soon if I don’t turn up,” He admitted, issuing the command for Plagg to transform him. A small smirk stretched over his lips, and he leaned in and pecked what little of her cheeks were exposed before pulling back quickly. “See you at school!” He called as he shot off.

“You mangy alley cat!” She shouted after him, and his laughter echoed between the buildings.

She was definitely going to kill him.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #my writing #cat-astrophe #drabble #one-shot #adrien agreste #marinette-dupain cheng #plagg #tikki #adrien gets turned into a cat

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