#kate's still a little stiff and private | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teenwolffan-with-nolife · 3 years

Text

The Witch and The Wolf Pt.58

Word Count: 2,427

Characters: Derek Hale, Braeden (someone plz tell me her last name), Stiles Stilinski, Malia Hale (mentioned), Scott McCall, Deaton, Jordan Parrish, Noah Stilinski, Melissa McCall, Kate Argent (mentioned), Peter Hale, Meredith Walker, Reader

Pairings: Derek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, cliffhanger

A/N: i don’t want anyone to @ me i’ve had the ending planned before i started writing the series

Masterlist Series Masterlist

You laid awake on your bed, feeling Derek’s body moving slightly with every breath he took. His arm was wrapped around your waist, with his back against yours. It was somehow impossible for you to be able to fall asleep.

You stroked Derek’s arm, before carefully turning to face him, trying not to wake him. Seeing him there with you always brought you comfort, even when you felt terrible. This was by far the longest you two had been together for, without any fighting or arguments.

You could feel sadness rising in your chest, watching his powers leave him. He was still dying. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to shake off that thought, it was the only thing on your mind.

He opened his eyes, tilting his head downwards to make eye contact with you.

“It gets creepier and creepier every time you watch me sleep,” he replied.

You scoffed, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“You just ruined a good moment,” you replied.

“Yeah, okay. What time is it?” you turned to check your phone, before shooting up.

You had texts from Scott and Stiles, and Lydia, along with a couple of missed calls.

“What? What is it?” Derek asked, moving next to you.

“I need to go,” you said.

“Wait, I’ll come with you,” he nodded.

“No, don't. Just stay here. I’ll see you in a bit,” you began to get out of bed, quickly grabbing a pair of clothes.

“(Y/N),” he started.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, before grabbing your phone and wallet, running out.

---

“Stiles!” you ran into his room, wrapping your arms around him.

“I should've gone with you two! Are you okay?” you asked, immediately scanning him for injuries.

“I’m fine! Melissa isn't letting me go,” he shook his head.

“Why not?” you asked.

Melissa walked in, crossing her arms.

“Brunski hit him in the head repeatedly. He says he’s fine but the doctor ordered more tests and I think he needs to rest,” Melissa explained.

“I’m fine!” he groaned.

“Stiles, sit down and shut up. Listen to her, she’s literally a nurse,” you replied.

“But-”

“No buts,” you flashed your purple eyes at him while he groaned, sitting back on the bed.

You rolled your eyes, before walking out with Melissa.

You put your arms around your stomach, holding in a gag.

“Are you okay?” she put her hand on your shoulder.

“Mhm… what is that smell?” you replied, strained.

“Well, I don’t smell anything that could make you sick,” she shook her head.

You inhaled, before sighing.

“It smells like blood,” you shook your head.

“Well, I mean we are in a hospital,” she laughed softly before patting your back.

“Are you sure you're okay?” she asked again.

“Yeah, I just feel a little sick. But it's nothing too bad,” you said.

She nodded, giving you a look before shaking it off.

“I will text Malia. She could probably get Stiles to stay here for a while,” you explained.

“Where are you gonna go?” she asked.

“I’m going to Deaton’s and then probably to the station, it looks like Kira found Satomi’s pack,” you explained.

“Are you sure you don't want to rest for a little bit?” Melissa asked.

“All of these kids aren't getting any sleep, why would I?” you shrugged.

She sighed, before patting your back softly.

“Stay safe,” you gave her a small hug before making your way to Deaton’s.

---

“I think we should leave now,” Scott replied.

“I still think we should wait for the sun to come up,” you stood in front of him, waiting in the clinic.

“I agree with (Y/N) on this one, we don't know how many hunters and assassins are still out there, and after what happened yesterday, we don’t know who’s safe or who’s not,” Kira nodded her head.

You looked inside, taking a quick look at Satomi, Brett, Lori, and the rest of their pack. They were all gathered, talking in whispers.

“Fine. Did you text Argent yet?” Scott asked.

“I texted him but he hasn’t replied. I’m sure he won’t mind,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, okay. Oh, also, Deaton said he wants to talk to you,” Scott motioned to the room in the back, Deaton’s private office.

You raised an eyebrow, before nodding softly, making your way to his office, knocking softly on the door.

“Come in,” he replied.

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, poking your head in.

“Oh, yes. I’ve gotten about ten texts from a certain someone about you,” he started.

You raised an eyebrow, while he showed you his phone screen.

“Oh my god, he’s crazy,” you muttered, running your fingers through your hair.

“Well, is he wrong?” Deaton asked, leaning on his table.

“I mean… he might not be wrong,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m going to run some tests on you, okay?” he asked.

“What? No, there’s no reason. I feel fine,” you shook your head.

“Well, Derek’s not gonna take no for an answer,” he raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s my body, not his,” you gave a fake smile while Deaton sighed.

“Let me prove that it’s nothing to him, and maybe he’ll leave you alone.”

You groaned, crossing your arms before sighing.

“Okay fine,” you said.

“Good, now follow me.”

---

“Lydia,” she jumped up as you called her name, opening her eyes.

“Did you go home last night?” you asked, taking the seat next to her in the sheriff’s station.

“No, I’m not leaving Meredith here,” she replied.

You peaked inside Sheriff Stilinski’s office, seeing people with equipment talking to her.

“What’s going on now?” you asked.

“Sheriff Stilinski’s trying to get her to talk, but she isn't talking to anyone. He won’t let me talk to her either.”

“Why not?”

“Something with her being unpredictable and whatnot.”

“But… you’re a banshee and she’s a banshee. Don’t you guys like, trust in each other or something?”

“Tell that to him.”

“Yeah, I will.”

She raised an eyebrow as you saw Sheriff Stilinski come out of his office, turning to you and Lydia.

“She refuses to talk to anyone,” he crossed his arms.

“Well, why not let us talk to her?” you asked.

“I already said no to Lydia, don’t make me explain it to you too, (Y/N),” Noah replied in an annoyed tone.

“But Meredith has talked to Lydia before when she wasn't talking to anyone else. And Meredith can't hurt her if someone else is there and she’s protected,” you replied.

Sheriff Stilinski sighed, before shaking his head.

“Forget it. The two of you aren’t going in.”

---

You heard Noah sigh from behind the two of you, while Lydia took a seat across from Meredith.

“You used Brunski, right?” Lydia started.

Meredith continued looking down, away from everyone else.

“You knew he’d killed people and he’d do it again. He used my grandmother’s code for the Deadpool, and he’s the one who put it online,” you continued to look at Meredith, raising your eyebrow slightly as she remained stiff.

“He took the money from the Hale Vault, and then he turned the bearer bonds into cash. He made the payments,” you looked behind to Noah and Parrish, shrugging.

“Did you fake your death because he got you nervous? Because you helped?” she asked.

“I want to help,” Meredith spoke.

“Then do it. Tell us,” Lydia sighed.

“I want to talk to Peter,” you tensed immediately, sitting up before getting out of your chair.

“What?” you asked.

“I want to talk to Peter Hale,” she said again.

You shook your head, pulling Lydia aside.

“How does she know Peter?” you asked softly.

“How am I supposed to know?” Lydia raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re not calling him here,” you scoffed.

“She said she wants to talk to him. What if she doesn't talk to anyone else?” Lydia replied.

“What's so bad about Peter Hale?” Parrish asked while the two of you walked to him and Noah.

“What isn't bad about it? In simple terms, I would rather get stabbed by every single supernatural creature out there, I'd rather die 1,000 times than spend longer than 5 minutes with Peter Hale. He’s evil, he’s cold-hearted, he’s terrible, he’s-” you continued, anger pouring out of you before Lydia stopped you.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Lydia sighed.

You looked back at Meredith, then at the time. You needed to be back at Argent’s hideout by night, and it was already nearly 3. You bit your lip, holding back your frustration before you nodded your head.

“Fine,” you said softly.

“How are we going to find him?” you asked.

“You don’t have his number?” Lydia frowned.

“Why would I? Do you?” you replied.

“He tried to kill me. Of course, I don't have his number!” she scoffed.

“And? Chris tried to kill me too, and I have his number memorized,” you replied.

“When did that happen?” Lydia frowned.

“Oh, it was-”

“Not helpful right now. (Y/N), text Derek or something and find out Peter’s number. Parrish, you can take Meredith to one of the interrogation rooms,” Noah interrupted you.

You sighed, before nodding your head, sending a text to Derek.

---

You bit your nail, looking through the one-way mirror to Peter sitting across from Meredith, and Parrish standing nearby as a guard.

You, Lydia, and Noah continued to watch their interaction.

“I can just have what's left of it,” Peter said, referring to his money.

Meredith reached forward, putting her hand on Peter's face while you saw him tense up.

Don't screw this up, Peter

He grabbed Meredith’s hand, before Parrish pulled out his gun, pointing it at Peter.

“Let her go! Now!” he yelled.

Peter clenched his jaw, before letting go of her hand.

“Your burns. They’re all gone,” your eyes widened, looking at Peter again.

“She does know him.”

---

“Are you two still training?” you asked Braeden, rubbing your neck softly.

“Well, not at the moment,” she replied.

“Okay… how is he doing?” you asked softly.

“He’s pretty weak, if I’m being honest with you,” you ran your fingers through your hair nervously, before pacing around the empty office.

“That's… okay,” you took deep breaths.

“There’s no reason to worry, though. He doesn't go anywhere without you or me. I have my guns, you have your thing. You’re getting really-”

“I know I worry a lot but how can I not?” you cut her off, before sighing.

All that was on your mind was Derek, and it was difficult to focus on anything else.

“Just take a breath. Look, we're gonna get back to training, okay?” she said.

You nodded before rolling your eyes, realizing she couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later,” you hung up the phone, receiving a text from Deaton.

You heard Peter yelling, while you dropped your phone, running back into the interrogation room. Within an instant, Peter pushed Parrish aside, digging his nails into Meredith’s neck.

Shit!

You ran into the room, pulling Parrish back.

“Don’t touch him! He could kill her if something goes wrong,” you warned.

Noah and Parrish both placed their guns back into their pocket before Lydia walked next to Meredith.

“Can you hear her?” you asked.

She shook her head. You ran your fingers through your hair, before walking next to Peter.

“Cogitationes revelare,” your eyes glew purple as you put your hands on Peter’s head, looking into his mind.

“I told her, I warned her. I knew they were planning something and now everyone’s dead!” you heard Peter yelling, seeing Meredith in a hospital bed next to his paralyzed, scorched body.

You could see as Meredith covered her ears, trying to block out Peter’s words, while some form of Peter, possibly his soul, reached out for her, grabbing her hand.

“Talia made the family weak and weaker! We used to be feared, we used to be the Apex predators till Talia turned us into sheep,” he yelled.

“I swear on it… I’ll kill all supernaturals of Beacon Hills, witches, werewolves, wendigoes, all of them. I’ll create my own breed, and we’ll be on top!”

“With the money from the vault. I’ll pay them. Professional assassins, people like The Mute, The Chemist, I’ll even call in the Desert Wolf. When it comes to it, anyone can be corrupted by money.”

You took a step back from Peter, staring at the scene in shock before you felt your head began aching, pushing through more flashbacks.

You saw glimpses of Kate before you tensed up.

“Don’t kill Scott yet. That'll screw up the plan,” you heard him say.

The two of them stood in the sewers, while you clenched your jaw, breaking away from Peter.

You gasped softly, putting your hands on your head as you stumbled back. Your vision blurred, barely making out Lydia rushing to you before you fell out of consciousness.

---

You jumped up, immediately looking around the hospital room.

You exhaled softly, feeling a slight sense of relief as you ran your fingers through your hair.

You turned, about to get out of your bed before Melissa walked into the room.

“Mrs. McCall,” you said.

“It’s good to see you’re awake,” she gave you a small smile.

“Yeah, I feel fine,” you replied.

“Can I leave?” you asked.

“In a minute. Derek’s currently outside, I told him he could come in after I talked to you,” you frowned slightly as she motioned for you to get back in bed.

“I ran a few tests on you while you were asleep, per Deaton’s request. He’s going to be away for some time and sent me a call before,” you could feel slight panic rising in your chest as she stood in front of you.

“You’ve been getting sick, right? How often does it happen?” Melissa asked.

“Not… I mean sometimes in the morning, like right when I wake up, but sometimes it happens when I’m upset, I thought it was stress,” you replied.

“It’s not stress,” she said softly.

Your heart rate quickened, every aspect of Melissa’s words was causing you to worry.

“Am I dying?” you blurted out.

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

“Quite the opposite.”

You gave her a look, before raising an eyebrow.

“What the hell is the opposite of dying?” you asked.

“You really haven't figured it out yet?” she scoffed.

You gave her a confused look once again, before shaking your head. She sighed, crossing her arms.

“You’re pregnant, (Y/N).”

63 notes · View notes

darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU, Pt. 4 (Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.5)

---

The last bell of the day sounds and Peter doesn’t know if he’s thankful or reproachful.

On one hand, no more classes.

On the other: giving up an afternoon of Robotics to spend time with the modern embodiment of the antichrist.

To add insult to injury, it had been one of those long, arduous days that never seemed to end. The hours stretched themselves into impossibly bloated milliseconds as he watched the clock - and it still wasn’t over.

Dread filled him in anticipation of the afternoon and before first period he accidentally smacked himself in the forehead trying to get his locker open. It hurt and he was sure it would bruise. But if he was looking for sympathy, there was none to be found. Bucky and Nat weren’t speaking and in result their friends seemed wary and divided amongst themselves.

It made for a rather awkward day.

His efforts to be neutral ground and to bridge the gap were met with vexation and were brushed off, so he ate lunch alone again in the library Bucky and Nat were fiery and fiercely independent, so not unexpected, but it was in his nature to want to mend the rift.

Ben used to tell him not everything was up to Peter to fix.

Easy for him to say.

Nonetheless he does his best to keep that notion in mind as he goes through the day, but everything seems off kilter. No one is talking to each other, he was so busy and caught up with all of the internal discord and schoolwork that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

And May was acting super weird this morning.

Worry gnawed at him in a way that had him forgetting about eating, whether it was about May and Thursday’s match, about the giant pimple that bloomed on his chin overnight -- or whatever inevitable torment that Stark had cooked up for them this afternoon.

It’s still a few minutes before they’re due to meet but Peter isn’t dragging his feet.

He isn’t.

Sure, the hallways are vacant of any other students.

And maybe he is feeling just a little petty for the time Tony kept him waiting despite his own plea not to -- besides, he still has a couple of minutes before he’s due, he’s not going to turn up early for goodness sake, as much as the part of him that says if you’re not early you’re late begs him to quicken his footsteps.

Maybe he does stretch it to the last minute just to see Tony looking frustrated by his vintage ‘69 Mustang, the line of his mouth unmistakably displeased as the cars in the lot around him gradually disperse.

He knows the moment that Tony notices him, leant against his car, sunglasses slipping down his nose to properly glower at him.

“This is why you’re an asshole,” Tony points a finger at him as he arrives. “I should leave you here.”

“Sorry,” Peter apologises airily, “I was trying to be anywhere but here. I’m not late though, so?”

Tony rounds the car to the drivers side, still pointing at Peter. “Don’t push your luck, Parker. Get in.”

Snickering quietly to himself, Peter heads to the other side.

The engine growls loudly, a deep rumbling that goes through Peter’s entire body. Buckling himself in quickly, he peers around curiously while Tony reverses out of the lot. He’s reluctantly surprised. For an old car that belongs to a teenager behind at least two school fires it’s in impeccable condition.

“Nice car,” he says quietly, mostly to himself as his gaze roams the interior with interest.

It’s difficult to associate Tony Stark with the words nice or neat even, but that’s exactly what the car is. The interior is unscuffed, squeaky clean, the leather seats are comfortable, not a sprinkle of cigarette ash to be seen.

It really is spectacular - when the engine roars and the seats vibrate under him, Peter gets a sense of wonder and curiosity, like that one time he fell in love with DeLoreans after watching Back To The Future with Ben.

Curious, he opens the glove compartment and finds a generous stash of snacks and chocolate bars inside.

“Don’t touch anything,” Tony scowls, smacking Peter’s hands from the dash. “That’s rule number one. The interior is original and my girl is sensitive to your residue.”

Residue, he scoffs, tempted to reach out and touch more just to be contrarian.

“You got a sweet tooth or somethin’?” Peter asks instead, gesturing to the glove compartment.

“No.”

“Can I have some?”

“No.”

“Are you gonna say anything else to me on this trip?”

“No,” Tony smiles sardonically, turning up the radio louder until the riffs of Queen’s Somebody To Love drown them both out.

True to his word, Tony remains silent over the course of the drive. It suits Peter fine, it’s not a quiet that is uncomfortable or awkward, not with the radio playing loudly from an oldies station, the wind whistling through the windows and the echoes of traffic around them.

He thought it might be a stiff and uncomfortable drive, however the longer nothing goes unsaid between them, the more Peter feels himself relax in his chair, warmed by the heater and his limbs loosening until they feel boneless after the day he’s had.

And to his credit, Tony doesn’t appear overly tense or uneasy in having Peter in his space - in fact, he looks as chilled out as Peter has ever seen him.

The perpetual strain around his jaw and shoulders seems eased, his posture open and casual as he drives with one hand, shifting gears with the other, sometimes tapping out a tune on the steering wheel. And whenever a song he particularly likes comes on the radio he turns up the volume, and if Peter looks over at the right moment he sees him smile privately to himself, a pleased little quirk of his lips.

Sometimes Tony speeds and puts his fingers out the window to card them through the wind, and his smile grows.

Although the amicable vibe has little to do with him, it’s probably the first time that they’ve spent more than five minutes together without hurling insults at each other.

It’s weird.

Too wary of shattering the peace, Peter doesn’t mention it.

By the time they’re on the Queensboro Bridge the Eurythmics are playing one of May’s favorite songs. Without realising he’s doing it, he’s bobbing his head along to the tune, whispering the words under his breath, suddenly reminded of dancing in the kitchen with her and Ben, nine years old, using wooden spoons as microphones.

He’s smiling before he can stop himself, head tilted back against the seat, eyes unfocused on the skyline. It smells like Tony’s cologne and engine oil, like being enveloped in an old memory. He can see Tony looking at him from the corner of his eye but neither of them say anything.

The volume is turned up.

---

They arrive at the realtor with just minutes to spare before their appointment is due to commence.

The traffic had built incrementally during the drive to Long Island City, the roads becoming more congested as they went. The tension in Tony’s shoulders returned as the minutes ticked closer to four-thirty, his tapping on the steering wheel out of impatience rather than good-cheer.

Peter actually does feel a little bad now.

Not that the five minutes he could’ve spared would have made much of a difference, but still, guilt whispers vehemently.

It’s for that reason that he politely doesn’t say anything that could be perceived as inflammatory when Tony pockets his sunglasses and buttons up his dress shirt, checking his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Even if he’s dying to tell him that he looks like a damn nerd.

Not that he can talk.

Heeding Tony’s words, he’d dressed similarly in his okay-est pair of jeans, a clean shirt and a cardigan. In class, MJ laughed and told him he looked like Napoleon Dynamite.

They head in, a bell above the door signalling their arrival. It’s a chain realtor, not the one they rent their apartment through, but Peter thinks there is an office right near his building. Inside, a middle-aged woman at the front desk greets them.

“Uh... we have an appointment with Kate Price” Tony gestures between them. “Appointment for Tony Stark?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman apologises in a heavily Welsh accent, “you should have gotten a notification, she’s unwell and taken the day off.”

“Oh, um --”

“That’s okay though, I’m free, I can help you if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?” Peter queries, sharing a look with Tony who appears just as uncertain. “We’d really appreciate it.”

“Absolutely. It’s quiet anyhow. Come,” she beckons them down a narrow hallway to a set of cubicles and L-shaped desks. There doesn’t seem to be anybody else in the office, he notes, as the two are directed to sit before a desk while the woman types away at a computer.

“I’m Miranda,” she introduces herself, holding out her hand for both of them to shake. “The appointment notes say you’re after a nearby rental?”

“Sort of, we’re just looking at some pricing. Nothing serious, we just need to take some notes, get a feel for it.”

Miranda’s glasses slide down her nose as she observes them.

“You’re a wee bit young to be moving out of home, aren’t you?”

“Oh! No,” Peter stutters, waving his hands, “we’re not actually --”

Miranda waves at him dismissively.

“Not that I can judge. My husband and I were living together and married by nineteen, ‘course he’s dead now. We had a good run though. Anyway, good for you. Young love, it’s so sweet.”

“Young what,” Peter says.

Miranda, typing away cheerily at her computer, clearly didn’t get the memo about the school project like Kate must have.

Peter turns to Tony, who is just as wide-eyed as he is.

What the fuck, he mouths, slinking down in his chair.

I don’t know, Tony mouths back, stupefied.

“So, what are we thinking - a studio if it’s just the two of you? Something cozy?”

“Uh, well, we’re looking to grow,” Tony says, hand slapped over his mouth. He shares a bewildered, wide-eyed stare with Peter.

“Right, well, nothing wrong with knowing what you want. What’s the budget? Let me see what I can find for you.”

“Ah,” Peter shifts in his seat, trying to communicate wordlessly with Tony as their research angle quickly becomes derailed.

He tries to communicate the need for an urgent exit in a stare that he hopes is prolonged and meaningful, but is only met with equally panicked blinking from the other boy. There’s a moment spent blinking undecipherable messages at each other and before he knows it the silence has stretched on far too long.

“Well, we were thinking sixteen-hundred a month. Right... Tony?”

“Right,” he nods slowly, eyes darting between the two. “Single income, see. Parker - uh, Peter is still in school.”

“Oh, bless,” she says spiritedly, typing away at her keyboard. “It’s not easy, I know, been there. What do you do for work, young man?”

“Me?” Tony asks, gesturing to himself, shooting Peter a desperate look. “I’m... a mechanic...apprentice.”

Peter has to disguise his snort with a cough, the horse so far out of the gate there is no catching up to it.

“Good for you, darling,” she says distractedly as she busies herself with the monitor, missing the heated glare Tony sends him. “Let’s see, might be tight, but we may have something for you. One bed, one bath, a living room that can be converted to a second bedroom.”

“Great,” Peter nods hesitantly. “Where?”

“Across the street, actually,” she swivels the monitor on its stand to show them a set of blurry photos of a small apartment. “And it’s currently vacant - we can do an inspection right now, if you’d like?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“One moment,” Tony smiles at her, holding up a finger.

There’s a screech as Tony pulls Peter’s chair across the linoleum with a single hand.

“This is getting out of hand,” Peter whisper-hisses, ducking his head.

“I know, I know, I know,” Tony squeezes his eyes shut, making placating motions with his hands that do little to appease Peter’s rising apprehension. “It’s alright, it’s under control. Listen, hear me out, we go to the inspection, have a look at the place --”

“You can’t be serious, dude, we’re sixteen.”

“We’re not going to actually fill out an application, numbnuts, listen; we go, we take some pictures, get some details about the property, add it to our report and bam, who needs a reference? Think about it! Who else is going to have this level of detail in their report?”

“I’m not exactly sure this is what Miss Ahn meant by field research.”

Tony pokes him in the forehead.

“Think outside the box, precious. Rise above the urge to do the bare minimum and we might just get a good grade.”

Peter sneaks a glance at Miranda. “Fine,” he pokes Tony back in the chest. “But you do all the talking, smartass.”

“Fine with me.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Tony turns back to Miranda and offers her a charming smile.

“We’d love to. Lead the way.”

---

They door sticks when Miranda turns the key into the dead-lock.

She struggles with it momentarily, smiling assuredly at the two boys as she twists the doorknob back and forth, pressing her shoulder against the peeling wood, forcing it open with a bang.

“Here we are,” Miranda announces brightly.

The two follow her inside, sharing a reluctant look with each other as she leads them into what must be a living room, the click-clack of her heels echoing off the scuffed floorboards and bare walls.

The first thing that Peter notices is that the room, while void of furniture, seems impossibly small, even by New York standards.

With the three of them spread thinly throughout it, there are but a few inches of space between them. Barely any room for a couple of armchairs, let alone a full sofa or a coffee table.

At a glance, he takes stock of the cracks in the ceiling, the discoloured patches in the plaster and the splintered wood of the front door frame where it appears it has been forced open from the outside. The chain-lock is broken.

Tony is over by the far corner, wiping a finger through a layer of dust on the window sill.

There’s a loud bang from upstairs.

“So, this is the living area,” Miranda says with a flourish of her wrists. “And if you follow me, this down here,” she leads them around the corner, “is the kitchen.”

The kitchen is comprised of a small formica bench, a stained backsplash and several cupboards missing their handles.

While Miranda continues to point out and inform them all of the ‘cosy’ and ‘quaint’ features, Tony slips his phone from his pocket and with a nod of acceptance, lingers back a few steps to take photographs of the apartment.

While he’s doing so, Peter busies himself by inspecting the kitchen, toying with the dials of the oven and the two-burner stove top, testing the swing of the cupboard doors.

Inside one of them is a dirty tea-cup and a dead cockroach.

“-- and as you can see, plenty of room for a dining table, maybe you might like to have friends over --”

He follows them into the bathroom, which is just as compact as the rest of the apartment. He tests the faucet, noting that the tiles are cracked, as is the bathtub.

Most worryingly are the speckled spots of black spores along the higher walls and the ceiling.

“-- it’s a big old tub, plenty of room,” she pats Tony on the stomach, “could fit two in a squeeze if you suck it in, aye? Now, this way please boys, let me show you the pièce de résistance --”

Tony guards his stomach with his hands, pouting as Miranda leads them to the adjacent room.

“This is the main bedroom,” she beams, flicking on the light. “Perfect, isn’t it?”

The two young men stall in the doorway, peering inside.

The space, probably equipped to handle a solitary king-single and a drawer at best, isn’t particularly generous by any means. The flickering bright yellow globe seems to only highlight the blistering wallpaper and the suspiciously stained carpet.

It smells like weed and cat pee.

“So as you can see, plenty of privacy for you two, the living room can be converted into a second bedroom if need be -- or if one of you needs to sleep on the couch,” she winks at them.

“Right,” Tony says slowly, nudging the other with his elbow. “What do you think...honey?”

“I don’t know, dear,” Peter says, elbowing him back. “What do you think?”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

“Bless,” Miranda cuts in, leaning on the doorframe while she observes them. “You’re just adorable, you must be high-school sweethearts.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“...Y-Yes,” Tony says after a moment, voice croaky. His hand snakes out to awkwardly pat Peter on the shoulder. “...we are.”

“So, what do you think?”

“About him?” Tony points to Peter.

“About the apartment,” she laughs. “What do you think, do you like it?”

“Oh, um, I have a few questions actually,” Peter mentions, following them back into the kitchen area, ignoring the odd look that Tony sends him. “If that’s okay?”

What are you doing, Tony mouths, back turned to the realtor as he clears his throat.

Peter holds a finger up to request a minute. There’s a struggle to each convey their message silently, however, Tony reluctantly concedes, spreading his hands wide in a theatrical approval to proceed.

He paces the room, shuffling at the bubbling linoleum that he’d narrowly tripped on coming in, bending down to inspect it.

“Do you know how long the apartment’s been vacant?” He directs his question to the realtor.

“Oh, not long,” she replies vaguely, flipping through her file. “Couple of days or weeks, I think. I’d have to check.”

Peter nods, glancing between the three, standing.

“Umm, I noticed that the oven doesn’t heat up. I thought that maybe the gas was turned off but the stove works? Also, um, in the living room there’s a section of floorboard that’s rotting with because there’s a water leak from the ceiling?”

Miranda’s smile freezes. “Oh, is there? That must be new.”

Peter wrings his hands together, glancing at Tony, stomach swooping at his own boldness. “And, uh, I noticed that the windows stick; the water pressure is funny, too?”

“I can get that checked --”

“There’s black mold in some of the rooms. I think because there isn’t temperature control, the windows are west-facing, so it must get pretty humid in the summer.”

Peter looks to the other boy in what he hopes seems heartfelt. “I don’t mind, I only mention it because Tony’s... well, he’s got asthma.”

Tony coughs, catching on.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Miranda’s posture crumples at that, her professional veneer instantly wiped from her face.

“You’re right, this place is a dump,” she admits, kicking at the floor, spreading her arms out wide. “Look at it, it’s vile. I wouldn’t let my wretched old mother-in-law live here, the old bag. I’m sorry, boys.”

“Well, actually,” Peter says, gesturing between himself and Tony, stepping closer to him. “We’d be happy to do all the repairs and look the other way about the safety violations if there’s any wriggle room on the rent?”

Miranda flicks through the papers she’s holding, adjusting her glasses as she reads through it. The adjacent neighbors can be heard yelling through the thin walls.

“We do have a margin to drop it from sixteen-fifty to... fifteen-hundred a month for the right tenants. Not going to lie, the landlord is pretty desperate. Would you like an application?”

Tony clamps his hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing it. “We’ll think about it. Could we get all of those terms in writing, pretty please?”

Peter grins.

---

“I can’t tell if that was genius or crazy,” Tony says after they’ve departed ways with Miranda, headed back towards the Mustang on the other side of the road. “Seriously can’t say I expected that.”

The pair jog across the road once there is a gap in traffic.

After Ben passed, Peter and May moved twice. As a young child Peter saw another apartment as just that - another place to set down his duffle of second-hand clothes and thrift store toys. But May was smart. Savvy. She calls it the Parker Discount.

Peter shrugs when they reach the car.

“Well, just because our report is meant to focus on budget against costs, doesn’t mean we can’t find ways to save money and maximise it. Not when you consider insurance, bills, food. It all adds up.”

“I’m still trying to pick my jaw up from the floor. Didn’t know you had that in you, Parker.”

“Yeah well, you don’t know anything about me,” Peter says to the ground, kicking at the pavement, “so.”

He tries not to squirm under the weight of Tony’s considering gaze, like a vice tight on the back of his neck. He feels the moment something shifts, as if a pin pricks the wall between them, easier to breathe.

“Look, whatever you think about me, I don’t care, but you probably couldn’t find a better partner for this project. I know more about this than you do.”

“Alright, no need to crow about it, I just said I was impressed. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Peter’s stomach growls loudly over the evening traffic before he can respond.

“Sorry,” he says, cursing the timing of his body, “haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

Tony nods to a diner across the road.

“You wanna?”

“Oh,” he objects, worried about his bone-dry bank balance, “I’m not --”

“C’mon, dickweed, my treat. Don’t leave a guy hanging, it’s not polite.”

Tony waits patiently, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s sure it’s a look that many have fallen for. A crooked, wry smile and a self-confident air that one might confuse between charm and indolence.

He feels out of his depth for once, and isn’t sure if he likes it. But his stomach growls again and he’s got nothing to lose except for his appetite.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Sure.”

---

It’s the most surreal experience he’s ever had.

He pinches himself to believe that it’s real, that he’s dining out on a Tuesday evening in the boroughs with Tony Stark. The same guy he thought might murder him just last week.

He’s still not so sure that’s out of the question, to be honest. It would be the most normal thing about this entire day.

The silence is definitely awkward this time, sat at a table outside under a weather-protective canvass while they wait for their meal. A woman with a large doberman sits nearby, giving them odd looks every so often as she speaks loudly on her phone.

Peter’s nursing a giant glass of cola. The only sounds between them since they ordered have been the clinking of ice cubes from his glass and the sound of bubbles as he blew through the straw for a lack of better things to do.

From the daggers he’s getting from Tony, he’d wage that he’s annoying him - hence the probable murder - but he’s spared by their waitress returning with their meals.

A truly monstrous pile of fries is placed before Tony, along with a burger, a sundae and a milkshake. He takes off his dress shirt to reveal a black undershirt, as if in preparation to sweat through the meal.

Big meal for a big mouth, Peter thinks, as his own BLT is set before him.

It’s weird.

Tony is weird.

This whole damn thing is weird.

“Don’t you think this is weird?” he asks, idly picking a seed from his crust and nibbling on it.

“Yeah,” Tony sighs.

“I don’t like it.”

“Me neither. What was I thinking?”

“Dunno,” Peter says.

It’s quiet again after that. And it’s weird. Sitting down with over a civil meal with Stark or any of his cohorts wasn’t particularly on his bucket list for junior year, but here he was, picking at his crusts, dying to pee.

Tony takes three fries from the pile and dips them into his sundae, then the milkshake before eating them.

“Dude, gross.”

Tony looks at him oddly. “Uh, no it’s not. Have you never dipped your fries in ice cream before?”

“Is that a metaphor for sex?”

“What? No, you weirdo,” Tony shakes his head. “Are you serious? You’ve never -- god, that explains everything,” he slides his fries across the table a few inches. “Though it truly nauseates me to share with you, I can’t let this stand. Try it.”

“Ew, not after you’ve touched them --”

Tony slides his milkshake closer.

“Try it, butthole. You won’t totally hate it, promise. Well, you might, but if you do it’s just gonna confirm that your taste is garbage, which is what I already think about you. Anyway. C’mon, try it.”

Peter, while staring at Tony, begrudgingly accepting a fry from the peak of the pile and scooping it in ice cream from Tony’s sundae.

He waits for the moment the combination of textures will make his stomach turn while he hesitantly chews, but instead is pleasantly surprised that the sweet salty flavours compliment one another so well.

“Not the worst, is it?” Tony grins knowingly, placing another fry in his mouth in the same manner. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s good. Say it. I’m right.”

“It’s alright,” Peter says, stealing another fry to make sure. “Don’t let it go to your already inflated cranium.”

The self-satisfied smirk on Tony’s lips tells him it already has.

Quiet fills the space between them again, more charged than before in a manner that Peter can’t really describe. Like as if there was a soft buzz in the air, like he would get be struck with static electricity were he to touch it.

Not keen on getting stung, he continues eating his sandwich.

Tony on the other hand, has other ideas.

“So, Peter Parker, now that I know you’re not a total dumbass, tell me this,” he takes a deep breath, his expression grim, “ -- do you wear glasses for the aesthetic or what?”

Peter stares at him.

“C’mon. Are you aiming for nerd chic? You shouldn’t, it’s very 2012.”

“Dude, no. I know glasses are like a thing or whatever but I actually do need them to see. I’m like, blind as fuck.”

“How blind is blind as fuck?”

“Pretty blind.”

He takes off his glasses and twirls a finger in the direction the smudge of colour that he assumes is Tony.

“Can’t see you, like at all,” he squints. “You’re just a blur. Which is the best you’ve ever looked.”

Tony takes the glasses from his outstretched hand, and he has a hysterical moment where he thinks that Tony might go so low as to steal them, but is quickly realizes he’s just trying them on. He whistles before handing them back to Peter.

“Yup, those are prescription alright. The fuck? Why don’t you wear contacts?”

Peter shrugs, slipping his glasses back on. Stark comes back in perfect clarity.

“They’re super expensive,” he’s alright with admitting to Tony at this point. “I have some I use for matches, or for special occasions, but I dunno, I’m used to glasses.”

“Do you have to clean them all the time?”

“Yes.”

In fact, there’s smudge from where Tony has inadvertently touched the lens.

“Have you ever stepped on your glasses accidentally?”

“Yep.”

He’s done it more than once but he’ll never forget the first time, how upset he was in the moment or how he fruitlessly tried to hide his face from Ben and May so they wouldn’t see the cracks in the lenses. He cried when they found out.

That first time was just weeks after his parents had died, and he’d already been laden with thoughts of being a bother and a financial burden on the couple. They never stopped trying to prove that he wasn’t a hardship to care for. Sometimes, on mornings like the one he had, he still can’t help but wonder how much better off they might have been without him.

They eat in contemplative silence afterwards. While he finishes his sandwich he watches as Tony surreptitiously feeds his fries to the doberman under the table, unbeknownst to the owner. He has to eat quickly to conceal the smile taking over his lips when the dog slowly shuffles closer to their table with purpose, looking at Tony with big, soulful eyes.

Once he’s finished eating and there’s nothing left to hide his amusement, he resumes their conversation.

Clearing his throat, he points towards the Mustang once he has Tony’s attention. “Okay, your turn. What’s with the deal with the old girl?”

"My car?”

"Yeah. Explain the whole greaser vibe.”

The other boy is quiet for a moment, his gaze searching Petter contemplatively, a napkin being twisted between his hands.

“She was a hunk’a junk when I bought her, mostly scrap metal. I bought all the spare parts and got her up to scratch. I dunno, I just like cars, tinkering with them or whatever.”

“You restored her by yourself?” Peter asks, reluctantly impressed.

He looks at the car again, trying to picture it.

It wasn’t hard to imagine Tony Stark getting his hands dirty, being the prized pig that he was, but having the wherewithal and competence to rebuild a vintage vehicle at sixteen? It would explain the whole Danny Zuko, T-Bird look, but with his bank balance, he could have easily bought a Mustang in mint condition without having to lift a finger. It would explain the streaks of oil from the other day.

Tony shrugs, twisting a napkin between his hands.

“Sorta. Anyway, quit your judging, four-eyes.”

“Not judging,” Peter holds his hands up in innocence. “I just didn’t expect that about you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m exceptional, I know.”

"That’s not the word I would use,” Peter allows. “But you’re not the worst.”

A flash of surprise briefly crosses the other boys face before it disappears.

“High praise,” he says wryly, resting his chin on his hand. He looks Peter up and down slowly, his big, curious eyes made warm by the dying sunlight.

“I’m as shocked as you are.”

“...You’re not the worst either, I guess,” Tony sighs like it pains him to admit it. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we could never be friends -”

“Definitely not -”

“ - but you’re not completely intolerable. God, never thought I’d say that. Maybe I’m growing as a person.”

“Am I still a neanderthal?”

Sipping his milkshake through the straw, Tony raises his shoulders half-heartedly.

Peter kicks his foot from under the table, unwilling to take that for an answer, even if Tony kicks him back, his eyes flicking upwards briefly, his smile almost bashful. In the dying light of the sunset he almost looks soft; approachable.

“Probably shouldn’t have called you that, huh.”

“Probably not. Is that an apology?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t push it, Parker. I’m just saying you’re not completely abhorrent. Who knew.”

“I knew. I just don’t know why you’ve always hated me so much.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out small and quiet, but he can’t take it back once the words have left his mouth.

It starts to rain.

“Sorry,” Peter says, louder to be heard over the droplets hitting the overhead umbrella heavily, immediately feeling stupid. “I shouldn’t have -- it’s not a big deal. I mean, I really don’t like you either.”

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

Both boys turn towards the waitress who’s approached their table, lined-lips smiling down at them, a notepad in her hand.

Tony throws a fifty down on the table and stands and Peter follows suit.

“Nah,” he says, cocking his head to the door. “We’re good.”

---

“See you back at school?” Peter yells to be heard over the rain, back on the sidewalk.

“I’ll drive you back,” Tony yells back, wet hair clinging to his face.

“What?” Peter cups a hand over his ear.

“What?” Tony does the same. “I said I’ll give you a lift!”

“The station isn’t far,” he points. “I can walk!”

“Don’t make me look like an asshole! Get in, princess!”

With the rain pelting his thin shirt and thunder cracking angrily from above, he doesn’t spend his energy arguing. He gets in.

---

The short drive back is amicable, music muted, the pitter-patter of the easing rain filling the ever-growing comfortable silence between them.

With the heater going it doesn’t take long to dry off and restore the feeling back to his fingers. Heat beats from the vents beating pleasantly and along with being sated from the meal, Peter feels like he could nod off at any moment. He has to keep snapping his eyes open, although it’s difficult to adjust his focus as the sunset bleeds into a ruddy orange on the wet windshield, the lights from the cars blurring into bright long streaks of colour.

"You’re not a total lost cause, Tony admits, slowing as they near his apartment block. It’s the first time either of them has spoken since starting the drive back. “Look, maybe it’s the fact that your face looks like a puckered asshole when you speak, I don’t know. There’s just something about you that really rubs me the wrong way."

Peter cringes as they come to a stop outside his building.

"I don't want to rub you in any way."

"And yep, here comes the mental image,” Tony’s nose scrunches, like an infant that just ate something sour. “Gross. Thanks, Parker.”

“Welcome.”

He unbuckles himself and opens the door, hesitating for a second while the moment settles between them.

“Thanks for the grub and the ride, I guess. Text me when you get the paperwork from Miranda?”

“Aye, aye,” Tony mock salutes him. “Now get out of my car.”

Peter complies, giving him the finger by way of goodbye.

Once the car merges and disappears into the traffic, he grins down at his hands, cheeks going warm.

It’s the thrall of finally feeling on equal-footing, he reasons, as he takes the step back up to his apartment. That’s what it is. His stomach is inexplicably still squirming as he enters ascends the floors, going over the day in his head until he arrives at his door.

It smells like tikka masala and too much ginger when he enters. He sets his backpack by the door, placing his keys on a nearby hook.

May greets him with a sway of her spatula, sauce hitting the splashback with the motion.

“Hey bubby,” she says, gripping his shoulder as he nears and kissing his cheek.

Upon closer inspection, he finds that the kitchen is sparking clean. The floors have been mopped, the grout between the tiling is without a speck of dirt and there are faint notes of harsh disinfectant below the smell of spices.

“Oh wow,” Peter says, looking down at the chicken and bean assortment. The rice on the burner looks soggy and overcooked. “That looks great. How was work?”

She gestures vaguely but doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You hungry?”

It’s the same weird behaviour from this morning and he doesn’t have the heart to say that he’s already eaten.

Instead, he collects the cutlery and napkins, takes a stack of bowls and helps her plate up.

“Dancing With The Stars?” he asks, tilting his head towards the living room. He hip-checks her when she doesn’t reply. “C’mon, you’re not going to let me eat all alone, are ya? Tony says ‘hi’, by the way.”

He doesn’t know why he adds that last part, recalling the exchange rom the other day, but it’s worth it to see her smile.

“Alright,” she nods, scooping rice into the bowls. “How is Tony?”

Everything that happened that day bleeds away, unimportant, insignificant.

“He’s alright, I guess.”

---

May falls asleep on the sofa hours later.

He doesn’t want to move her, as exhausted as she is, so he covers her with an old blanket and removes the glasses from her face, placing them on the coffee table. He cleans up as quietly as he can and places her phone on charge in the living room.

On his way to bed he checks his phone for the time. Both Bucky and Tony have sent him text messages, the latter with the awaited paperwork.

Ben would be proud of him, he thinks, smiling as he reads through some of it, saving the rest of it until he’s more alert.

Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible end to the day after all.

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar

#starker #starker fic #tony stark x peter parker #high school au #enemies to lovers

293 notes · View notes

id-rather-be-an-outsider · 3 years

Text

Parkson Mystery

Kate Denson x Jake Park

word count: 1,457

summary: none of Kate’s fans know how she met him. she was single one day, and had him all over her feed the next. they tried digging into his past and discovered he was working on Wall Street, until his digital footprint all but vanished, only again popping up on the internet’s radar when the songbird he spent so much time around made their relationship public. this is the true story of how america’s sweetheart and the mystery mogul first met... and then some.

a/n: I had so much fun writing this! this story was originally posted on the DBD Amino. imma be completely honest w u, I have NOT been a fan of Kate. I like using Boil Over when in swf and I enjoy the Horse Gorl™️ vibes but like. idk. ANYWAYS. as I wrote this story I actually made a bunch of personal headcanons and can now say, Parkson is an official ship for me! I can totally vibe w the dynamic they have in my head <3

masterlist

Jake Park wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d picked up a taste for country music after having an existential crisis; in fact, he wasn’t even ashamed to admit he’d become an avid fan of Kate Denson - not a stan, though. Sure, he followed her on his private Instagram, but that wasn’t to lurk on her sexy photoshoot pictures, it was just to keep track of release dates for her albums. Granted, it never is hard to admit things when you don’t have friends to admit them to in the first place.

Every now and then he’d wonder if he should stop being such a stiff and just call one of his old work buddies for a steak dinner, but a quick scroll through their text history would remind him why he left the world of Wall Street behind to begin with. Materialism pales in comparison to the simple things in life, he’d tell himself. His baser instincts had always told him life wasn’t meant to be complicated, which is why he shoved those instincts down for years.

But Kate’s music - the songs of America’s sweetheart - reminded him of what an uncomplicated life was. Hard, rewarding work all day, and well-deserved rest at night. So much more peaceful than the never-ending rat race of the big city. Her music spoke to his soul in ways nothing ever had before, calmed his spirit. It made him realize how lost he was. So, he ditched the concrete jungle in favor of the real deal. Now all he ever dreamed of was thanking the young star who set him on fire again, giving him a new lease on life.

When he heard she was touring in his city, he felt excitement seeping into his very essence. Finally, the chance he’d been hoping for. He supposed she would be bashful, tell him he did more to turn his life around than she did. She gave off that vibe, at least. But Jake knew the truth, and he hoped he might find a kindred spirit in her. He pulled out an old business suit, perfect for a rare night on the town, brought his expensive car out of the garage acting as its tomb, and purchased a VIP ticket.

He was the last person in line. When he got to the front, he was almost speechless at the sight of her - almost. He managed to get out, “Miss Denson, your music saved my life.” The star laughed shyly, like she was used to a different kind of person saying those words to her. Probably fourteen, wearing braces, just having gone through their emo phase before getting back in touch with their roots. All the kids go through them these days, after all. Even a little cousin of Jake’s did a few years back. While he pondered this, he couldn’t help but also ponder how her laugh sounded like wind chimes. How is it that musicians always sound so magical?

As Jake mused, Kate said something he couldn’t quite hear and began to walk away with her security detail, agent in tow. “Wait!” He called out, and she turned back to face him. He could tell her agent was thinking he was just a crazed country boy super fan. “What if I told you that your music is the reason why I walked away from Wall Street?”

Kate smiled, a little confused. “I’d say that explains the accent. What’s your name, mister...?”

“Park. Jake Park, to be exact, but you can call me Jake, if you’d like.”

She laughed again, this time with confidence unlike before, demeanor changing from wary to businesslike. Or... something else. Jake couldn’t quite place it. “Well, Jake, I have a burning question for you: Why would my music make you give up a career like that?” She broke away from her entourage to come closer.

“We could discuss it over dinner, if you’d like?” Jake offered, the old swagger from his uptown days making a guest appearance. Sure, he wasn’t working numbers under uppity snobs to get a bigger Christmas bonus anymore, but he still knew how to play poker. If Kate’s eyes were of any indication, his gut told him he may have just been dealt a winning hand.

Kate accepted before her agent could intervene or protest, his eyes turning into slits. Probably worried Jake’s background with money and marketing could put him out of a job. Maybe he was right. “I’d love to get to know my most interesting fan. Might as well put that Wall Street money to use, huh?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

Since that day, their relationship as business partners, friends, and eventually more, blossomed. Kate dropped her greedy agent and management team for the generous man who became her best friend. Jake used his book smarts and savvy money skills to help lower Kate’s touring costs, made her performances more accessible to *all* of her fans, and helped her rake in extra profits from her music releases *and* with cheaper marketing. She spent less time in the studio and more time with him on their back porch as he sat and listened to her beautiful creations.

Truth be told, meeting Jake helped save Kate. Her old team had been stripping the life from her creativity, pushing for numbers rather than quality content. Having Jake work with her personally made everything so... simple. Working from home when making music, waking up to the sun dappling her skin through the the leaves of the trees, feeling the breeze on her face and his kisses on her fingers - it put the inspiration back into her music.

Her fans seemed to notice too, and they seemed to get a kick out of her sharing more about her life online, making theories about their relationship. Jake and Kate would scroll through the subreddit comments and laugh at the crazy ideas everyone had. Jake hadn’t laughed like that with someone in a long time. He hadn’t had a sense of humor in a long time, either.

When his family came calling, lecturing him about dropping his old career and this and that, he invited them over for dinner... and showed them that his and Kate’s retirement funds were already completed when she wasn’t looking. Their qualms ended after seeing the financial security they had, and seeing how calm Jake’s home life was. Sure, it was a strange change, but for once, Jake was happy, and seemed fulfilled. They didn’t always understand everything, but they understood enough.

Eventually, they visited Jake’s family in Korea, had their quiet wedding, nothing crazy, just something for family and close friends and nice rings, and did some remodeling with their own bare hands to create a cute nursery, complete with musical instruments and stuffed animals. When the delivery date came, Jake was a mess. He knew his wife would handle it like a champ, but his nerves were still through the roof. The labor came and went easily, and they came home with a beautiful baby girl.

“What are you going to call her?” Kate’s mother cooed as she obsessed over the newborn.

“Jake was thinking Yu-Hwa, and I was thinking Grace. He said I could have the first name if he had the middle name.” Kate mused. Jake was outside working on building a playground for their daughter. He’d insisted on getting an early start, arguing that his mother said time flies when raising a baby, no matter that their child was only a week old.

“Grace sounds beautiful. It matches your names, too. Oh, I’m going to have *so* much fun spoiling this little girl!” The new grandmother whisper-squealed, not wanting to wake the baby. “When are you going to have more?”

Kate laughed. “I told you mom, we just want the one.”

“For now.”

“For *forever,* mom.”

“What’s this about another child?” Jake asked, announcing his presence.

“Just Grama Denson getting a bit too ahead of herself.” Kate rolled her eyes.

Jake casually wrapped his arms around Kate, planting a kiss on her forehead before heading to the fridge to steal some lemonade. “I mean, between you and me, eomma, I wouldn’t mind making another baby, long as they keep turning out this cute.”

Kate gave him a quick flick to the forehead before he could dodge it. “Stop conspiring against me with my mother, sir. It takes two to tango.”

When the playground was finished, Kate did, in fact, gain another baby bump, watching happily as her husband helped their first waddler play outside. Grace Yu-Hwa Park and Dae-Hwan Lee Park, DaeDae for short, were lucky enough to have the best dad, Kate thought. Jake looked up at her, glowing in spite of the autumn cold, and thought the same thing.

separator images found here

#outsider writes #dead by daylight #kate denson #jake park #parkson #jake x kate #kate x jake #jake park x kate denson #kate denson x jake park #fluff #dbd #dbd fanfic #dbd moodboard

2 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 4 years

Text

The Line between Respectful and Stupid - Pt.5

Keep Calm and Stay Professional

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 2180

Warnings: swearing, Steve being a dumbass

Summary: Meeting reality can be a bit harsh, Steve turns out to be as much of an ass as everyone was saying and Natasha Romanoff might deserve a life promotion.

Story Masterlist

The way back to SHIELD headquarters was silent as was the taking off. Three agents identified themselves, arriving in three different cars; you two rode in the middle one when coming to the closest private airport. During the flight, no one uttered a word – it was like Steve had no idea what to say now and you had no idea what you were allowed to say. So silence it was; and it was far from the comfortable one you were in after he had found you sleeping by his bedside.

You arrived back at Triskelion; you parted ways with a quiet nod, because hand-shake might be painful for you.

On medical, the doctor on duty was praising the lovely stitches you had, looking honestly shocked when you told her they were Steve’s – Captain America’s. You called him his rank, because you knew where your place was and since you were back to reality, Steve seemed to realize it too. ‘Common sense’ met ‘SHIELD training of agents (over)respecting their superiors’ and this was the result.

Life went on. You returned to paper-pushing, because you had been hurt on the mission and you definitely couldn’t go back to the field since you weren’t even able to fire your gun correctly or do extensive exercise. Life went on and it was… boring and grey. The only highlight was Harry smacking your uninjured arm with a worried-slash-playful hiss of ‘I told you NOT to get shot.’ His concern was heart-warming.

It had been a week. With a little help of lady fortune, you had met Steve Rogers – correction, Captain America, Sir – three times.

The first time, he was with an agent you didn’t recognize. Yet, you couldn’t help but smile when seeing him. Your “Morning, Captain Rogers. Morning, Agent,” (because your ma’ raised you right) was almost enthusiastic, yet kept professional. The agent responded with the same greeting. Steve… gave an inconspicuous nod. You could feel your stomach drop, but tried not to read too much into it.

The second time though, he was alone. You greeted him the same way, except it was the afternoon. And Captain Rogers responded with a silent stiff nod only. Again.

The third time you saw him in your way, you honestly wanted to take another route to your office space just to avoid him. But you could tell that his companion spotted you even when they were talking business or whatever; it would look bad if you suddenly spun on your heels in the middle of the corridor and disappeared. So, you decided to be a big girl who wasn’t hurt by Captain’s indifference towards her and continued walking with a lump growing in your throat.

Your heart was practically jumping ahead of the rest of your body – that was how fast it was beating. You hoped it didn’t show.

“Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff,” you said, way quieter than was polite. Neither of them seemed to mind.

Captain Rogers gave you his typical nod of acknowledgement, making you want to scream.

Asshat! So full of himself! Arrogant dumbass!

And you had been a dumbass too of course, for not realizing right away that he had been ‘friendly’ simply because of something called ‘professional courtesy’ and ‘inconvenient circumstances’. Translated to everyday speech – because he had had to and you had been the only person in the twenty-mile radius. Now, he was the legend who wasn’t mingling with ordinary agents and apparently didn’t have the decency to return a hello.

‘My ma’ raised me right’ my ass, Rogers.’

The shocking part came when Agent Romanoff reciprocated your greeting with a smile that looked too suspicious on her lips.

“Agent 19.”

So… she knew who you were.

That’s not concerning at all.

The moment you passed the golden pair – and of course, why would Captain America even spare one glance at you aka no-name-chic from nowheresville when he was used to the company of the Black Widow aka the gorgeous badass Natasha Romanoff –, you released a shaky breath, not bothering to hide your shocked expression at the woman addressing you.

Later, you would come to conclusion they had been going through the failed mission you and Captain had been to and their briefing had been very thorough. After that, you didn’t give it a second thought.

What you didn’t know was what followed the short interaction between the three of you. You never saw the pair of legendary agents circle the corner, you never heard and saw the gorgeous badass Natasha Romanoff smack Steve’s arm with a surprising force for such a thin woman.

“You’re a dumbass, Rogers, you know that? She’s kinda cute.”

“Don’t I know it…” he mumbled, stroking his bicep, seemingly hurt.

“Which part?” she hissed, wondering if she should just ask you out for him. It would be almost like a mission, you two meeting an asset… an ass-et in this particular case, because she couldn’t believe this blond idiot.

Really? Ignoring you despite liking you, because you could potentially work together on an assignment again somewhere far in an unforeseeable future and he didn’t want you two to potentially be compromised?

Geez, Rogers.

Steve sighed. “Both, Romanoff. Both.”

Good, she thought. At least he was admitting to being stupid. Maybe he wasn’t a completely lost cause after all. Maybe he just needed few more pushes.

“SHIELD’s rules are stupid.“

You looked up from the report you were re-reading after your friend, blinking at the man towering above you. He stood there in front of your desk like a righteous angel of exasperation, jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket as if he was your average fellow citizen.

The man who was occupying unfair amount of space in your head and hadn’t spoken to you since leaving the cabin-slash-safe-house.

“St- Captain,” you corrected yourself as you imagined there were people listening to you and as you reminded yourself that this indeed was Captain Rogers talking with a low-life agent, which he clearly was fully aware of now. “What-“

“And by SHIELD’s rules being stupid I mean me. So I guess you can add ‘dumbass’ to that list of yours.”

Your knee-jerk reaction – after you realized what he was talking about – was to oppose that it was not your list by any means. But you wisely kept your mouth shut and took a quick survey of who was watching this surreal exchange instead.

You saw Wendy sitting in the opposite boot watching Steve’s bottom (no blame here, sister), Jack in the corner with his eyebrow raised, Kate who was clearly not concerned by her technically-superior hearing the music blasting from her headphones as she was listening to YouTube videos and swaying in the rhythm, and of course Harry, the retiring know-it-all-saw-it-all (the nice kind with funny stories from the field), was sitting at his desk, arms crossed on his chest, an amused grin on his face.

You escaped his gaze, looking back at Steve wide-eyed.

“I’m— sorry, Sir? I don’t think I understand.”

“The rule is that SHIELD operatives shouldn’t be involved with each other. And while it might be true that it could compromise them in the field, that rule is just ridiculous, because we’re not even on the same team and the chances that we will need to work together again are slightly above zero.”

You stared at him speechless. What was he saying again? Your brain was very slow in processing his words. He clenched his jaw when you gave him no actual reaction and he scratched the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable. He lowered his voice when he spoke again.

“Sorry. That’s not at all how I wanted this to go.” He squatted then, so you were on the same eye-level since you were still sitting in the chair, too dumbstruck to do anything else than stare and occasionally stutter a word or two. Steve gulped as if he was the one nervous. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you were then. “I’m sorry. Would you like to have dinner with me? Or coffee? Or anything really?”

That did it. Your jaw fell on your desk, the words feeling like a bucket of cold water splashing in your face. The mixture of awe, warm feeling in your chest and dizziness took over you; in the end, disbelief won though. Because honestly, no matter how adorable Steve Rogers was now, crouching by your desk, watching you with his deep cerulean eyes, you couldn’t believe his nerves.

That was how he thought he could play it? Ignore you for a week, barely nodding at you in a greeting when meeting you in the corridors, and then just walk in like the king of the world, all the womankind falling to his feet?

No thank you, I have some self-respect left.

Though… for him, you might forget it.

No, nope.

But-

The inner fight between the urge to kiss him senseless for showing up with such proposition and to kick him in his balls, because no, mister, this is not the way the world works, not even for you, was raging in you, resulting in a stutter.

“I-uhm… you… you didn’t even say hi for a week, what— what changed?”

That was good, right? You deserved an explanation at least? That was perfectly reasonable, unlike someone else’s behaviour?

He gulped, his expression shifting from a puppy look to a kicked puppy look.

Damn, my heart. The world was so unfair, allowing some people to soften others’ anger just by being cute…

“I know. And I’m sorry. I thought that we shouldn’t talk together, because we weren’t allowed to… get involved and I needed time process all that. That’s part of the reason why I’m stupid. Dumb, I mean. Dumbass.”

You couldn’t help it. The corners of your lips twitched. How could one be mad at Steve Rogers, who was willingly calling himself a dumbass and being so sweet? You were such a weak creature, dammit.

“Yes,” you whispered shyly, the need to bite your lip as your nerves worked physically hurting you.

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he frowned a little; you only realized then that he couldn’t possibly have an idea if you were just approving of him eating humble pie or saying yes to his… date proposition? You would have thought it was just a friendly offer, but he had been the one to call it ‘get involved’, okay?

Twice.

Also, it was to a bit of both, the yes you were saying. Not that you had the heart to admit it, yet.

“I mean— yes, I’d like that.”

His lips spread in a beautiful grin that sent your heart racing, especially in the combination with his happily twinkling blue eyes.

“Swell!” he exclaimed, almost making you choke. Who the hell was still using that word? No, don’t answer that. “I’ll bring flowers.”

You chuckled at that, incredulous, remembering he had said he should have bought them to you before seeing too much skin of yours. The euphoria of what was happening had nearly the same effect on you as the pain-meds a week ago. It made you brutally honest and babbling.

“Planning on getting so far on the first date, Steve?”

The tips of his ears turned red as he realized what conclusion you must have come to. His eyes widened in horror. Oh boy, you were about to have so much fun with getting him flustered, that was for sure.

“I didn’t mean it like-“

And because you were honest, babbling, but also bold, you leaned to him over the desk before you could change your mind and pressed your lips to his cheek for a split second.

“I’m teasing, Captain. I have no doubt you’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Utterly awed at your gesture, he smiled at you brightly. “I’ll try. Dinner on Saturday sounds good?”

“Sounds great actually. And good,” you winked at him as he rose to his feet and you handed him your card out of habit, doubting he needed it – after all, he could just find you here if he hadn’t somehow found your phone number already. “If you try hard enough, I might add ‘gentleman’ to the list.”

He left you to your desk duties with a laugh. You caught a glimpse of Harry showing you a thumps-up as your gaze followed Steve’s figure out of the door and you blushed.

The moment you couldn’t see Steve anymore, you hid your face in your palms, giggling like a schoolgirl. You didn’t care what your co-workers would think – and yes, you noticed that Kate had turned off the music in favour to listen your conversation. It didn’t matter.

You were having a date on Saturday. With the world’s first superhero dumbass hard kind-ass smartass tight-ass tight ass.

And boy, were you excited. You needed to scratch the tight-ass from the list, because man, Steve Rogers didn’t mind breaking the rules and crossing the lines when they were stupid.

To be honest, you didn’t mind either. Not at all. After all, it would be with the blessing of your superior. And that had to mean something, right?

Steve Rogers Masterlist

I couldn’t help but hint Natasha’s involvement, because ‘matchmaker Widow’ for the win and Steve-Natasha friendship goals.

I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it. Thank you for reblogs and likes and, of course, for reading in the first place. Kudos to you all. :-*

Tags: @mermaidxatxheart

#marvel #mcu #fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #shield #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #shield agent reader #the line between respectful and stupid #anika ann

162 notes · View notes

bad-at-names-and-faces · 4 years

Text

The Truth

Chapter 27 chapter index

Inga stood in the corner watching the final preparations for the evening’s dinner and ball. She hadn’t intended to arrive at the ballroom early, but once Gerda had stopped by her room offering to help her get dressed, she didn’t want to make her come back later. Gerda had suggested her emerald green dress, which wasn’t as tight as the one she had worn for the ball in Corona, but it was still too wide and too long to be doing anything else in, so there wasn’t much left to do but head over to the ballroom. She had stopped by to see if her parents were ready, but they hadn’t even given her a clear answer if they were going to be at the banquet beforehand.

Every few minutes a servant would come over and ask if she needed anything, even though she was trying to stay in the background and just watch. Finally, she told one that she could use something to drink. Other guests were slowly starting to come in. Her parents had informed Kai that it would be best not to wait for them to begin the evening. Inga silently laughed to herself that the Prince of Maldonia was probably expecting a more formal event in his honor. Thankfully, he had not arrived early. Her own table was still empty, and she looked around to see if there was anyone she would want to talk to before dinner began.

“Elizabeth!” Inga called as she nearly ran over to her table at the banquet. "Where's Lars?"

"Mr. Meyer took him aside to speak privately. They've been doing that quite a lot this week. How have you been?"

"Busy," she replied, setting down her empty glass on the table. She leaned in to whisper, "I really don’t know whether my parents are showing up tonight, even after my mother promised not to leave me alone with that prince from Maldonia. I might need to call in that favor from the ball in Corona, since you're married now and your husband will be right here. I'm pretty much obliged to dance with the prince once, but after that-"

"I'll see what I can do," Elizabeth smiled. “Your dress is lovely, by the way. I’ve always loved emerald green, so bold.”

Inga smiled and nodded, not wanting to admit that she hadn’t put that much thought into the color of her dress. She stood quietly for a moment, looking around nervously. She sighed. "I don't want to bring it up, but, have you- has he made a decision? About, you know, that thing?"

"No. The Ambassador doesn't want to lose him, of course, but he also acts like saying ‘no’ isn't a real option, either."

"I can't see why,” she scowled, barely keeping her voice down. “I don't understand it, to be honest. Really, I hate it. I… I thought you'd be here at least a year or two."

Elizabeth nodded. There was some commotion as Inga’s parents had suddenly appeared at their table, and the footmen began bringing out the main course. Inga hurried back to her table.

***

Inga sat next to Frederick as they finished their main course. She wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, but she had accepted every refill on her drink. Frederick would occasionally tell her about his conversations with the Admiral and the various naval officers present, and Inga would try to say something appropriately encouraging, since it was all exciting and new to him. Her father was always quiet at these events, but her mother was unusually reserved this evening, looking around the room, almost nervously, with none of her usual excitement about the event, or eventhe mirth she would quietly express if the guest list wasn’t satisfactory. Still, they were here, so Inga at least wasn’t going to be left completely at the mercy of Prince Tarkan.

When dinner was over and they were waiting for the dancing to begin, Inga wanted to go speak to Elizabeth some more, but Elizabeth’s mother and sisters were keeping her busy. Inga decided that she would give them some space since they would be leaving the next day for Wesselton. She hoped that they would take Prince Tarkan with them. Inga looked around the room.

A footman came around with fresh drinks. Inga gladly took one. She noticed a dignitary whose name she forgot whispering to Prince Tarkan and gesturing in her direction. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why the Maldonian prince made her so uncomfortable from the one time he had spoken to her, but she wanted to avoid him as much as she could. Nearby, she saw Kate and Edith standing around giggling about something or other, so Inga decided to go join them.

“Inga!” Kate said gleefully as she stopped in front of them. “We were just saying, we haven’t had a chance to speak to you since Isabel’s wedding. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Inga replied, not sure what they actually wanted to hear. “How have you been?”

“Nothing much has been happening with us,” Edith laughed, “though everyone is talking about Mr. Nilsen’s promotion. What do you know about that?”

“I really wish I knew,” Inga admitted. “They really don’t tell me as much as you’d think.”

Edith looked at Kate and smirked a bit.

“What is it?” Inga asked.

“Well, we probably shouldn’t say it here,” Kate said a little too loudly.

“Now you have me curious,” Inga grumbled.

“Fine,” Edith sighed, pulling them toward the kitchen door away from the other guests. “Someone was saying that the position is probably going to him to cover up his father’s death.”

“Cover up?” Inga was confused. “Why would it need to be covered up? He died from natural causes. And who was saying this?”

“Kate, do you remember who it was? It was right after he and his brother left Hudson’s the other night.”

“No one in particular, just some dock worker.”

“Did this person say anything else?” Inga probed.

“Well...” Edith said, looking around, lowering her voice and leaning in, “there was some question about whether his father was even his father. The two brothers look different, and apparently his mother tried to hide being pregnant before she left Arendelle. So there might have been some kind of fight.”

“Did they have any proof?” Inga asked, looking around to make sure they were still alone. “People like to talk nonsense, you know.”

“I remember now!” Kate almost jumped up. “He said he was loading the ship that took her to Corona. It was the middle of the night, and the whole thing was rather hushed-”

“Kate!” Edith grabbed her, trying to whisper, “maybe think about who we’re talking to?”

“What? I know my aunt had something to do with getting her to Corona.”

Edith leaned in, about to say something else, when they heard the musicians beginning to assemble. Inga quickly excused herself.

Frederick was waiting at the other end of the room. "See if you can figure out what he's hiding," he whispered in her ear.

"Who?"

"Tarkan," he snorted. "He was acting weird after you left me with him last week. You have to give him one dance, you know. Might as well make it worthwhile."

"I'd rather not," she groaned. "It means I’d have to talk to him."

“So? You talk to him, he talks back, you learn something interesting if you’re lucky.”

“I just, well, it’s not that simple.”

Frederick snorted. “You know this one wouldn’t be such a problem if you weren’t so insistent that nothing happened with the last one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she whispered back with a glare.

He only nudged her and nodded his head toward the group from Maldonia walking toward them.

Inga felt her entire body tense up at the uncomfortable memory of the encounter with Prince Tarkan in the empty ballroom as he approached now and was officially introduced to her.

“Your Highness, may I have this dance?” he asked with stiff formality. Inga politely accepted his hand, trying hard to keep her face neutral and not roll her eyes as he led her to the center of the room to signal the music for the waltz. He placed his hand on her back firmly, yet it made her feel insecure, and his grip on her hand felt unforgiving. “You have been nearly impossible to find this week. I almost would think you were avoiding me.”

“I’ve been quite busy,” Inga stated, hoping it would sound more like an apology than an insult.

“You may have heard, I will be sailing to Wesselton tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she replied tersely. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.”

“I must admit, I was rather disappointed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“There will be others, I assure you.”

“Of course,” Inga said, wondering how much longer the music would be playing. He was talking just enough that she couldn’t lose herself in her own thoughts and go through the motions of the dance. She tried to keep up her end of the conversation like the etiquette lessons had drilled into her. “I hope you find someone deserving.”

“I’m sure I will, and besides, I’ve learned things during my stay that will make up for my initial disappointment,” he smirked.

“Oh, really?” she asked, slightly unnerved.

“The locals really are quite friendly here. I can understand why your family doesn’t look elsewhere.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if I understand your… parentage?”

“So?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that as an insult. I was merely curious. When my father suggested visiting Arendelle on my tour, he mentioned that he had been interested in Her Majesty many years ago, before she was Queen.”

“I’ve… not heard that. But I imagine it would have been purely a theoretical interest.”

“He was quite charmed with her when the two of them were visiting Corona at the same time,” Tarkan smirked.

“Well, if that had come to anything, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?”

“That is true,” he acknowledged.

“Tell me, then,” she hoped to change the subject, “Where did your father meet Queen Nora?”

“It was all arranged,” he replied flatly.

“I take it they’re not arranging things for you?”

“It’s not so simple,” he explained, “My father was an only child, so there was no question that he would inherit.”

“Are you not the oldest, then?”

“Oh, I am the oldest, but my father has not selected his heir yet. They would like to see a legitimate line of succession, naturally.”

“That seems like it puts a lot of pressure on you.”

“It’s probably for the best. It can cause complications if a monarch succeeds to the throne without a clear line of succession, you know.”

“Who is winning right now?” She took a second to realize she had asked this out loud, and tried to remember how many drinks she had accepted from the footmen.

“As far as legitimate heirs, there are none yet,” he explained.

“I see…” she replied cautiously. His accent was just thick enough that she was willing to believe he had misspoken, and wasn’t trying to imply what it sounded like to her. She had quickly finished off her most recent glass of wine, and she was starting to feel it, so she knew she’d need to be careful what she let herself say.

Tarkan continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “My sister, of course, you met in Corona. She had no luck there on either of the royal heirs she met, though I suppose your brother is still too young.”

“Yes, I agree there,” Inga said firmly, noticing Frederick passing nearby as he danced with Edith.

“She also had warned me that I might not have luck here,” he continued, frowning at her.

“No one has had that kind of ‘luck’ here,” Inga smirked back.

He sniffed dismissively. “As for my brother Josef, he is engaged to a princess from Bavaria, though her parents insist that she wait until she is twenty-one, so I may yet have time to establish my own legitimate succession before him.”

“You seem to like emphasizing that the succession needs to be legitimate,” Inga spoke without thinking.

Prince Tarkan cleared his throat. “You do a poor job of acting naive,” he said with the slightest hint of a sneer.

“I never claimed to be,” she told him.

“Good, because you will limit yourself considerably if you… expect otherwise from men.”

“Is that so?” she sighed, relieved to hear the music ending. She curtseyed and he bowed, and she politely took her leave, glad to be done with that. She knew well enough that there were plenty of men who were going to view her as nothing more than a treaty concession or a business transaction, but seeing it so bluntly laid out was infuriating, even when she was completely sober, which she was quite sure she wasn’t at this point.

Inga looked for Elizabeth again, but she and Lars were now dancing, and she couldn’t talk to Frederick because Kate had convinced him to dance with her now.

“Edith,” Inga called as she walked over, finding another round of drinks being passed around.

“Inga,” she pouted a little, “I wish I had found you earlier. I was hoping you’d introduce me for a dance with Prince Tarkan, but now he’s dancing with the daughter of Duke… Duke… oh, I forget his name, but he’s on the royal council. She’s so full of herself.”

“You’re not missing much,” Inga grumbled. “And, from what he said, I’d be very careful around him, if I were you.”

“What’s that?” Edith asked.

“Never mind,” Inga sighed. “I have no proof of anything.”

“Proof of what?” Edith probed.

“Just…” Inga took a sip of her drink. “Just that he kept going on about legitimate heirs, and pretty much all but admitted to having the illegitimate kind.”

“Oh!” Edith exclaimed, looking around a bit, moving them closer to the corner.

“He seems to think it’s pretty commonplace.”

“Well, you’ve read more than I have,” Edith reminded her.

“True, going by what I’ve read, it’s rather common, but in real life, I’d like to think that’s all exaggerated. The idea of marrying someone who only wants me for my title and position and keeping to myself while he goes off with every girl in the countryside-”

“That wasn’t exactly the kind of reading I was thinking of,” Edith laughed, “but you have a point.”

“Oh, so,” Inga said with another sip, “before the dancing started, you and I were discussing something else.”

Edith laughed a little too loudly. “Yes, your new ambassador to America. I’m sure you didn’t learn anything about him from that Maldonian prince, but it’s funny because what I heard about Mr. Nilsen-”

The second dance ended, and Elizabeth walked over to join them. Edith gave Inga an embarrassed look, clearly aware that they needed to change the subject.

“Sorry, I interrupted something,” Elizabeth said innocently, starting to turn around.

“Oh, no,” Inga insisted, “well, we were talking about the ambassador position. Sorry if that’s awkward for you…”

“It is awkward,” Elizabeth admitted, “but there’s nothing to apologize for. I know it must be interesting.”

Inga noticed Edith shifting uncomfortably. “Elizabeth,” Inga probed, “did Lars say anything more about his family here?”

Elizabeth sighed. “He didn’t really learn anything. The Ambassador was asking us the same thing the day we returned from our honeymoon. Lars told me his brother thinks he’s being rather silly for even trying to learn anything, and maybe he’s right.”

Edith glanced knowingly at Inga, who gave her a quick frown before returning her attention to Elizabeth. “I wish I knew more,” Inga sighed. “Then maybe I could understand what my parents were thinking.”

“The best we could figure is that Elsa had something to do with it,” Elizabeth replied, “because she has spent a lot of time with Mrs. Nilsen, of course.”

“Doesn’t that get confusing now?” Edith giggled.

“Oh!” Elizabeth laughed in surprise. “You know, it’s funny, I hadn’t really thought of that… it just hasn’t come up here, since nearly everyone uses first names. I suppose if she comes with us, we’ll have to figure something out, because there would be two of us they could call ‘Mrs. Nilsen’ and that would definitely get confusing.”

“So, where is your husband now?” Edith asked.

“Mr. Meyer made him come with him to talk with some other ambassadors,” Elizabeth sighed. “To be fair, one of them spent several years in America, so I suppose that will be helpful.”

Another dance was announced, and Inga soon found herself dancing with a series of dignitaries who were both tolerable and forgettable.

It was nearing the end of the evening when Elizabeth’s mother and sisters found her again. Inga was thankful that Prince Tarkan had at least lost interest in her so she never needed Elizabeth's assistance in avoiding him.

Kate and Edith found Inga as a last round of drinks were brought around. Kate was eagerly repeating their earlier conversation concerning the gossip from the old dock worker, while Edith filled her sister in on Inga's suspicions about Prince Tarkan. Inga noticed Kai pass near them, but he was only going over to her parents. Given everything lately, she wasn't surprised that they left without saying anything.

"Right," Edith said, touching Inga's arm to get her attention, "when Elizabeth came over earlier, I was about to tell you what I heard about Mr. Nilsen."

"Lars, or his father?" Inga asked.

"His father," Edith clarified, then trying to whisper, "if he really was, of course!"

“Your Highness,” Kai interrupted, startling them. “I need you to come with me.”

***

Inga followed Kai to the library. He motioned her to go in, and quietly stepped back. Her parents were both standing inside, but nobody else was there.

“Kai, close the door on your way out, see that we’re not disturbed,” her mother said quickly.

“What’s going on?” Inga asked once they were alone in the room. “One minute I’m just talking at the party, and the next minute Kai comes over and tells me to come with him...”

“It’s about your conversation, or, rather, that-” her father stuttered. He looked at his wife for help, his hand nervously at the back of his neck.

“You shouldn’t be discussing Lars and his family. Not so carelessly,” her mother added.

“You don’t want me talking about the ambassador position? Look, it doesn’t make much sense, so of course people are going to talk, and Edith and Kate are going to hear a lot of that talk. You’ve been telling me for years I should spend more time with them, but all of a sudden you don’t want me to talk with them?”

“No, of course I don’t mean that,” her mother assured her. “It’s just that you… you should be in a position to dispel rumors if need be.”

“That doesn’t work when it’s about me, so why should I even bother if it’s something I don’t know about?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I haven’t actually heard any other rumors. I mean, I guess there was some talk about the older Mr. Nilsen and maybe there was something funny about his death, but the word of some guy on the docks twenty years ago doesn’t seem like much to go on.”

Her parents looked at each other, clearly not sure what they should say to that.

“His death was completely natural,” her mother blurted out.

Inga found the statement odd, suddenly thinking of all the odd things she’d overheard or noticed the last few months. "I didn't think his cause of death needed defending. Unless it does? Is that why Lars is getting this position now? And is that why he was supposed to get a position in the Corona palace guard and not the Diplomatic School? And the pension?"

"It has nothing to do with that," her mother said quickly, "or, well, not direct-"

“What do you mean? Either it has something to do with that, or it doesn’t,” Inga interrupted, starting to feel overwhelmed with possible conclusions. "It might almost make sense if you were making him ambassador to Corona, but there are at least a dozen other nobles and rich retired trades people you could give the American position to. Usually, someone that young only gets a position like that if-"

Inga looked up as she suddenly remembered Edith's statement connecting the mystery of Lars's family with her own gossip about the Maldonian prince. She glanced back and forth between her parents' faces for clues.

Her mother spoke first, quietly but firmly. "If the person is related to someone important?"

Inga felt her stomach drop. The thought had briefly occurred to her when she had been talking about the rumors with Edith earlier, but hearing her mother say it out loud, she could no longer dismiss the idea of Lars being some kind of relation as nonsense. She tried to stay focused, even though she felt unmoored. "So who is he?" Inga demanded. "Some bastard cousin from your grandfather?"

Her parents looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably.

"Closer than that," her mother clarified, pausing just enough for Inga to interrupt again.

"How much closer are we talking? Your father? Elsa? Is that why she’s so concerned?"

“I can explain-" her mother began.

"Are you sure?” her father interrupted, looking at his wife. “Maybe tonight isn't a good time."

"We probably should have told her already," her mother responded, quietly looking up at him, "you were clear on that point."

Her father sighed and nodded.

Inga tried to understand why they weren’t just getting to the point. “If you have something to tell me, why not say it already?”

“Inga,” her father sighed, “You’ve had too much to drink, I just think this might be better when you’ve had some time to rest-”

Inga clenched her fists, finding herself thinking of Prince Tarkan’s comment about her playing innocent, and she started to wonder if she had been blind to things. Why was her father wanting to wait to tell her? What had Edith said about Lars and his brother? They certainly didn’t look very alike. She could almost see more of her own brothers looking at him. But he couldn’t be that close, could he? She would have heard something. Unless there was a cover up… Like when her father had stayed back in Arendelle, and her mother had spent months being courted by foreign princes, while Mrs. Nilsen was hurried out of the country shortly before Lars was born and given a nice pension.

"You?" Inga said, looking at her father. "So all this about nobody before you met Mother?" Inga felt her voice grow increasingly strained. Nothing made sense, but her father was the only conclusion she was coming to at the moment. She felt frantic. "Or was it even before you knew her? The timing doesn't work otherwise… I thought I knew you!"

Her father stood silently, his face pained. His hands were at his sides in tight fists, but he was unwilling to offer any correction or clarification.

Her mother stood up and glared at her daughter. "Stop, Inga!" she shouted, startling both her daughter and her husband.

“I’m sorry.” Inga apologized meekly. “I shouldn’t have jumped to the conclusion that it’s… that Lars is that close.”

“No,” her mother sighed. “You were absolutely correct. About part of it, at least. Lars is your half brother.”

She couldn’t read a thing on her mother’s face now. It was a complete blank. Her father looked sad.

“Wait, what?” Inga said, looking from her mother to her father.

“This summer you were asking why I’d never talked about my trip to Corona-” her mother began.

“But,” Inga interrupted with confusion, “what about Mrs Nilsen? You said you didn’t know her-”

“I didn’t. Elsa arranged all of that, because he would need a wet nurse. I…” her mother took a breath, looking down. “I asked Elsa not to tell me. I didn’t want to know. And I… we… your father and I… we didn’t know it was Lars until you asked me about Mrs. Nilsen.”

“What… But…” She looked at her father. “You knew?”

“Yes, he’s known… Not then. But long enough.”

Inga sat down and tried to process everything. She felt a bit sick to her stomach. She stood up again, not wanting to stay where she was.

“We should have told you sooner, but it never seemed like the right time,” her mother said.

“And this seemed like the right time?” Inga cried. Her head ached. How could it be her mother? Yet, of course it could have been. She had known the story practically her whole life, she had just never questioned the details of it. And now she had said things to her father that she couldn’t take back, she could only apologize. She walked to the door and stepped out of the library, not even able to think now. The sounds of the lingering party guests echoed down the hall as she turned to the staircase in the opposite direction, desperate to get away.

#my fic #chapter 27 #kristanna #the young diplomat #frozen fic #frozen fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

a-recovered-sugar · 5 years

Text

Was this documentary Harry and Meghan's 'Panorama' moment?

BY ANGELA LEVIN FOR THE TELEGRAPH The Sussexes’ first official tour as a family was, by any measure, a huge success. The spectacular warmth and enthusiasm with which Harry and Meghan’s engagements were received, both on the ground in Africa and in the press back home, took us all back to that happy period when the couple first wed.

After Sunday night’s ITV documentary, however, our abiding memory will not be of any of the causes they championed, but of the pair lamenting their own troubles in one of the poorest parts of the world. Of course, Prince Harry, along with the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, has done wonders to knock down the barriers that have long surrounded mental health. When the royal threesome set up ‘Heads Together’ as part of the Royal Foundation in May 2016, he bravely revealed his own private battle, explaining how he had tried to suppress his grief at losing the mother he adored – “I buried my head in the sand” – when he was only 12. After several years of “total chaos” in his twenties left him unable to cope, behaving aggressively and suffering panic attacks, it was with Prince William’s support that he eventually sought help – and, he told us, felt much better for it.

Tom Bradby interviewing the Duke and Duchess of Sussex in South Africa In many ways, that spirit of openness and vulnerability was an enormous and welcome breakthrough, but seeing Harry interviewed by journalist Tom Bradbyon Sunday night, he seemed threatened to be overwhelmed by another huge wave of grief: admitting every camera flash takes him “straight back” to his mother’s death.

Of course, the 10-day tour on behalf of the Queen was partly designed to follow the very path Diana, Princess of Wales took over 20 years earlier. It was obviously going to be painful, especially when Harry retraced his mother’s exact footsteps over one-time mine fields in Angola. Sadly, he didn’t seem to take comfort that at least he can continue with her good work and thus keep her close.

Watching the documentary showed those of us who are fascinated by the Royal family why Harry, who wears his heart on his sleeve, has seemed so unhappy and stressed for months: he still blames the press for his mother’s death.That is evidently why he chose the penultimate day of the tour to issue a coruscating statement announcing a legal battle against the tabloid press that, 22 years on, he believes are treating Meghan in the same way: “I lost my mother and now I watch my wife falling victim to the same powerful forces,” he said, and having been “witness to her private suffering for too long... to stand back and do nothing would be contrary to everything we believe in.”

But the couple’s legal war with the press strays a long way from the Queen’s favoured mantra: “never complain, never explain.”In fact, Meghan’s watery-eyed interview with Bradby reminded me of Diana’s extraordinary confessional to BBC Panorama journalist Martin Bashir in 1995. More than 20 million people tuned in to watch what was the nail in the coffin for her marriage to Prince Charles; they divorced the following year.

Diana rarely fell out with the press – she courted them as a weapon in her war with Charles, and if she was upset by something they wrote she would invite them to tea at Kensington Palace and invariably win them over – but she certainly fell out with senior members of ‘the firm’.

The leading question is are the Sussexes in danger of doing both? Meghan’s lament that few people have asked is she OK could well be a hint that some members of the Royal family have not been as supportive as she would wish. Her claim that she is “existing not living” is also hard to hear: “It’s not enough to just survive… you have to thrive and be happy.”

Of course it’s not easy to switch countries, get married, have a baby, move house and most of all learn how to be a royal in less than three years. But some have found her voicing her personal struggles at odds with other scenes in the documentary, such as visiting a project teaching teenage girls how to fight off rapists in South Africa’s ‘murder capital’.

Since their marriage, the couple have spent £2.4m redecorating their home in Windsor, enjoyed holidays with Elton John and the Clooneys and hung out with the Obamas. Meghan has also edited a ‘Forces For Change’ issue of Vogue and been able to support campaigns, like education for women and gender violence, that she cares about so much, becoming a role model to countless young girls.

So it is sad that the desperately miserable Sussexes don’t seem to have been able to help each other. Of course that period post-first baby can be very difficult, even if there is unlimited help to call upon, but isn’t it also wonderful to have a healthy child – something Harry has wanted for a long time – with the added bonus that your husband is handsome, rich and most of all adores you?

During the interview Harry took another extraordinary step, in confirming that his and William’s relationship isn’t as close as it once was: “Inevitably, stuff happens.” When I chatted to Harry at Kensington Palace just before he got engaged he told me that he didn’t want to continue with Heads Together or the Royal Foundation as he wanted to go his own way. It made sense to me that a young man in his early thirties would want to find a new exciting path with Meghan rather than stay tied to William and Kate.

It’s not been easy for Harry; from an early age, William had privileges like going to tea with the Queen Mother because he was going to be king, to which his younger brother wasn’t invited. Growing up as the spare to the second heir to the throne is a royal no man’s land, when you are not free to have a full-time career of your own choosing and make your own way in the world, but have to kowtow to your brother on key royal occasions.

It would be a shame if the Sussex’s emotional outpouring overshadowed the Cambridges' successful Pakistan tour. Perhaps just a little stiff upper lip could be useful, if what you say will be hurtful to your family and astonish the public who pay for the life of privilege you perceive as a gilded cage.

#megxit #harry and meghan #the sussexes #duke and duchess of sussex

14 notes · View notes

fanficimagery · 6 years

Text

Imagine being someone that the Gecko brothers attempt to take hostage. They don't expect you to be as calm and collected as you are, nor do they expect you to be anything other than human.

Gen Fic X Reader

Glancing at the three individuals who've dropped into the empty seats across from you, you smirk at the two men who immediately start making demands and threatening violence should you not cooperate with whatever they have planned.

"Is this meant to intimidate me?" You chuckle, leaning back in your seat and crossing one knee over the other as your arms cross over your chest. Your gaze quickly darts to the girl who looks no older than eighteen, nineteen at the most. "Are you trying to draw attention to the table, kid? Keep glancing nervously over your shoulder and someone's going to realize you're acting sketchy."

She guiltily turns forward once more, a blush staining her cheeks. "Dammit, Princess," the one man with tattoos visibly crawling up from under his shirt and onto his neck says. "Chill out. We got this handled."

"Dream on, pretty boy. You've got shit handled."

The telltale sound of a gun cocking echos from beneath the table. The man with glasses and slicked back hair raises an eyebrow at you. "You were saying?"

You roll your eyes and drop your hands into your lap. "Relax, boys. And lose the constipation face. We're all friends here. Sort of." You smirk ferally this time, your teeth a little more sharper than usual and the two men shift uncomfortably in their seats. "So who's hungry?"

"What?" The girl asks.

"Do.. you.. want.. food?" You enunciate slowly. "Because no offense, but you guys look like shit. And for three drifters such as yourselves, plus the way your boys immediately started demanding money, I'm assuming you're low on funds and decided to hit the first person who looked as if they came from money."

"You don't look like you come from money," Glasses says. "You do come from money. We've been watching."

Your smirk starts to widen again. "You've been watching? Well if you've been watching then you'd realize that no one messes with me. There's a reason for that."

"Yeah? And what's that?" The other male asks. The two men are rather cocky and their patience are starting to wear thin. The female, however, still seems a bit rattled.

Leaning forward in your seat, you rest your right arm on the table. "People like your brother call me la loba." Both men tense and you huff a laugh. "Do calm yourselves. Richie isn't the first generic vampire I've come across. Nor will he be the last."

"You know who we are?" The young girl asks.

"People like my brother?" Seth Gecko frowns.

"I am not a generic vampire." Richie Gecko scowls and you laugh again. "I'm a culebra. We're.. unique."

"Sure. Whatever makes you feel better." Then turning your attention to Seth, you say, "You didn't think I was human, did 'ya? I'd have been a fool to be human and be as calm as I am with your weapons trained on me under the table. Newsflash, boys, your bullets won't do much damage to me."

"But they will do damage."

"For a minute or so," you muse. "And then I'll only be in a pissed off mood." Glancing at the girl, you smile your first genuine smile. "To answer your question, I do know who you are. What you and the Geckos have been doing all around Mexico does not go unnoticed."

"Who the hell are you?" Seth then demands. "What are you?"

"That's a story.. to be shared over food. Now seriously," both your hands slap the table top and you push yourself to stand up and the three strangers all tense in surprise, "who's coming with me to get tacos? I'm not carrying back everyone's orders."

"Kate, go with her," Richie says.

"Like hell she will," Seth grumbles. "I'll go."

It takes the brothers only a few seconds to holster their weapons and for Seth to grumpily stand up. You grin at his mulish expression and then make your way towards a taco truck without offering him or his companions a backwards glance. You order three tacos, plus a lemonade, and then motion for Seth to order for his party all on you. He does and then after a tense fifteen minutes all your food and drinks are ready.

Opening one of your tacos, you drizzle some hot sauce in it before closing it back up and taking a bite. Then after washing it down with a sip of lemonade, you go on to tell them your story. "I grew up knowing about the supernatural. My family was known for.. hunting the bad ones," you say. "There's a certain breed of werewolf that the alpha's of that breed can turn a human with just a bite. It's fifty-fifty, really, because the bite can either turn your or kill you."

"And you, what? You were bitten?" Seth wonders around a mouthful of food.

"Not really." After eating a few more bites of your own, you continue. "It's also said that if an alpha's claw dig just deep enough, you can turn that way too. But that way of turning is really rare."

"Let me guess," Richie deadpans, "you were one of the rare occurrences?"

You wink at him. "Some alpha asshole ripped my throat out and then left me for dead. I would've woke up in the morgue, but some people who knew what was happening stole my body and left me to turn away from prying eyes. And now here I am. Still doing the family business with the added bonus of being a supernatural bad ass myself."

Kate frowns around her straw. "So you're a werewolf then? Does that make you an alpha too?"

"Oh no. I'm not really sure how everything works, but when you Turn.. your form reflects your inner self. There are a lot of creatures that fall under the were category."

"Yeah? And what's your inner self?" Seth asks.

"If you're lucky enough, lizard, you just might get to see for yourself."

The rest of the food is eaten in relative silence with the Gecko brothers still a little stiff. After everything is eaten and no one really knows what's going to happen next, you heave a little sigh and offer them an olive branch.

"Look. I know you guys are in some trouble what with who've you been freeing and killing. I know I'm only one person, but if you want.. I have a place you can crash at. It's a bit out of the way, so if anything happens then it can happen with as little causalities as possible."

"Why are you being so nice?" Kate wonders. "Seth and Richie didn't exactly start off on the right foot with you."

You shrug. "Honestly? Out of the four of us here at the table, you don't deserve to have to live your life looking over your shoulder. And I also might be a tad bit lonely. Because of who I am, people tend to stay away. I miss having someone to talk to."

"About that," Seth then pipes up. "What is la loba?"

"It's a myth," you chuckle. "It means she-wolf. Basically, la loba collects the bones of creatures from the desert and it's said her preference are wolves. And when she has the full skeleton of her wolf, she sings to it. She sings and sings until the skeleton regrows it's flesh and fur, and then the wolf leaps up and runs. Sometime during the run, the wolf transforms into a laughing woman who runs free into the sunset."

"Why you though? Why were you given the name?"

"Because I'm usually spotted in the desert either killing a rogue supernatural or running with nature's very own wolves in my own were-form. Some people have seen my shift from human to creature and just dubbed me with the name."

"So you don't bring to life skeletons?" Kate quietly asks. "Because that'd be pretty neat."

"If only," you smile gently. "Now.. who's ready to get going? I've had a tiring day and I need a shower."

Your house is big enough for several guests, but it's the compound behind your house that catches everyone's attention. After you had given everyone a brief run down of the bedrooms, bathrooms, and kitchen, the attention had been brought back to the building that sat at least half a football field behind your house.

"It's the playground," you tell them when Richie becomes curious. "Want to go see?"

Seth and Kate were hesitant, but tagged along anyway when you and Richie set out through the back door. You deactivated the alarm system and threw open the door, presenting the inside with a sweeping motion of your arm. Seth's eyes widen in shock.

"There's a gun range in the back," you say. "Up front is all the merchandise and you can test it out in the back. As long as you're here, I'll leave the alarm system off so you can come and go as you please."

"Holy shit," Richie breathes in awe.

"But you can start playing tomorrow. Tonight all of you need some rest because Seth and Kate are starting to smell sick."

"Smell sick? How can you even tell?" Seth huffs.

You tap the side of your nose. "Perks of being Other."

The brothers reluctantly leave your very own playground in favor of getting out of their rumpled clothing and into clean sleep clothes after showering. Kate immediately heads to bed, Seth lingers about, and Richie finds solace in your library as he skims through information about some of the supernatural creatures you've kept journals on. But fatigue eventually wins out and everyone heads off to bed.

Your guests have stayed for a week, basking in the freedom and quiet of not moving from place to place after realizing you had no ulterior motives. Though they definitely started off on the wrong foot with you, something about the three of them made the ache of loneliness in your chest ease just a bit. Hence the olive branch and chance of friendship.

Unfortunately, good luck is bound to run out.

And today is, unfortunately, that day.

Seth had taken Kate into town to grab some necessities the young girl suddenly found herself needing and they came speeding back down the private dirt road nearly two hours later.

You and Richie had thought nothing of it and entered the compound, only to have Seth and Kate rush in moments later- Kate looking rather shaken.

"We got company!" Seth shouts.

You and Richie freeze, and your grin turns into a frown at Kate trying to hug herself as she glances between everyone and unsure of what to do. "How many? And who?" You ask.

"Three cars followed us, but one car stopped and turned around after we turned down the dirt road to head here. My guess is culebras. They're the only assholes we've had problems with since escaping Mexico."

Your grin reappears. "Which means we've got two cars full of generic vampires who have no idea whose territory they just trespassed on. Ohhh, this is going to be fun." Richie and Seth stare at you as if seeing you for the first time, you then looking to Kate. "You comfortable with shooting a gun, kid?" She hesitates in answering and you gesture towards a hallway. "There's a panic room back there. Once the door is shut behind you, only you'll be able to open it from the inside. The code is written down and taped to the key pad. Don't come out until you see the fight is over on the cameras."

Glancing at the brothers for permission or whatever, Kate only leaves when Seth gives her a nod. Then cracking your neck, you turn towards the opened doors of the compound. "So what's the deal? Why are they really after you guys?" You ask as you await the inevitable fight.

The brothers hesitate before Richie sighs. "Kate is the key to finding a blood well full with ancient blood. All the culebras want to claim it as their own and everyone knows that to get it, they need Kate."

"So protect the girl. Got it," you nod. You shift your feet so they’re shoulder width apart and rotate your shoulders to loosen some of the tension. Seth produces a gun from the back waist band of his pants and fixes his own stance, readying himself for a fight.

Figure after figure enter and eight hissing generic vampires form a half circle in front of you and the Geckos. Your gaze darts from one figure to the next, your eyes narrowing on the one brave idiot who steps forward and hisses.

"Where's the girl?"

"Fuck off."

"What girl?" You shrug innocently. "I'm the only girl here." The culebras hiss in annoyance and you smirk.

"Keep your mouth shut, bitch, or we'll take you along with little miss cherry pie."

Their leering smiles and mocking chuckles makes you tense and see red. Richie hisses from beside you and you don't need to look at him to know he's transformed, and Seth takes aim with his gun. Your smirk slowly fades. "Wrong answer."

The culebras bravely step forward, Seth fires off two rounds, and you bend at the knees.. your own transformation happening within a second as you let out a heart stopping roar. Given the sudden quietness, plus the wide eyed stares and Seth's mumbled, "What the fuck?", you know what you look like to them. Your normal human flesh is now tinged dark gray and lighter gray in places, the whites of your eyes have turned black while the irises now shine a molten green, the bones in the middle of your forehead have shifted and changed to give your face a more animalistic quality, your fingernails have elongated into claws, and your four canine teeth have elongated drastically.

"La loba," one of the culebra murmurs. "She's real."

"No shit, asshole. And you just trespassed onto my land."

Silence reigns, and off in the distance wolves howling and coyotes yipping distract the now uncertain culebras. You give no warning as you rush forward, swinging one arm back and slashing your first victim diagonally from shoulder to hip. You use your claws to stab and slash, roaring your anger and relishing in the fact that the power in your voice is enough to make the culebras stumble. Seth is firing off round after round while Richie goes toe to toe with a culebra of his own.

All too soon, though, the fight is over.

Chest heaving with exertion, it takes a moment for you to get your bearings. Your eyes dart all over the room and you must be a sight to behold because the Gecko brothers tense when you shift in their direction.

"Y/N?" Richie says.

You growl in response. You can feel the blood splatter dripping from your chin and finger nails, but the thrill of the fight is still thrumming in your veins and you're finding it hard to shift back at the moment.

"You good?" Seth asks, eyes narrowed.

Gulping, you nod once. "Yeah." You inhale deeply before blowing it out slowly. "Yeah. Just.. I'm on edge. I'll change back when I'm ready. Kate's good to come out if she wants to. I don't hear anyone else on my property and I'm under control. None of you have anything to fear from me."

A moment passes and then Kate's scent is filling your senses. Your gaze darts to her as she rushes passed you to reach Seth and Richie, and you offer her a faint grin. Slowly, but surely, you can feel the change washing over your.

"Seeing someone change never gets old," Seth mumbles. Richie snorts in response. "What exactly are you?"

"I'm a jaguar," you say, grinning. "Much cooler than a measly werewolf."

The coyotes and wolves are still howling and yipping in the distance, and the three standing before you seem to finally recognize it and become wary. "I know you said that la loba was a myth, but what's up with that?" Richie asks.

You shrug. "I don't have any control over them, but we do understand each other. People like to shoot them for fun or for their fur and I put a stop to it. In return, when I howl, they answer. It's like.."

"A pack," Kate says, smiling. "Your very own pack."

"I guess you can say that." The tension seems to leave everyone and you all linger about, glancing at the bodies littering the floor. "So I'm in desperate need of a bath," you mention. "And afterward I think we need to all sit down and talk about what the hell is going on. I'm not too keen on these generic fucks," you say while distractedly kicking a body, "hunting down a teenage girl. That doesn't sit right with me."

"You and me both," Seth grumbles.

"Mhm. So we need to come up with a plan. That third car that fled with tell others where Kate is laying low at, so either culebras will test their luck and come in droves or my presence might actually be enough to keep those who know me at bay."

"I don't want to be a burden," Kate softly says. "You've been more than kind to let us stay-"

"And I'll continue to be more than kind and teach you how to defend yourself," you cut her off, smiling. "If you’re going to run with the Gecko's, you really need to know how to handle a weapon, kid. Okay?"

"I.. okay," Kate agrees, a bit sheepishly.

"Okay. But first.. shower! You boys," you then say, pointing between Seth and Richie, "clean the place up. I got the most kills so I get to skip out."

You leave without a backwards glance, but throw your head back in laughter when you hear Seth sigh and mumble, "Dick.", under his breath.

Later on when you go back to check, you smile when you realize they’ve sterilized the entire front room of the compound where the blood bath had taken place.

#imagine #fdtd gen fic x reader #from dusk till dawn #from dusk till dawn imagine #fdtd imagine #seth gecko #richie gecko #kate fuller #seth gecko imagine #richie gecko imagine #kate fuller imagine #fanficimagery

245 notes · View notes

minstrivia · 6 years

Note

Reaction to girlfriend making out with another girl? Smutty pls

i hope you like this. xx

in which he loves her ‘kinda’ drunk…

Y/N’s not drunk. Jimin knows how Y/N gets when she’s drunk and she’s not there yet. She’s still got her common sense and her bearings intact but she’s definitely more than tipsy. She’s at that point when she’s incredibly confident with everything— possibly too confident. And he’s lost her again.

His eyes scan the dark club, only illuminated by the flashing strobe lights every so often. The last time he’d seen her he’d told her to wait at the bar for him, looking at the fact she’s not at the bar now that definitely didn’t work out. He sighs.

Who even loses their girlfriend in a club? Right, He does.

He hadn’t even been gone for long, he’d felt her for less than a minute to go use the bathroom. In hindsight, he probably should have brought her with, that way she’d still be here in front of him. Not— god knows where.

Y/N relaxes further back on the couch looking at the new friend she’s made through her eyelashes— who’s name she’s found out is Kate— with a tentative smile.

She nibbles at her lip. “You know I’ve never…”

Kate raises an eyebrow with an amused smile. “Kissed a girl before?”

“Well yeah.”

“You should,” Kate says. “At least once, you might find you like it you know?”

Y/N hums shuffling closer to Kate. “Do you want me to kiss you?… you know to make your ex jealous.”

“You really don’t have to.”

Y/N shrugs. She thinks Kate’s really really pretty. She’s one of those girls that you definitely can’t miss if you see them on the street. And Y/N can’t begin to understand how someone could possibly fall out of love with a girl like Kate. If Y/N had to kiss any girl, it would definitely be Kate. She’s got such a sweet welcoming personality that had caused Y/N to talk to her in the first place.

And the story of how her ex-girlfriend cheated on her continues to tug on Y/N’s heart because she can’t imagine the pain she’d feel if Jimin were to cheat on her. She loves him so much that she’d probably fall apart completely. Everyone, especially Kate deserves that kind of love.

“I want to,” Y/N urges hoping she looks serious enough. “What she did to you is so unfair, you don’t deserve that. You need to show her you’ve moved on.”

Kate laughs. “Are you sure it’s not just the drink talking?”

Y/N’s had a few drinks, okay maybe more than a few drinks but she can still count to 50 and the rooms not spinning yet. So she’d say she’s fine.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay—” Kate studies her for a second as if she’s trying to look for any telltale signs that Y/N’s drunker than she thinks she is. “Then I’ll kiss you.”

Y/N can feel her confidence slipping by the second and she gives her a coy smile. They’re so close that Y/N’s sure Kate can hear the way her hearts erratically beating with nerves. God is she actually going to do this.

Kate asks lips brushing over Y/N’s lightly before pulling back. “You think your boyfriend will mind?”

Would he? Probably not. Y/N can’t even ask him if he’d be okay with it because she’d managed to lose him somehow. But she thinks he’ll be okay with it, he’s not a jealous person and when she explains he’ll definitely understand.

“No.”

Jimin huffs, slumping onto one of the bar stools after another failed attempt to find Y/N. He literally can’t even give up if he wants to, they have to leave this club together. He knows she’s not in trouble as well because no matter how drunk she is, she will always call him. And right now he really wishes she could pick up her fucking phone, but he keeps on reaching her voicemail.

God. Maybe he should just stay here. That way she can come and find him, he knows it’ll happen as well, somehow she’ll just locate herself back to him.

He sighs scanning the area of the club again until— Fuck is that? He squints his eyes, standing up to get a better view. That definitely is who he thinks that is, he can spot Y/N from anywhere with her newly dyed white hair. He’s almost about to march up to her and give her a piece of his mind for wandering off when he freezes in his place.

Is she? Is that a—? Fuck, his girlfriend has her tongue shoved down someone else’s throat and all he can do is stare. Is it bad that he finds this extremely hot to watch? His dick tightens in his pants as he studies the scene before him, it’s a girl you’re kissing he knows that he definitely wouldn’t have been excited if it were a guy. And it’s only when they both pull away from each other that he approaches them.

“Y/N.”

Y/N whips her head around at the familiar voice of her boyfriend. “Jiminie.” She leaps up the couch to wrap her arms around him tightly. “Where did you go?”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and her lips bent in a frown and he’s about to assure her but her features change into a large smile almost as quickly as the frown.

“Oh— you need to meet my new friend Kara. I told her all about you.”

Jimin gives Kara a short wave. He’s definitely seen how friendly they are. “I’m sorry about her she’s a bit—”

“Nah— don’t sweat it, she wasn’t a bother,” Kara dismisses. “She actually wanted to help me out.”

Y/N’s back to frowning again. “Yeah, her ex-girlfriends’ a mean bitch to her. So I kissed Kate to get her jealous.”

Yeah, he definitely saw that.

“Well, glad she could help, but we’ve got to go now—” He says trying to sound as serious as he can with a raging hard-on and the growing need to fuck her. “Come on Y/N.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I need to talk to you.” He lowers his mouth to her ear hoping she gets the hint and urgency of the situation. “Privately.”

Y/N giggles. She knows exactly what he means. “Okay bye Kara, I’ll see you later.” Though she doubts it, but she was nice to know while it lasted.

Jimin drags her hurriedly to the girl’s bathroom, she’s tripping over her feet behind him as she tries to maintain his speed but he’s got a one-track mind. All he needs to do is fuck her.

He pushes her against the cubicle door roughly, not wanting to waste any time as he latches his mouth on the skin of her collarbone, sucking and biting violet blemishes on the area.

Y/N throws her head back into the door, she hadn’t even realised how much she craved his touch until now, she rakes her hand into his soft hair bringing his head up to meet her lips in a bruising kiss, it’s rushed and messy, teeth colliding every so and so. And when he sucks her bottom lips into her mouth she can’t help grinding her hips against him.

“Fuck Y/N, you’re so hot you know that—” He pulls up the bottom of her dress, bundling it up at her waist. “—never realised how fucking sexy it is to see my girlfriend kissing another girl.”

Y/N groans as her covered cunt meet the stiff fabric of his jeans as she ruts against him. Fuck, she really wants him now. “You— you saw that?”

He hums, hastily tugging his pants down and bringing his cock out. He shifts her underwear to the side, lining up with her entrance and ramming himself inside her. She mewls at the feeling, nuzzling her head against his neck and digging her fingers into his shoulders as he pounds into her, snapping his hips against hers almost painfully.

Jimin curses. Her cunts always so sweet and responsive to him, always ready for him to fuck her whenever and wherever.

“I saw all of it,” He remarks, wrapping her legs around him tighter as he fucks her deeper, making aim to hit her cervix each time.

“Fuck, you didn't—” She pants for breath, the door rattles behind them as she repeatedly becomes winded when her back slams against it. “—You didn’t interrupt though.”

“Didn’t want to…”

“Why?”

“Was enjoying it too much,” He grunts, grabbing her ass cheeks and pulling her down onto him harder.

The low heavy sounds of the bass travel across the stuffy room and Y/N’s dizzy with the lack of oxygen and the delicious feeling of his cock moving inside of her unrelenting, that she’s clenching onto him habitually.

“Fuck, I love you—” She whimpers arching her back towards him. “And I— I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She’s getting embarrassingly teary-eyed as Kate comes to thought. “You can’t ever cheat on me.”

Jimin smiles. If anything he’s the lucky one, for having a girl that allows him to fuck her wherever he pleases. “Don’t worry baby, I won’t ever even think about it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise baby girl. I love you and your pretty little cunt too much—” Y/N’s lips are trembling and a mix of tears and sweat coat her cheeks and still Jimin thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid his eyes on. “Now can you come with me, baby?”

She nods, desperate to release the tightly coiled spring in her lower abdomen. She tightens around him as she feels herself dissolving into pleasure and his warm seed spills inside her so nicely, filling her up good and proper just how she likes it.

“Fuck, I think—”

“Shh.” Jimin’s cock is still inside her as he clasps his hand around her mouth. He can hear the creak of the door opening, the clamorous music spreading in the air around them before muting again.

“Did you see Kate kissing that girl?” A pitchy voice rings out and Y/N has to press her lips together to stop laughing.Looks like her plan worked.

341 notes · View notes

markipwiwer · 6 years

Note

Following up on the angsty kid fic, may I request a fic about maybe a scared kid running from someone (could be a stranger or abusive family,) and running into Wil? Bubblegum boi being a protective dad, and taking care of the kid as long as he can get away with, and either him, Dark, or Anti, probably causing an “accident” to whoever was hurting the kiddo

Oh my god. It’s 4:30am and I finally finished this. It was such a difficult concept to make believable and not forced in this universe which is why it carried on but… I hope you like it!

Wilford had never previously thought he was good with children. He spoke to them in a respectful manner and treated them as equals and that was that.

And children typically found him to be quite an interesting adult. He was loud and improper and laughed at their jokes and paid real, genuine attention to their words. Not to mention he was magic. That was nice, too.

So every now and then, Wilford would find a stray child and entertain them appropriately before their parent or guardian showed up to whisk them away. And Wilford got… mixed responses.

Because as much as children often seemed to be at their very best when spending time with Wilford, even if they were previously afraid or upset, not all parents liked the look of Wilford. He looked suspiciously nice, almost too friendly, like a Willy Wonka type who was looking to take children away to some sort of magical place that would curse them or suck their souls out or make them bad at mathematics.

It didn’t help matters with those from older generations that took one look at Wilford and honest to God probably thought his name was Mr Gay Man McStereotype.

So when people attempted to scold him for doing something wrong by existing and also being around kids, he just shrugged it off and let people think what they wanted. He knew he wasn’t being unsavoury, so it mattered very little.

One day, Wilford waited with a girl whose parent didn’t come for her. She was maybe ten years old, sweet as pie, with just enough sass to keep Wilford on his toes and laughing merrily, and she had a tint of an accent that Wilford couldn’t quite place. Her name was Claire.

When he asked about her parents, Claire shook her head and went a little quiet. He tilted his head, not wanting to probe the issue, but it wasn’t like he could sit in the mall with her forever. Or, well, he probably could if he really tried, but he had a life and other things to do.

“Listen. I’ll ask them to make another call over the intercom, and we’ll wait some more, but beyond that, we’ll go to police.”

That promise was easier said than done, since Wilford had issues with police, but he’d figure a way around it. Or rather, maybe he didn’t need to because as soon as police were mentioned Claire was shaking her head furiously, hands out, begging him not to contact them.

Wilford furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why is that so bad?”

Claire looked at her hands and fidgeted for a moment.

“…Mom wouldn’t be happy if we brought police home.”

Wilford tilted his head again.

“We?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a brother, Jonothan. He’s pretty cool, he’s two years older than me and he loves video games and stuff, like Daddy.”

“Well, what about your father? Where is he at the moment?”

Claire shrugged, and looked kind of unsure about what to think of the situation.

“Mom kicked him out, it was weird. Now Auntie Kate does nothin’ but go in the other room and talk about Daddy, like ‘blah blah, Chase is so useless!’ And they think we don’t hear ‘em but we do! Don’t even wanna go into that room anyway, it smells weird.”

Claire seemed to just… go on a tangent, making voices impersonating her aunt and making hand gestures, the lot of it. If it had been anyone else, any other Ego who was a little more aware of their surroundings, perhaps they would have made the connection. But Wilford didn’t. All he saw was a young girl from a broken home who was struggling. And there was clearly something up with that police situation.

So he took her back to the Ego house. The reaction was… less than optimal from Dark.

“What on Earth were you thinking?! This is no place for a child! I know you want to… you know what? It doesn’t matter. We don’t have the time to deal with a kidnaping case, I’ll have Blue get onto this and we can just send this child back home before anything ridiculous happens.”

Dark quietly scolded Wilford in the living room while Claire sat in the kitchen and ate from Wilfords private cookie collection. Wilford tried to explain his concerns, that there was something going on with this kid, he just had a feeling, but Dark was persistent as ever.

Finally, once they were done and Wilford felt properly solemn and downtrodden, Dark walked into the kitchen and loomed over Claire. She seemed… weirdly unfazed. What had this child seen? Dark shook it out of his mind, and he spoke down to her.

“Authorities will be here shortly to take you back to your mother.”

Dark looked… stiff, in the way that he spoke, and Wilford stood behind him, rubbing his neck awkwardly. For the sake of not scaring the child too much, Dark had deliberately pulled in his aura, despite being incredibly annoyed. And then they heard a buzzing.

“- ye bastards wouldn’t know good tea if I shoved it up yer arse!”

Anti had clearly been having half a conversation with himself, wearing denim short-shorts and a shirt that was obviously Wilfords. He was holding a mug and getting rid of the teabag in it, turning around to bin it when he saw the small figure staring at him.

There was a beat.

“…Claire?”

“Anti!”

Claire jumped up from her seat and ran up to Anti, hugging his middle, not giving a damn about his attire or why the hell he was here in the first place, why either of them were there.

Anti looked shocked only in the fact that she was here right now, not that she’d hugged him, because he immediately put a hand in her hair and ruffled it lovingly.

Dark and Wilford looked at each other, utterly confused, as Anti started babbling to her and she babbled right on back. They were clearly comfortable with each other, and Claire’s accent became an awful lot stronger when she was around someone who shared it. She was some sort of wise old soul, and surprisingly enough, Anti treated her with the same kind of respect that Wilford had. Just… different.

“Haven’t seen ye in yonks! How’s the Ma?”

“Makin’ ends meet, as ye do. She banned Nerf guns in the house but Jonothan still does it, obviously. Auntie Kate’s being…”

“Auntie Kate’s bein’ Auntie Kate. Let’s just put it like that, huh?”

Claire giggled at that, and nodded. He finally looked up at Wilford and Dark, since he’d crouched to the ground to be on Claire’s level.

“So where is ye father, then? Guess he brought ye to visit?”

Wilford looked… awkward. Dark explained for him.

“No. We didn’t know this was Chases child. Wilford found her at the mall and her mother couldn’t be located.”

Antis brows furrowed and he looked back to Claire. Claire looked like she wanted to avoid his gaze, like she knew what he was going to ask.

“What’s she been doin’, Claire? What’s Stace been up to? Is…”

Anti hesitated, looking up at Dark and Wilford, then leaning in, cupping his hand over his mouth and whispering in her ear.

She listened and nodded, shyly.

Anti glitched in place. He looked like he was trying to keep a straight face.

“Jono’s still there, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Alrighty. Don’t ye worry about a thing. We gotcha now. I’ll call ye father and we’ll take it from there.”

Claire and Chase sat in the kitchen together after something of a teary reunion. There were many kisses and hugs and thanks in Anti and Wilfords general direction. Dark stood mostly in the background, as something of a mediator over the situation. Once Chase and Claire were settled, however, Anti found himself pacing in the living room, muttering and glitching.

Dark was the first to step in and ask Anti what the exact problem was, since he seemed to be somewhat oblivious. Wilford wondered how on Earth Dark managed to be so cool towards children.

Anti barely managed to keep his voice under control, obviously containing a lot of rage.

“He only started hittin’ the drink after she fuckin’ left! And now that’s exactly what she’s doing twenty four fuckin’ seven with the kids in tow! Ain’t lettin’ Chase be a goddamn father, bitchin’ to Cunty Katie and clippin’ em across the ear or screamin’ her tit off whenever they, God forbid, interrupt her fuckin’ drinkin’ sessions!”

It was a little hard to follow along. But the picture was clear enough. Stacy was an abusive drunk.

Dark looked guilty. Really guilty. He’d almost sent this child back home to an environment that was, at the very least, incredibly toxic, when the more than capable, biological father was just a phone call away. He felt ridiculous. Wilford looked more determined than ever though. Dark couldn’t quite place what sort of… determination it was, except for the fact that any time Wilford got determined about anything, someone was either about to be in for a treat or a lot of trouble and there was no in between.

Chase already looked tired and teary-eyed before they put Claire to bed in a guest bedroom. But afterwards, when he finally let go of everything on the couch, and Dark watched as Anti poured more genuine care and sympathy into Chase than he usually did with anyone, that was when Dark solidified a few things in his own mind.

Chase sobbed into Antis shoulder.

“She hasn’t even called! Not a text, nothin’! As far as she knows, our daughter is missin’ and she wouldn’t even tell me that!”

At that was concerning. That Stacy cared so little, either about her children’s welfare or Chase knowing what was happening in a crisis situation or both, to not contact him. Even Dark found that inherently wrong. Wilford sat, shaking his head the entire time.

Chase eventually stopped crying and was leaning on Anti. Anti held him in a curious manner, in a way that he held Wilford sometimes, but more… obviously comforting. It was strange to watch.

“So, ye comin’ to visit sometime?”

Anti nodded, running a hand through Chases hair, softly.

“Yeah. Gotta check in with Marv, and Jamie. And the nazi, fuck. And especially you.”

Chase tsk’d at the notion.

“Ye don’t have te ‘especially’ me, y’know.”

“Well… maybe I want to. Because ye’ve been workin’ hard and ye deserve some special treatment.”

Chase went silent, and he shifted a little as his eyes seemed to flicker over to Dark and Wilford, who had paid them the courtesy of mostly staying quiet and not staring too much, despite how sweet it was to watch Anti being so soft with anyone.

Chase buried his face into Antis chest, likely to hide the blush forming on his face. They didn’t really talk about the kinds of things Anti did for Chase sometimes. It helped alleviate some of the… crippling loneliness that came with a divorce. To Anti, it wasn’t a huge deal, and he’d be more gentle with Chase than he’d ever be with Dark or Wilford, because it was a totally different dynamic. Anti barely had it in him to be a dick to Chase when life was already crushing his soul more than any of Antis antics ever could.

When Wilford passed Chase and Antis door later on, he made sure to check that it was locked from the inside. God knows privacy could be difficult to get in this house. Wilford and Dark headed off to bed, both a little more quiet and contemplative than usual.

“You should haunt her, Darkling.”

Dark sighed.

“I won’t lie, I was considering it. But it’s an invasion of privacy. You know I don’t use it for… personal reasons.”

That much was true. Dark was picky about when he literally invaded people’s dreams like that. He didn’t like doing it unless totally necessary for a mission or something along those lines. But…

“Oh, come on. You look Chase in the eyes tomorrow morning and you tell me that horrifying excuse of a woman isn’t deserving of a good scare at the very least.”

Dark was silent for a little while.

“Alright. At the very least, she won’t be keeping the children full time.”

And that was that. A few days later, Jonothan was dropped off at Chases own apartment with a decent collection of his and his sisters belongings. There was still very little explanation from Stacy. All Chase knew was that she wasn’t trying to take him to court or press charges or anything of the sort. They spoke just enough to arrange for her to see them on weekends, and that was it.

And Chase, despite having the wind knocked from him in terms of the quick turn over, was looking happier. So much happier. To the point where Anti was down right chipper for a few days following the good news.

Wilford was… content. He was a little saddened that he didn’t get to spend any more time with Claire, and he hesitated to express this to Dark. But Anti made him feel infinitely better about things when he approached Wilford on the side.

“By the way… thanks.”

Wilford cocked an eyebrow.

“For what?”

“Bein’ yerself. None of this would’a happened if ye weren’t so goddamn loveable.”

Wilford blushed, maybe a little harder than the situation called for. But he supposed, If he was loveable to so many different kinds of people, demons and glitches and children, then maybe he wasn’t so bad.

#requests #dantistache #antiaverage #Darkiplier #antisepticeye #Wilford Warfstache #Chase broody

187 notes · View notes

shreyamistry · 6 years

Note

OTP Drabble - 28: “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” - “Well, you shouldn’t be saying it then.” Olivia x MC 💗

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” - “Well, you shouldn’t be saying it then.”

Olivia x MC

Summary: Olivia overhears NIcole and Maxwell’s conversation, which turns interesting in the boutiuqe between her and her very beautiful competitor. (753 Words)

A/N: Rules here! Don’t know what to request? See my prompt list 200 Prompts here, OTP here!

Thanks for reading! Hope you like it!

Nicole blushes deeply, letting her head fall a little sitting next to Maxwell in the boutique. She rests her hand on his knee to help steady herself, “I’m a crazy person, aren’t I?” She looks at him expectantly, as he sits there silently for a second. Say something, she thinks to herself, not knowing if she wants him to call her crazy or to support her.

“I can’t believe you’re-you want a relationship with Olivia,” Maxwell replies, his tone and face still full of astonishment, she watches him with her lips forming into a pout as he continues. “How? She’s been so…mean?”

“What do you mean how?” Nicole huffs, folding her arms across her chest, turning her head with a flip to push her hair behind her shoulder again. “It’s not like it’ll ever happen anyhow I’ve never told her. And she hasn’t been that mean, she was in love with Liam, actually in love with him, she didn’t want to lose him to well me.”

“Are you going to?” Maxwell questions. “You know, ask her out? Or tell her how you feel?”

“What? No!” Nicole instantly protests, “Get out Maxwell, I have to change and you’re not helping.”

“You want me to help change your clothes?” Maxwell asks, his nose scrunching up in confusion. “I think you’re pretty, but that’s a little far for me, Nicole. We haven’t even gone on a date and I don’t know if I feel that way and-”

“No! I meant about Olivia.” Nicole shakes her head heavily, “just go. Shoo. I have to get ready.” She pushing Maxwell towards the door, before standing up straight as he takes a few steps himself resting her hand against her forehead with a soft shake.

“Alright.” Maxwell shrugs, before stalking off slowly. Nicole watches his retreating figure, before unzipping the back of her dress just enough to slip out of it, letting the garment fall to the floor. She picks it up off the floor sliding it onto a hanger hanging it on top of the door to a changing room.

She was grateful no one was here to hear Maxwell share her secrets with anyone trying to buy a garment or change into it, she walks across the boutique to grab her dress neatly wrapped up before throwing it over her shoulder turning on her shoulder when she sees a pair of heels and feet, her eyes instantly going wide recognizing the tattoo on the ankle before her.

The red butterfly, with peaks of purple and pink mixed into the wings beside a large amount of reds. “Olivia?”

“Fuck.” She hears the voice groan, before pulling open the door to her changing room. Olivia steps out in a stunning red and black dress, her hands sliding down the front of her dress to smooth it out. “Lady Velour.”

“You didn’t happen to-“

“What do you think, Nicole?”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be saying it then.” Olivia challenges, her eyes meeting Nicole’s, who awkwardly holds one of her arms with the other before noticing her current status trying to cover her body with her hands. “I’ve seen you this way a thousand times before Nicole, no need to be shy now.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re enjoying this.” Nicole pouts, flicking her tongue over her lips nervously, see the slight smirk on Olivia’s cherry lips, her eyes watching the way Olivia’s lips curve delicately feeling suddenly embarrassed noticing such features of Olivia’s lips.

“Watching you squirm? Most definitely.” Olivia laughs, as Nicole rolls her eyes at her. “I must say I am flattered.”

“Olivia, let’s just-“ Nicole starts pulling her dress up on her body, her hands reaching behind her to try and zip up her dress. “Forget this happened. Maxwell and I were having a private conversation.”

“Here.” Olivia offers, swatting Nicole’s hands away from the zipper of her dress. She feels Olivia’s hands start to mess with the zipper trying to pull it up. Olivia drags the zipper up slowly, her hand resting on the exposed skin of Nicole’s shoulder blade. The air is stiff and silent, her breath caught in her throat as Olivia pulls the zipper to the top finally. Her hands still pressed against Nicole’s warm skin.

“I-“

“Let’s go before we’re late.” Olivia quickly brushes past Nicole, not bothering to look back at Nicole. Nicole stays perfectly still, her hands lingering on her hips as she watches Olivia disappear behind the boutique door.

Haven’t written a lot for Olivia, even though I adore her (and would love more requests for her), but if you’re looking for more fics try on for taste “Well this is just great” by my friend Zig! Or the break up/make up posts by my friend Kate!

#olivia nevrakis #olivia x mc #playchoices #the royal romance #trr #mc x olivia #choices trr #choices the royal romance #maxwell beaumont #ask #answered #anon #anonymoose #reques #prompt #otp prompt list #you weren't suppose to hear that #well you shouldn't be saying it

29 notes · View notes

cripplecharacters · 6 years

Text

Black Panther, The Winter Soldier, and Space Magic Prosthetics

I recently went to see Black Panther and there was something in it that I wanted to talk about because I thought it was really cool! The whole movie was very cool, of course, but I wanted to talk about this specific thing.

[A picture of Klaue from Black Panther hanging out the side of a car and pointing his arm/cannon hybrid prosthetic at the camera. He is also making a very silly face. It looks like he’s pretending to be a squirrel. End image description.]

I can’t get a great picture of it yet, but if you go to see Black Panther you can see it better, and here’s the special thing about this prosthetic: that’s a myoelectric arm. Minus the cannon that’s what myoelectric arms look like and how they function- a little bit plastic looking, a little stiff, the fingers mostly move as one mass. They took a real world prosthetic and said “hey you know what would make this even cooler? If we stuck a gun in it.” The weird thing was how refreshing that was to see. I hadn’t really thought about it beforehand, but I think this might be the first time in movies I have seen a vaguely realistic prosthetic. Most movie prosthetics are space magic. For example

[A picture of Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier from Captain America: The Winter Soldier. He’s in that outfit where for some reason they were like “yeah just cut off the left sleeve that looks cool, really shows off that muscly muscly prosthetic.” End image description]

Bucky’s arm is absolutely space magic. Where’s the battery? Why is it so muscly? What are those plates for? How is it powered? We don’t have any idea but boy does it look cool. It’s similar to the Iron Man suit, or any of the gadgets Stark slings around.

There’s not really anything wrong with space magic prosthetics just like there’s nothing wrong with space ships. They’re super cool special effects “woah did you see that?” kinds of things. What I do think about space magic prosthetics, however, is they’re oversaturated. I can now name three characters who use a semi-realistic prosthetic (Klaue, and now that I think about it that old man and Hiccup from How to Train Your Dragon), two characters who don’t use prosthetics (Nemo and one character from Maya and Miguel the PBS children’s show that I saw one episode of once), and everyone else uses space magic prosthetics (Bucky, Nebula, everyone from Fullmetal Alchemist, Luke Skywalker, Symmetra, etc). This is basically the equivalent of if 80-90% of cars on TV were Transformers and/or one of Stark’s fancy ritzy private jets. It’s cool to see that car transform into a big robot that fights crime or whatever it is the Transformers do, but it just doesn’t really have any basis in reality, so when you see a normal or kind of normal car you go “hey! That’s like my car!” and it’s kind of cool.

Anyway those are just my thoughts on that. TL;DR: Black Panther showed a better understanding of prosthetics than any other Marvel movie and I thought that was neat. They did still cast an abled person to play a disabled character so that’s always kind of not great, but let’s be real here they’re not the only ones to do that. Honestly, name me one amputee character played by an amputee actor. This isn’t a Black Panther specific problem, and they made, in my opinion, a good step forward with that prosthetic.

Anyway go see Black Panther! It’s really cool.

-Mod Kate

#black panther #catws #wall of words #mod kate #limb differences #prosthetics

74 notes · View notes

dragongoddess13 · 7 years

Text

31 Days of Halloween Prompt Challenge

Day 3

Wintershock

“Halloween is basically an excuse for you to walk the streets in lingerie- and I love every second of it.”

Ao3

xXx

“Really?” Sam seemed surprised. “So none of that ‘Back in my day’ stuff or ‘Leave something to the imagination?’”

“Nope.” Bucky grinned. “I am thoroughly convinced the forties would have been that much better if women dressed similarly.”

Sam just barely caught Steve’s eye roll across the breakfast bar. “What’s that about?” he asked amused.

“The jerk here doesn’t care a lick about whether ‘women’ could dress a certain way or not or how they dress now.” Steve began fully aware of the scowl that was now forming on Bucky’s face.

“Then why all the excitement?” Sam asked, looking back and forth between them.

“Bucky is only interested in seeing one woman all dressed up. Or barely dressed, for that matter.”

The twinkle in Sam’s eye as he turned a big toothy, shit eating grin on Bucky ensured that whatever he was about to say, Bucky wouldn’t like it. “Does our little murder-baby have a crush? I think he does. Well come on, who is it? You can tell me. Tell your Uncle Sam...aaaannnnd it just got weird.” Sam turned away, going back to his breakfast, ignoring Steve’s attempt to hide his laughter in his protein shake.

The kitchen was devoid of conversation for a few minutes until finally Steve spoke up; “It’s Darcy, by the way.”

“Steve.” Bucky’s reply was a warning, but Captain America never backed down from a challenge.

“Darcy?” Sam questioned trying to remember where he’d heard the name. “Wait, Thor’s friend, the famed taser-wielder and scientist wrangler?”

“That’s the one. She’s going to be at Tony’s Heroes-Only Halloween Party this year,” Steve explained. “She’s definitely not the shy type, so there’s no telling what she’ll wear.”

“Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” Sam’s grin was back full force and Bucky wasn’t sure he was going to enjoy whatever that grin meant.

xXx

“This is the best night of my life,” Sam’s said proudly, leaning against the bar.

“That’s sad,” Clint replied. Kate and America nodded in agreement.

“Oh no,” Sam replied. “Trust me, you’re going to think so too.”

“Oh yeah? How so?” America asked.

Sam looked around, making sure no one-or a specific someone at least- wasn’t around to hear. “So get this. Bucky has a little crush on the Scientist Wrangler.”

“Darcy?” Kate asked gleefully, now quite excited.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, so you know how there seems to be this idea that women wear skimpy costumes on Halloween?”

“Yeah,” America sighed wistfully. “Whoever’s idea that was should get an award.” Kate laughed, elbowing her girlfriend playfully.

“Anyway, Bucky still hasn’t figured out that it’s an idea, not a rule.”

Kate gasped. “Oh my god, he’s expecting her to dress slutty?” Sam nodded. “Aw, he’s going to be so disappointed.”

Sam laughed an almost comically evil laugh. “I know, right.”

xXx

Steve was afraid if he looked up from his shoes he would start laughing again. Bucky was completely oblivious to everything else in the room.

“Hey Buckster, looking spiffy.” Darcy greeted him with a big smile. Bucky looked down at himself. He’d chosen James Dean for his costume. It was quick and easy and if something happened he could move relatively well in it.

“Thanks Darce. You look very... comfortable,” he replied, ignoring Steve’s snort.

Darcy costume was decidedly unsexy, although he would admit she looked rather cute all the same. He’d heard of these Adult onesies before but he’d never actually seen one, especially one printed to look like Thor’s armor.

“I am sooooo comfortable.” she replied. “It’s perfect for cuddling on the couch with a stiff drink, junk food, and the multitude of scary movies I intend to marathon when I get home.”

“You're not staying?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nah, parties really aren’t my thing,” she explained. “But I promised Tony I would make an appearance, so here I am.”

“I see.”

His tone seemed to bothered Darcy. “Is everything alright, Bucky?” she asked.

He nodded. “Oh yeah, you just… caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’m just surprised you didn’t chose a different costume. Something more along the lines of what other women tend to wear on Halloween.” He tried to put it delicately and Steve thought he did a pretty decent job.

“Oh, god, no,” she laughed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, or anything. To each their own and all that. But, no, I save stuff like that for private viewing.”

She gave him a wink before excusing herself to catch up with Tony as he passed by.

#wintershock #darcyland #darcy lewis #Bucky Barnes #31 days of halloween prompt challenge #dragongoddess13

17 notes · View notes

goldishlock · 4 years

Text

Emerald Seas Chapter 4 (Pirates of the Caribbean Fanfiction)

It was the next morning and as Cutler awoke he was glad he caught at least some sleep. His back felt tolerable even though still very painful and stiff. The nightmares were one of the reasons he wasn't able to sleep. Every time when closing his eyes he relived everything and felt the pain once again, waking up several times soaked in sweat. When awake he was thankful for being saved and he caught his thoughts slipping toward Kate, making it even harder for him to fall back asleep.

He lifted his body from his bed and tried to make way to the dresser slowly. There laid one of the spare uniforms that were brought to him the night before, waiting for him on a chair. He lifted the white blouse over his shoulders which made his back burn, but he was happy to feel the touch of clean, and above all, dry clothes again. The sun peeked through the small windows inside the cabin, it was early in the morning but upon deck, was already a lot of activity. When he was fully dressed in the uniform he tried to get up from the chair. It took a lot of strength to do so but he managed to get up and felt well enough to go up to deck.

When he arrived the bright sunlight made him squeeze his eyes, but once his sight returned he noticed the ship was sailing full speed. He guessed London would be the destination. He saw a few men standing near the helm and noticed Lord Florence enjoying his morning tea at a small fully served table. He and a few of his Lieutenants were discussing the direction they were going and next to the small table was a higher one with a large map placed upon it. Cutler made way to the men and when arriving it was obvious Lord Florence didn't acknowledge his presence on purpose. Cutler coughed to get his attention and Lord Florence slowly looked up from sipping his tea while holding a smaller map.

'I'm sorry to interrupt Milord, but I wanted to show my gratitude for saving me the other day' Cutler stood tall and tried to make an impression. Lord Florence's mouth curled into a modest smile.

'Don't thank me. It's my daughter you have to thank' his voice spoke and Cutler swore he saw some Lieutenants laughing behind him. Lord Florence nodded his head in the direction behind Cutler and as he turned around he saw Kate in the distance making her way from the back of the ship. She looked much different from last night, all clean and neat, she must feel just as glad as himself to be in normal conditions again. Her hair was tight up with a few curls which made their way down to her shoulder. The gold of her dress fluttering in the wind shone within the light of the first morning rays of the sun. She managed to look beautiful in a simple way, not overdressed like some women in England would. Cutler figured it probably made life at sea for her a lot easier in somewhat more simple dresses, as women didn't have naval uniforms.

Cutler caught himself staring at her as she slowly strolled across the large deck into their direction, greeting everyone with her always warm smile. As she reached the stairs to get to the men Cutler quickly walked a few steps down to gently reach for her hand and help her upstairs like a gentleman, not letting his sight go off her. Kate whispered a thank you greeting him with a kind smile.

'Ah my dear' Lord Florence pointed at a seat next to him for Kate to sit while he moved back the chair.

'Goodmorning men' Kate nodded and her eyes went from all of them to Cutler and ended there.

'Goodmorning Miss Florence. I hope you are feeling well?' Cutler greeted her forgetting the fact that he was still holding her hand even though she long ago reached the top of the stairs.

'Cutler, even now you can call me Kate' she whispered softly in Cutler's direction so only the two of them could hear. After spending so much time together and growing so close they, of course, had let go of appropriate manners and etiquettes, but Cutler released it all was different now as he felt the eyes of Lord Florence burning in his back. Kate seemed to understand what he was doing and softly coughing while lowering her eyes she smoothly pulled her hand back and Cutler quickly released it. Kate's face looked more serious into his direction.

'I'm very well, thank you for your concern Mr. Beckett' she spoke in a formal way, teasing with him as a wink followed. Cutler grinned softly while she passed him and gently placed herself on the chair next to her father.

'We will be heading back to London. I believe you work for the East India Trading Company at their main office there?' Lord Florence scribbled on some notes and didn't even bother to look Cutler's direction.

'Yes Sir' Cutler answered.

'Good. Our journey should be a smooth one as my men are figgering out the safest and fastest course' Lord Florence sipped some of his tea.

He probably wanted to reach London as fast as possible for the safety of his daughter, trying to stay out of the way of any pirate encounters, even though this Naval warship was ready to take down any illegal ship, it seemed Lord Florence didn't want to take any chances.

'I can be of assistance with that Sir, if I may' Cutler wanted to show his usefulness, he felt the desire to do something after being away from real work for such a long time. Navigating and map reading were one of his stronger skills, he had a big interest in them. Lord Florence finally looked up from his parchment and started laughing along with some of the Lieutenants. Kate gave her father an annoyed look but she hit it well as Lord Florence watched her sipping her tea quickly.

'And how could you be of any use boy? We have the best navigators in England' Lord Florence spoke his mind and Kate placed her hand upon her father's after she had lowered her cup.

'Father, at least give him a chance, please' Kate whispered so only the two of them could hear. Lord Florence let out a hearable sigh and he waved as a sign Cutler could help if necessary. Cutler bowed slightly and made his way to the Lieutenants, looking back shortly to see Kate smiling, her face hidden behind her teacup after taking another sip.

'What is going on my dear?' it seemed Lord Florence asked a question he didn't want to ask, or at least he wanted to get the right answer, Kate tried to hold back a sigh before she spoke.

'I know he's a smart man father. I know men want to be useful on a ship so why not give it a try?' Kate didn't look at her father taking her teacup and circled it in her small hands.

'I mean with you and him Katherina, you seem fond of him.. you know what I mean' Lord Florence stuttered a little, showing less of the strict man he was a few seconds ago, but the waving of his hand, that she needed to spell it out, seemed a little more like the strict men he often showed himself as. He took her wrist softly. It stopped Kate from playing with the teacup and made her look him in the eyes as he expected she would give him the answer he wanted.

'We've been through a lot these past weeks. I got to know him well and after all, he saved my life. One will start to care for the other after all that' Kate whispered carefully but firm looking at her father's face who went quiet. It was obvious it wasn't the answer he hoped for. Even though she didn't say it straight away, he probably could tell she had feelings for him.

'It can't be Katherina' Lord Florence spoke quickly, sort and stubborn. Kate removed her sight as her eyes had stared at the porcelain teacup for a while.

'Only because his income and rank aren't good enough?' Kate placed her teacup on the table with a soft pound, for a moment her eyes went to the men behind them but they were to busy minding their own business. Her eyes pierced her father's.

'Well.. say it!' Kate raised her voice a little, but not too loud so the conversation was still private. Lord Florence's face turned strict again, he released her wrist as she had pulled it away.

'I don't want you to go to ruin once I leave this world. One day you will understand. Try to forget the boy Katherina. You will only break your heart if you don't stop this. You have to let him know this is all there was..' he stood up from the table and took her hand back placing a quick kiss on it. Kate sighed as her father walked towards the men to see the progress they made. It felt like there was a stone in her stomach. The last thing she wanted to do is tell Cutler it could never be.

'Good work Mr. Beckett' Kate heard her father speak to Cutler while he bent his much taller body over the large map. He seemed genuinely impressed. The Lieutenants nodded in approval. Kate watched as Cutler received a pat on the back from her father before he left the upper deck. She knew Cutler was an intelligent man and she believed in him. Kate understood her father's concern but couldn't, and didn't want to ban Cutler from her mind.

The sky was dark as the night had come. There was a soft wind blowing through Kate's hair while she leaned over the rail, watching the waves hit the side of the ship. It was quiet upon deck which only made the sound of the waters more mesmerizing. Most men were asleep, except for the sailor keeping watch. She grinned when her sight moved to the sailor who couldn't keep his eyes open, his head almost slipping away into a deeper sleep, which almost made it hit the helm every time. Her eyes moved to the waves again. Tomorrow they will reach London. She felt glad to go home again, of course after all the terror that had happened and still haunting her at night in her sleep, one of the reasons she was still awake. But she felt an emptiness inside her when thinking about continuing the normal days of her life in London again. It wasn't going to take long for her father to force her to choose a suitor. And once that would happen it felt like her life would end, the adventures on the sea, the only freedom she still had, and Cutler, she would lose him. All of a sudden she felt a presence near her and she woke up from her thoughts, her eyes shifting toward the person beside her.

'I didn't mean to frighten you' Cutler's deep voice spoke reassuringly and his face entered the light of the small lanterns on deck.

'My thoughts carried me away I think' Kate's lips curled upward and her eyes focused on the sea again, she knew her father wanted her to say goodbye to him, but she simply couldn't.

'Now you make me wonder, about your deep thoughts' Cutler said charmingly, he placed his hand on the rail close to hers, slightly touching the side of her hand. She felt the struggle inside and wondered how he made it so difficult for her to forget him.

'What will you do once we get home?' Kate asked hoping for an answer that might include her in his plans for the future. She decided not to follow her father's commands, but uncertain of Cutler's feeling and thoughts, she wanted to be sure of his feelings before pouring her heart out to him.

'After all that happened, I will try to work even harder to reach my goal. One day I'll rid the seas from pirates, once and for all' Cutler spoke with ambition. Kate admired his determination and knew he was just as scarred from this encounter with pirates, it seemed like it let a spark within him that spoke hate and it seemed he wanted revenge.

'I want to make sure nothing like that will ever happen to you again Kate, even if I can't protect you from up close I will do it from afar' Cutler whispered after making his body turn to hers, moving his hand closer and eventually placing it gently onto hers. Kate's eyes started tearing as he spoke those words, but she soon covered it up by blinking. He spoke of how they could never be together, but he'd still make it his life's mission to keep her safe by eliminating all evil from this world. Her hand turned and gently squeezed his warm hand. Kate dared her eyes to turn away from the waves and they caught him glancing her way. She didn't know what to say, thankful for his words and the promise he'd still protect her even though she was in safe hands now. But still the battle within her, of risking it all or doing what her father desired made it impossible to act on her feelings alone.

'Cutler I.. don't know what to say' Kate started but his hand raised to her cheek where the warmth of his palm covered the rosy color of her skin. His thumb traveled to her lips, as a sign it was alright she wasn't sure how to respond.

'You don't have to say anything' Cutler knew she was having a hard time trying to do what was right or following her heart. He didn't want to influence her choice and respected her father's decisions, even though he wanted nothing more than to be with her.

'I will see you tomorrow' Kate quickly pressed a soft kiss to his cheek once he had lowered his hand. It was clear Cutler did not saw it coming as his raised eyebrows showed his surprised expression. Kate knew it wouldn't take long before she was going to scream out how much she wanted to be with him which would only lead to trouble, so she decided it was best to leave for bed now. Quickly taking the fabric of her skirt and evening robe she curtseyed down, immediately she felt like a fool as if he was a total stranger to her. So she covered it up by taking his fingers within hers for a slight moment before taking her first steps to leave.

'I hope you'll sleep well' Cutler whispered as he had sensed she too was troubled by nightmeres. With a stretched out arm still holding her fingers he slowly placed a kiss on her knuckles before actually releasing them before she disappeared into the darkness.

The next morning Cutler woke up early as he once again didn't catch much sleep. Arriving on deck he noticed there was land in sight. Sailors were working hard to get the ship to the right direction and commands were yelled across the deck. He noticed Kate and Lord Florence were already awake and making themselves ready to enter the land. Cutler almost forgetting how big London was watched the streets in the far distance which looked busy already at this time in the morning. Once the grand white sails slowly entered the docks Cutler made his way to Kate and greeted her nodding his head.

'Let's make way my dear' Lord Florence pulled Kate's arm as he escorted her to leave the ship. It was obvious Lord Florence was rushing her toward the longboats as he didn't feel to need to greet Cutler.

Once the crew was all aboard the longboats they entered the docks of London shortly after. In the distance Culter watched the magnificent ship being repaired and prepared for the next trip. It seemed as if they were in a hurry and Cutler suddenly remembered Kate telling him Lord Florence's Company would leave for the Caribbean soon, and he didn't even know exactly where. It made his stomach turn as he realized it wouldn't take long before she'd leave London, which might mean for good.

Kate looked around at what was a familiar sight. It was strange to step on land again and it felt like they had been on the seas for years. It always made her balance a bit off for days after. Lord Florence made his way to the blue carriage that was waiting for them. Kate turned around and saw Cutler had left the longboats as well.

'Make it quick' Lord Florence had turned around his head to see his daughter staring at Cutler. He removed his sight from her returning his walk to the carriage. Kate didn't break her sight from Cutler and swallowed before making her way to him. It seemed he already spotted her and made his way to her as well. Cutler opened his mouth to speak but Kate spoke rather quickly and serious.

'I want to thank you for bringing me home safe Mr. Beckett' Kate spoke quick and formal. Cutler for a moment worried but soon he saw two piercing eyes watch him as Lord Florence watched them from the small window of the carriage. Cutler smiled back at Kate as a sign he understood what she was doing, making Lord Florence believe this were their final goodbyes. Cutler offered Kate his arm, pointing to the ship as if he was explaining something while turning their back on her father to have at least some privacy while they strolled a little out of hearing range.

'We will head for the Caribbean soon, very soon I'm afraid' Kate spoke staring at the ship. She knew they would settle down there for quite a while, the Carribean was a growing business as her father said, which meant that it was going to be her home for a long time. Her heart almost broke thinking about being so far away from him.

'I want to see you again, Kate' Cutler spoke quickly breaking the formality. Kate's green eyes winded slightly as they moved away from the ship into his direction. Her lips turned upward.

'And I you' Kate whispered softly. Cutler didn't expect that reaction, he was sure she was going to choose to be faithful to her father's wishes, and he couldn't think she was wrong. But she didn't. It gave him hope, the fire inside him was fueled even more.

There was a voice that called for Kate. Cutler noticed her eyes roll and as they turned around it was Lord Florence making his way back to continue escorting his daughter to the carriage. There were some redcoats that had arrived guarding the carriage as if Lord Florence was making a statement for Cutler not to follow them.

'Promise me you'll write' Kate continued quickly whispering as time was running out and her father's patience as well. Kate was looking straight into Cutler's eyes when they returned to hers.

'I promise' Cutler whispered making her one last promise before they were seperated. Just in time before Lord Florence hooked his arm into that of his daughter to escort her away from him. Cutler stood there taking in the last seconds of printing the image of her emerald green eyes into his mind, for he did not know when he was going to behold them again..

————————————————————

AN: I wrote this fanfiction a long time ago and decided to put it on Tumblr ^^ I apologize in advance for any mistakes in my English, for it is not my native language. Also first fanfic so please be gentle and any tips are very much welcome! :D

#cutlerbeckett #lord beckett #cutler beckett #piratesofthecaribbean #pirates of the caribbean #fanfiction #fanfic

1 note · View note

writingwell · 7 years

Note

3 Words Prompt: SpyCastle, ArmyAU, Start

#262 (this is literally the very beginning of the AU of Spy Castle called Army Spy)

—–

Never leave a trace behind.

Well, it had worked. A little too well.

The son of Special Agent John Black sat hunched in the booth at the back of the room, his eyes sweeping and scanning the bar, cataloging every movement, unable to let go of battle-ready, combat alert.

He had no name, no passport, no driver’s license. He’d been an Army Ranger six months ago, but then his father had terminated the project when half the squad went AWOL after the rest had committed suicide. Yet, he was still here, ticking along without a problem, popping supplements like candy and drinking his gallon and a half of water like a good boy. He’d been trained to follow orders, and he didn’t see much reason not to.

It worked for him. Had worked.

He had no name now but it had once been Richard. Most people didn’t know that one, though his CO, Captain Eastman, must have been CIA Special Operations because he had known the truth. Eastman had let him go with a sigh, told him not to deal New York City too much damage.

Richard was on the hunt. For what, he had no idea. He just needed something… other. A taste of it. Just for a week, a week to stop looking and moving and answering like an Army Ranger, and then he’d be stationed in Ireland for a long-term mission, back to operative assignments where his father needed his services.

He wasn’t looking forward to Ireland, but he couldn’t go back to the Army either. It didn’t hold the appeal it once had, after the Towers had fallen, to get out there and do something about the evil in the world. Not when the guy he stared down the rifle scope loved his kids and kissed his wife, and the only intel Castle had on him was a word from some bureaucrat.

Not when half his unit had never gotten back-up, out there stranded, abandoned. No bureaucrat in sight.

Castle had been taught by the best at West Point, and in Afghanistan, he’d seen every wrong move and every shit tactical decision that went against the best ideas of commanders on the ground, not to mention his CIA training, and he just couldn’t go back to following orders.

“Soldier,” the waitress said, coming around with his drink. She placed the tumbler of Scotch on the scarred wood and nodded as she left, not bothering to force him into conversation. He appreciated that at least.

He never drank. Another rule he hadn’t cared enough about to break until now. His father never drank, and so Richard had never touched it until West Point. In order to blend in, he’d started a habit with his friends of drinking just enough. He’d acquired the officers’ taste - Scotch on the rocks. He swirled it around the glass now, watching the amber diffuse across the ice.

He took a long swallow and let it burn.

It was enough. He’d nurse it for a few hours, he decided, and then he’d find the CIA safe house near Harlem, sleep long enough to forget upon waking where he was.

Right. That never happened. Still, it’d be nice to try. Sleep so hard and so long that when he came to in the darkness, for just a moment he could be anywhere at all.

He remembered that feeling, that disorientation upon waking. He’d been five and his father had stuck him in a bunk house on the training grounds at Clayton that Christmas break. He’d woken alone, no understanding of where he’d been, no clue or hints in the darkness, only the starched sheets under his cheek. He’d been with his father for a week by that time and the sense of maybe it was all a dream had been so fierce that the sensation had been pleasant and appealing.

If he could do that again, he thought maybe his life would make sense for him.

He wasn’t a kid any longer. He wasn’t even a fresh-faced recruit or an Army Ranger on a mission; he was a 32 year old guy whose whole point of existence was Leave no trace behind.

It was fucking him up a little. He just needed a week to be nothing and no one before he dove into Ireland and Foley again. He couldn’t forget what Colleen had done to him there on his very first mission out of training years ago, and though he’d matured since then, figured out his shit, he couldn’t help feeling like he was doomed to repeat his past.

And then the door opened and summer sun walked right inside the bar.

Doomed had a whole new meaning.

—–

She stepped inside like she owned the place, but he saw - because he was trained to see - that she wore her confidence like armor and below that, in the glints of green in those brown eyes, she wanted nothing more than to not be here.

In this bar.

She approached the bartender with a discreet tuck of her hand into his, and Castle watched the man glance at the paper he’d been palmed. She had worked the exchange professionally, even if the bartender had not, and Castle admired the skill.

She wasn’t a professional, he didn’t think, but it did make him pause.

Middle twenties, early side, probably twenty-four. Young enough to be cautiously optimistic, old enough to think she’d seen it all. Dark hair pulled back into a pony tail in deference to the heat, a sleeveless shirt with a long v-neck so that those tantalizing glimpses no doubt smoothed her way in any conversation with the opposite sex.

Her jeans were well-worn but her shoes were black boots with heels that were expensive and probably recently purchased. She had the look of a woman who was outside frequently - summer kissed and golden - but she wasn’t rough around the edges. Smooth, polished, sophisticated. He was getting two different vibes from her: both well-bred New York money with a promising career in the law or medicine, and also a former street rat who had been starved for opportunity.

One led to the lifestyles of the rich and famous, the other led to crime. Or.

Police work.

Ah, that was it. She was a cop. A fresh cop, because she didn’t quite know how to hold herself when she wasn’t carrying heat, and because she had made an effort with her civvies. Hair, make-up, lip gloss so that those pale, pink lips shone. She didn’t smile; she didn’t look like she had many smiles left in her today. But her eyes were alert.

They caught his and held. He studied her. She studied him, unflinchingly, assessing, and then she must have seen the army on him, because she forgot him and looked away.

He somehow didn’t want her dismissing him so easily.

He watched her because she had dismissed him, and she didn’t even bother trying to lower her voice or keep it private; she spoke at a normal volume, designed to wash away in the white noise of the bar.

But Richard heard. He always did.

“I’m sure you know him,” the woman resumed. “I know you know him, Trout. He talks about you. So please, when he comes in-”

“I’m not refusing him,” the bartender said. (His name was Trout? How awful. Score one for living under the name of a legend.) “If he comes in here and wants a drink, I’m serving him. No right telling a man he can’t drown his sorrows.”

“Don’t be a cliche,” she muttered. “All I’m saying is that you call me. When it’s bad. Call me and not the taxi service, not the guys patrolling this block, not his asshole friend, George.”

“George is-”

“I’m telling you - I’m not asking you,” she cut in. “You call me. I don’t want my father in the tank again.”

The tank. She was a cop; she used cop lingo and she knew how to get around the guys on patrol. Richard put his elbows on the table and lifted his drink, swirled it around and around, studying her instead of the Scotch.

She was amber on ice herself.

And much more interesting, especially since he seemed unable to get drunk.

“Fine, fine, fine,” the bartender said, throwing up a hand to ward her off. He waved the piece of paper in front of her face and then turned around, tacking it to the corkboard just behind his head. “I’ve got your number, sweetheart.”

He saw her face ripple with it, that instinctive fuck you for the casual tossed-off endearment. But she swallowed it down and thanked the bartender, backed away from the wood. As she did, she shot him a hot, frustrated look, as if he were allowed to see it even if the bartender couldn’t. As if Richard were safe.

He didn’t want to be safe. But he did want… something.

She turned and left the bar, her pony tail stiff and not swinging an inch, but her hips moving probably in spite of herself, giving him a glimpse of how good it could be.

She slid her sunglasses down on her head and moved up the sidewalk and out of sight.

He sat there for five seconds, the longest he’d ever been indecisive, and then he jerked to his feet and strode towards the bar. Trout gave him a bleary what the hell do you want kind of glance and Richard pushed right past him and out with one long look at that board.

He’d memorized her name, her number, and her address.

Kate.

—–

#three words prompt #chezchuckles #story #prompt fill #spy castle

33 notes · View notes