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itsapeterthing · 3 years

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Milestone || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: a journey through some of the biggest milestones in yours and bucky’s relationship from the day you first met to sharing a home of your own

a/n: in this we’re gonna pretend that bucky didn’t get dusted! also reader has powers similar to those of wanda’s. reblogs and replies are super appreciated!!

word count: 3.4k

warnings: none, fluff

masterlist || request || taglist

The First Time You Met

Running down the hallway of the airport, you watched as Peter was swept off of his feet and into the air by none other than Falcon, leaving the man you recognized as the Winter Soldier in your midst. Your shoes squeaking against the floor as you stopped short, you threw your arms into the air, stopping the man from moving.

Snapping his attention towards you, he furrowed his eyebrows and you could feel him fighting against your magic. Squeezing your eyes shut you tried your hardest to keep him contained but with only so much experience, he broke through it in a minute, coming for you straight after.

“Shit.” You cursed to yourself, watching as he strode over to you.

Clasping your hands together before pulling them apart, you created a baton of sorts in just enough time to hold it in front of yourself as Bucky cornered you into a wall. Pushing him back with the beam, you grunted, trying your hardest to keep the magic from dying out.

“You’re not very good at this.” He commented, attempting to pull the magical beam from your hands.

“I’m...” You grunted. “.... new.”

Using all of your force, you shoved him back. Taking the first opportunity you saw, you began shooting blasts of magic at him while he stumbled backwards. Attempting to dodge the blasts, he moved forward, putting his hands in the air.

“Look,” He said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Watching as he stumbled backwards, closer to a ledge, you halted the blasts, tilting your head sideways.

“Lucky me.”

As soon as the words fell from your mouth, you used the rest of your force, swinging your arms backwards and then pushing forward to shove him through the railing and over the edge, his eyes wide as he fell backwards. When he fell, he took the Falcon with him.

Glancing up above, you saw Peter, shooting a web to hold the two men to the ground. Feeling the energy in your palms, you floated down to the floor they were held to, standing above them.

“Look guys, I would love to keep this up but I’ve only got one job here today and I’ve gotta impress Mr. Stark, so I’m really sorry-” You watched as the drone took Peter’s web and pulled him through the window cutting him short, Peter screaming as it did.

Turning back to the men, you pulled the hood of your cloak over your head.

“Don’t worry about the drone thing,” You said. “I know when to see myself out.”

Turning to make your way towards the exit of the airport, you heard Bucky call from behind you.

“Hey!” He shouted. “Who are you?”

Bucky didn’t know why he was asking. He could barely even remember facts about himself, never mind keep track of every super human person he came across, but there was something nagging in his mind, begging him to learn more.

Glancing over your shoulder, looking at the Winter Soldier one last time, you smirked.

“Y/n.”

And with that you left the airport.

First Touch

The hatch to the ship opening, you stumbled down the steps, gripping Nebula’s arm to keep your balance. As Steve took hold of Tony, Pepper rushing to his side, you looked up to find the familiar face of Rhodey making his way towards you.

“I chose the wrong day to go see who Dr. Strange was.” You chuckled somberly, trying to make light of the situation.

Grabbing your arm to steady you as you slowly walked down the steps, Rhodey shook his head.

“The fight wasn't much better back here.” He said. “At least we had oxygen though. You’re not looking so good, kid.”

Too afraid to have looked at your deteriorating reflection the past three weeks, you knew he was being too kind.

It had been nearly three weeks since Thanos snapped away a half of the universe’s population, leaving you, Tony and Nebula stranded in space. You had run out of fuel weeks ago and had nearly lost hope of ever returning home as the oxygen supply began dwindling until Captain Marvel had found your ship and brought you all safely back to the Avengers Compound.

Despite being back, three weeks in space had left you exhausted, starving and dehydrated- just to name a few.

Biting back the dizziness you felt, you sighed.

“I’m- I’m fine, Rhodes.” You said, beginning to feel lightheaded. “It’s nothing-”

Missing your footing on the step, you tripped, losing your balance from Rhodey, about to hit the ground until you felt an arm wrap around your torso and the cool touch of metal grasp your hand. Looking up, you were met with the familiar face of the man you had fought two years ago at the airport in Germany, his hair cut shorter since the last time you had seen him, but recognizable nonetheless.

“Bucky Barnes?” You asked, standing up straighter with his assistance.

“Y/n.” He replied, shooting you a gentle smile.

Although you had what many would consider super-human abilities with your magic, due to being discovered after the civil war between the Avengers that had effectively split up the group- you weren't used to being recognized. Hearing your name fall from his lips felt somewhat gratifying.

“You remember my name?” You asked in disbelief

“Hard to forget the name of the woman who kicked my ass.” Bucky chuckled, helping you walk towards the doors of the Compound. “Doesn't happen often.”

For the first time in weeks you allowed yourself to smile as you gazed up at the man holding you steady, making sure you didn’t fall. When his blue eyes met yours, you adverted your gaze, turning your attention towards Natasha who wheeled a wheelchair through the doors of the Compound and towards the two of you.

Moving his flesh hand to rest on your lower back, his vibranium one still in yours, he helped you slowly ease into the chair. When you sat back in the chair, resting your feet on the footrests, you looked up at the super soldier and smiled.

“Not looking for a rematch are you?” You asked, slipping your hand out of his and resting it on your abdomen. “‘Cause I think I’m gonna need a raincheck.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he laughed shaking his head.

“No, I think I’m done with fighting.” He said.

Feeling Natasha pulling back on the wheelchair, about to spin your chair around and towards the doors, you threw him one last smile.

“That makes two of us.”

Just when Bucky was about to turn around and walk away as Nat wheeled you through the doors, the chair stopped and he watched as you glanced over your shoulder.

“And Sarge?” You called.

“Yeah?”

“I like the new arm.”

For the first time in decades, Bucky felt heat rise to his cheeks as he watched you tiredly speak to Natasha until you left his line of sight.

First Kiss

It had taken you nearly a month to recover from your time in space since returning back to Earth. Although you understood that there wasn’t much to be done since Thanos had wiped out half of the universe, you still felt guilty taking up space in the Compound when all you would do was lay in bed, attached to an IV.

The one thing that made your time on bedrest a little more bearable was none other than Bucky Barnes.

Throughout your stay in bed he had consistently visited you. Though at first he was a bit shy, you had proven to be someone he could trust- assuring him that he could never be a bother to you and that you genuinely enjoyed having his company- maybe a bit too much, but you would never tell him that.

Bucky himself was surprised that he had put himself so out there with you after living such a solitary life for nearly the past 80 years, but there was just something about you that drew him to you time and time again. He couldn’t pinpoint it- whether it was your kindness, humor or intelligence- he found both joy and peace in your presence- something he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be in.

So, despite the voice in the back of his head telling him that you didn’t want to see him, he had visited you while you got better in bed, taking care of you in the littlest of ways until he watched the dark circles under your eyes fade away and your ability to walk without his assistance return.

Finally feeling somewhat better, you had insisted to bucky that you were ready to train again and no matter how many times he tried to convince you that you weren’t, he could never say no once you squeezed his hand and pouted up at him.

He was regretting not saying no to you as he now stood across from you in the training room.

“Y/n, I really don’t think this is a good idea.” He said, watching you sway in your spot despite your feet being planted to the mat.

“C’mon Barnes,” You taunted, raising your hands. “You scared?”

Just as he was about to open his mouth again, you shot a blast of magic towards him, Bucky dodging it just as it whooshed past his head.

“I wasn’t even ready!” Bucky exclaimed.

Shrugging your shoulders you formed another beam made of magic, holding either ends of it with your hands as Bucky came towards you.

Trying to plant your feet to the ground, feeling another hit of dizziness wash over you, you pushed him back with the beam, but before you could do anything more, his leg swept under yours, making you lose your balance.

Before you fell to the ground, however, the magic in your hands diminished as you gripped your hands into Bucky’s shirt bringing him down with you.

Flipping over before you fell, you landed on top of the super soldier, your hands planted firmly on his chest. With his hands above his head that was inches away from yours, you both stared at each other- you finally noticing just how much you liked the scruff that coated his jawline and him admiring the color of your eyes and how he swore he could lose himself in them if only he had the chance.

Opening your mouth, you felt the thumping of Bucky’s heart against your fingertips that were resting on his chest as he gazed up at you.

“Your heart is beating really fast.” You whispered, out of breath despite you barely having trained.

“Yeah, it does that when I see you.”

You could barely believe what you were hearing until you felt Bucky’s hands come up and cup your face, glancing down at your lips before back to your eyes, asking wordlessly for your approval.

Unable to form a coherent sentence, you eagerly nodded back at him.

Before you could even process it, you felt Bucky’s lips meeting yours as he pulled you into a kiss, his hands moving from cupping your face to wrapping around your body, pulling you tight against him. All you could remember thinking was that despite his tough exterior, his lips were soft and you could lose yourself in the comfort of having his arms around you all day if he let you.

Pulling away first, a beaming smile spread across Bucky’s face as he rubbed circles against your back.

“If you wanted to kiss me so bad,” He teased. “You could’ve just asked.”

First “I Love You”

Sitting on the edge of the rooftop, your legs swinging in the air, you offered the bag of popcorn in your hand to your boyfriend who was sat beside you. Taking his eyes off of the view in front of him, he grabbed a fistful of the salty treat from the bag, popping it in his mouth.

“Did you have stuff like this back in the olden times?” You asked, laying your head on his shoulder.

“What?” He asked despite his mouth being full. “You mean fireworks? How old do you think I am?”

Laughing at how he mocked offense over your question, you sat up straight, pecking his cheek.

“One hundred doesn’t sound much better, babe.”

Rolling his eyes, knowing that you loved him anyway, he brushed off the remaining salt from his fingertips, wrapping his vibranium arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him.

Just as he pressed a gentle kiss against your temple, he jumped in his spot as he heard the loud sound of the first firework shooting up into the air over the water before “popping” and bursting into an array of color.

“Look!” You exclaimed, pointing towards the display. “It’s starting!”

Although he took a quick glance at the firework display, his attention was purely focused on you. He couldn’t help but admire the way the colorful lights reflected on your skin or how you had a hint of an open smile on your face watching as the fireworks burst midair. No show could compare to looking at you.

He couldn't help but feel his heart race in his chest, breath caught in his throat as he admired your beauty- even when you were still in your suit from watching over the parade with him earlier that evening. He was convinced there wasn’t a single thing about you that he wasn’t completely enamored with and you only gave him more reasons to love you every single day.

Before he even realized what he was saying, admiring you in complete bliss and utter awe, the words slipped out of his mouth.

“I love you.”

He thought you wouldn’t be able to hear, the sound of another firework popping ringing in his ear, but when you turned towards him, your eyes wide and mouth agape, he knew you had.

“Did you just say that you love me?” You asked, fireworks continuing to burst behind you.

Not one to lie- especially not to you- he nodded his head.

“Yeah.”

A smile beginning to form on your face, you grabbed the strap on his jacket, pulling him closer to you.

“I love you too.”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips against his, the sound of the finale of the display ringing behind you as the fireworks burst one after another in air, every color imaginable washing over your joined figures sitting on the edge of the rooftop on that cool summer night, almost as if it were taking the feeling shared between the two of you and bringing it to life for the world to see.

First Home

“Okay!” You nodded, pointing to the corner of your living room. “That one can go over there. Thank you so much for your help, Steve.”

“I helped Buck move into his first apartment, Y/n.” Steve said wiping his hands on his pants. “I wouldn’t miss stuff like this for anything.”

Smiling at Steve’s comment, you felt Bucky’s vibranium hand land on your lower back, pulling you closer. Leaning into his touch, you wrapped your arm around him in return, staring up at your boyfriend.

“Yeah and the first time he was about a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter.” Bucky chuckled. “This is easy for him.”

Watching Natasha set down the last box on top of a pile of the others in the kitchen, you excused yourself from your boyfriend and his best friend, making your way into the other room.

When you had left the two of them’s earshot, Bucky watching as you left, Steve rested his hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“You know,” Steve said. “I’m happy for you, Buck. I think this is gonna be good for you.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s comment- despite how cheesy it was- because he knew it was true.

When Bucky’s memory had finally been cleared, a part of him had always feared that even though he had been given a new chance at life, he would never have a normal one. Although he knew “normal” was a strong term for the life you two shared together given that he was a century old super soldier and you had magical abilities- you had given him a chance at a peaceful life full of love and contentment which was all he could ever dream of asking for.

The idea of finding love and having a family was something that he worried was left eighty years in the past, but you proved to him that life didn’t end for him when he fell from that train- if anything it brought him the beginning he had always hoped for.

“Sure you won’t miss me too bad, pal?” Bucky asked.

Taking his hand back from Bucky’s shoulder, Steve laughed shoving his hand in his pockets.

“No, I think I’m used to it by now.” Steve chuckled. “It’s just like you to be able to find a woman with shared life experience even when half the world disappears.”

Shaking his head at his friend’s joke, he shoved him playfully.

“C’mon, ya’know this is different.” Bucky said. “I think this is the last one for me.”

Without missing a beat, Steve smiled.

“I know.”

Hearing the sound of you and Natasha’s footsteps stepping back into the room, Bucky kept his mouth shut, feeling your hand run over his shoulder as you stood beside him.

“Don’t forget about me now that you have your own place, okay Y/n?” Nat said crossing her arms.

“Don’t worry.” You told her. “I’ll come visit every day.”

“Well, not every day-” Bucky interjected.

“No. I meant what I said. Every day, Nat. You’ll wish you never said anything.”

Once the laughter that had erupted in the room settled, Steve and Nat said their goodbyes to you and your boyfriend, you both waving them off as you shut the door behind them. When the door was shut and you and Bucky were left in your new apartment alone together, you rushed over to your bag by the door, pulling a neatly wrapped gift out of it.

“What’s this?” Bucky asked as you handed him the present.

“Just a little housewarming gift.” You smiled.

Gazing at your smiling face, a smile finding its way onto his, he looked down at the present in his hands, carefully tearing the paper off of the gift to reveal a framed photo of the two of you.

A framed photo of the two of you fighting in an airport three years ago on the day you first met.

“So, Tony had put a camera in Peter’s suit back before we went and fought you guys.” You explained. “And I thought it had to be gone since Peter was... you know... but it turned out that Tony still had the footage so I was able to find some from that day at the airport and in it there was this quick little shot of us fighting and I just had to have it, Buck.”

Flipping the frame around at you, he raised his eyebrows.

“A photo of us fighting?”

“Yes!” You told him. “Do you like it?”

Despite the fact that it was a photo of the two of you fighting- a fight that he had gotten his ass kicked in no less- he loved it more than anything else you could have possibly given him because it was the day he met you. It was the day his life changed and he didn’t even know it in the moment.

Although your story was far from “normal” it was your story and that’s what mattered the most to him.

“I love it, doll.” He said, pulling you into his embrace. “This is a crazy story to tell our kids though, huh?”

“All of them are.” You laughed into his chest. “But I wouldn't have it any other way, Buck. I love you.”

Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, a photograph of the day your story first began in his hand, he smiled.

“I love you too.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes blurb #Bucky Barnes drabble #bucky barnes fluff

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lailyn · 3 years

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Take My Breath Away Part 3 (Complete)

(TW: Paraysis, Angst, Sap so sticky it'll give you sticky eyes)

The first few weeks after Loki awakened from his month-long sleep were the hardest, on Loki and Stephen both.

Stephen had anticipated hard times ahead, had even braced himself for the worst, but nothing could have prepared him for Loki's reaction upon discovering the true extent of his disabilities.

Given the choice, he would rather face Loki's wrath than this complete and utter silence; if not for the despair in Loki's eyes every time he tried to move his legs and failed, Stephen would have thought Loki had slipped into a catatonic state.

Hell, catatonia would have been easier to handle than this stony muteness. If open communication had been scarce before, it was nonexistent now.

If brought food, Loki would eat. In the absence of it, Loki would not ask.

Carrying him to the commode for daily toileting was solely Stephen's duty. That was the only good thing about Loki's muteness; the only evidence of his displeasure was a deep frown that began to leave permanent lines on Loki's face the thinner he got.

Loki did not ask if the paralysis was going to be temporary, and Stephen did not tell him that it was likely to be permanent. It was not important.

Then suddenly, out of the blue, Loki began to speak.

That night it rained heavily in New Asgard. Having bundled Loki up in his furs, Stephen settled down in front of the fireplace as was his routine; getting into bed with Loki still awake was unsettling, the way his sunken eyes would follow Stephen everywhere, saying everything and at the same time, nothing at all.

"Go home, Stephen," a voice, rough from disuse, pierced the silence, and he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Loki," he gasped, heart beating at a hundred miles per hour.

"Go home," the pale figure on the bed repeated, before it closed its eyes and said nothing further till days later.

Wong had paid them a visit, bringing news from the Sanctum and arms overflowing with gifts from Bruce and Tony.

All is well, his fellow Guardian assured him. Take as much time as you need. I've got your back.

Stephen had never been more grateful for the very few people in his life he could call friends.

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

"Who is Jonathan Pangborn?"

Stephen paused in the midst of upending the last scoop of protein powder into the tumbler and slowly raised his face with dread.

"Wong mentioned the name when he came to visit yesterday."

"He...was a patient of mine.” Stephen closed the lid over the tumbler and gave it a good swirl before making his way back to the couch. “Well. Not really. I turned him away because his spinal cord was permanently damaged and there was nothing modern medicine could do."

He waited until Loki took his first sip of the liquid breakfast before speaking again. "The Ancient One got him walking again by teaching him how to manipulate dimensional energy to his advantage."

Loki did not raise his face, but the almost imperceptible spasm of his fingers as they tightened around the tumbler gave him away.

"You do not approve?" he asked quietly.

When Stephen did not answer promptly, Loki decided probing further was the only option left to him. He did not expect his boyfriend to be forthcoming to begin with, but Stephen’s reticence was wearing him thin nonetheless.

“There has to be an explanation as to why you are refraining, when such treatment exists.”

Stephen sighed and raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Did Wong tell you how Jonathan Pangborn lost it all back and is now worse off than before?”

“Are the Masters of the Mystic Arts aware of just how little faith their Sorcerer Supreme has in their own métier?”

“The sorcerer who ripped the magic out of Pangborn and left him lying on the floor of his garage for days was a Master of the Mystic Arts,” Stephen retorted.

Loki looked up in alarm.

“I will not have that happen to you,” Stephen vowed. “I will have you back on your feet and at your full strength even if it kills me. And I will do it my way.”

And that was the last time they ever spoke of Pangborn and the last time Loki doubted Stephen over some well-meaning but unsolicited advice.

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

Stephen wiped Loki’s front first, suppressing the urge to count each rib as he worked his way down. The once toned, if not a little lean, torso had lost most of its musculature and as he followed the groove of Loki’s concave abdomen, the lump in Stephen’s throat grew.

Before emotions could take over him and render him ineffective, Stephen moved on to Loki’s back. He lifted Loki’s hair off his neck and carefully wiped him down starting from the nape down to the base of Loki’s spine.

He worried that he had been taking too long when he could sense Loki shivering; Stephen was just about to wrap a clean towel around his lover’s shoulders when he realised that Loki was weeping.

“Hey,” Stephen walked his knees across the tiles and crouched in front of Loki. He peered up anxiously. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

Loki shook his head. He could hardly speak for the deluge of tears draining down the back of his throat from the futile effort of holding it all in.

“This is beneath you,” he wept.

What could Stephen say when no words existed that could assuage the pain in both their hearts? What reassurances could he give that Loki would not find empty and invalidating?

He could not very well ignore Loki and say nothing, could he?

It was an impossible situation. Keeping silent was a crime in itself, as evidenced by Loki’s apocalyptic downward spiral into despair and self-loathing.

“Just leave me,” Loki begged.

Stephen shook his head. “No way.”

Of course anyone could perform this task. Any of Loki’s servants could.

But would a servant be as gentle with Loki, as empathetic, as unconditional?

Loki hung his head low, his hair falling over his face. "I will not have you debase yourself like this, Stephen."

Stephen combed Loki’s wet locks away with his fingers.

"Do you remember the first Broadway show I took you to?"

Loki nodded, his thin shoulders hitching with silent sobs.

"Live in my house…" Stephen began to sing softly, quietly. "I'll be your shelter.."

He pulled the towel off Loki's shoulders and over his head.

"Just pay me back in one thousand kisses…"

He dried Loki's face with the towel gently, "Be my lover, and I'll cover you…"

Loki's face crumpled, and because Stephen simply could not bear the sight of more tears, he grabbed the back of Loki’s head and pressed their foreheads together.

“Don’t take this away from me, Loki. I need this.”

He kissed Loki’s lips and cursed the salt he could taste on his tongue. “I need you.”

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

“Stephen.”

“Hmm?” Stephen paused in the middle of flexing and extending Loki’s knee. They had skipped only a day of rehabilitative exercise and already the limb felt stiff and disjointed.

He carefully placed Loki’s leg on his lap and turned his full attention to his lover, who had been staring at the ceiling for the past fifteen minutes. “What is it, Loki?”

“I don’t blame you,” Loki said.

Stephen knew better than to ask as to what Loki was alluding to. There was no bigger elephant in the room, certainly not since Loki had fallen ill.

“It was my choice.”

The gentleness with which Loki delivered his acquittal was something Stephen was not expecting and it threw him for a loop; his rebuke came across brusque and sharp in response. “I shouldn’t have let you.”

“It was my choice,” Loki repeated adamantly. “I will not ask if you knew this was going to happen - "

"I didn't," Stephen insisted. "Loki, I swear, I didn't know."

"It doesn't matter," Loki said, his tone soft despite the flatness of his voice. "Given the choice, it is one that I would make, again and again."

“Even after everything?” Stephen demanded. “Honestly how can you care so little for yourself?”

“I am not sorry for what I did, Stephen,” Loki said stubbornly. “This is a necessary pain.”

"Why?" Something surged in Stephen and it felt too much like rage to be anything else. "Why do we have to be this?"

"Surely it doesn't surprise you anymore?" Loki sighed, closing his eyes.

He did not like seeing Stephen upset. It was not the first time Loki's self-sacrifice schema had driven a rift between them, and it would not be the last.

"It was just the flu, Loki."

His eyes still closed, Loki reached up a hand, relying on memory to brush his thumb along the high arc of Stephen's cheekbone. "It was not necessary for you."

Stephen's vision blurred but no matter how much he blinked, it would not clear. "Is that how you justify this?"

Loki's hand fell away but Stephen grabbed it on its way down and held it up again, palming it in place. If Loki would not see him cry, he could damn well feel the tears for himself.

“Do you ever think about what it feels like for me, seeing you like this?" Stephen asked, his voice cracking. “It breaks my heart, Loki.”

Loki clawed the suede couch and pulled his upper body up with a strength he did not know he possessed. Just as he was about to fall backward from exertion he caught Stephen around the waist, and Stephen his back.

They held each other in the awkward position for what felt like hours, neither pulling the other up or down, both suspended in perfect balance.

“For that...I am truly sorry,” Loki whispered. “Forgive me.”

Stephen laid Loki back down on the couch again when the trembling became too tremulous to ignore. “I already did.”

He picked up Loki’s slim ankle and dotted feathery kisses up the bone-thin shin, “I always will.”

All of a sudden, Loki gasped and bucked violently.

“What is it?” Stephen asked, running his hands frantically all over Loki’s body, expecting to find some source of pain. Instead he saw awe and delight.

“I can feel that,” Loki breathed out.

“What?” Stephen asked, just as breathlessly.

“Kiss me again,” Loki ordered.

Holding Loki's foot aloft, Stephen pressed a kiss to the bony ankle, all the while keeping a doubtful eye on its owner.

The enraptured expression on Loki's face was all the confirmation Stephen needed and before he could stop himself, he lunged.

"What does this mean?" Loki pummelled Stephen with question after question. "Is this good or bad? Am I getting better? Stephen, what - "

But he could not complete his sentence for apparently simply embracing was not enough; the utterly speechless Stephen needed to kiss him too, this time on the lips.

"Oh, Loki," Stephen's merry laughter rang sweet and clear as bells, the sheer relief permeating every note. "Loki, Loki…"

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

It did not take long for the news to spread. Either there was a hidden camera somewhere in the room streaming live feed to every mutual friend they knew, or Stephen's network of social contacts had now included Loki's brother.

Thor appeared not a day later, his guarded optimism cutting through the shadows like a beam of warm sunshine.

"Is it true?" He boomed.

Loki maintained a straight face, tipping his chin in the direction of his wiggling toes.

Thor's nose flared as he visibly struggled to contain his emotions.

Loki sighed and reluctantly stretched out an arm, finally taking pity on him. "Brother…"

Thor closed the last few yards to the couch in a sprint.

"I worried you," Loki murmured.

"You fool," Thor said affectionately, accepting the unspoken apology by tightening his arms around his brother in a fierce embrace. "You didn't worry me one damn bit."

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

“I can do it, Stephen.” Loki grabbed the glass from the tray with one hand and physically pushed Stephen backward with the other. “I’m not an invalid.”

Stephen warily watched Loki take a few gulps at once.

"Hey, easy - " He was about to warn Loki to take it slow, when he was unceremoniously shot down with a scathing glare.

“Say ‘easy’ one more time and I will smother you in your sleep.”

Stephen smiled. Loki’s threats were some of the most colourful he had heard in all his career. “Beats ripping my heart out and serving it to me still warm and beating.”

“That was yesterday,” Loki grumbled.

Some twenty minutes later, he proudly presented Stephen with a very empty glass. It was the first meal Loki had eaten in its entirety without coughing or choking, and Stephen could not contain his joy.

“Stop kissing me!” Loki flailed amid the flurry of kisses Stephen was showering his face with.

He must have been reduced to laughing, for never had he seen Stephen look so spellbound. "What?"

"You're beautiful." Misty-eyed, Stephen fingered the corner of Loki's mouth. "Never thought I'd hear you laugh again."

"It's a one-time thing," Loki said, but his facial muscles were starting to betray him again; now that he was regaining strength day by day, they were back to their mischievous selves, and Loki found himself quickly losing to their autonomy.

"I can't stop smiling," Loki grumbled, "but this isn't me."

"Sure." Stephen's own wistful smile widened into a grin. "I totally believe you."

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

It was on a bright, sunny afternoon a few weeks later that Loki decided he was going to walk.

"Outside," he requested.

Despite making the fastest progress Stephen kept saying he had ever seen in a patient in all his years as a neurosurgeon, Loki had been far too embarrassed with his still-unsteady gait to venture beyond the confines of his bedroom.

"Are you sure?" Stephen asked quietly.

"Yes," Loki said with a calm confidence. "I am ready."

"Where would you like to go?"

"I want to be where people and noise are plenty."

Stephen laughed at the strangely-worded yet quintessentially Loki request.

A New York minute later, they found themselves wading through the crowd at Times Square.

It was hardly the most relaxing stroll, but Loki had asked for chaos, and there was no place on earth more chaotic than the Big Apple.

The thought of Loki ambling slowly amid unapologetically impatient New Yorkers had worried him initially, but for some reason, people veered out of their path, parting around them without so much as a dirty look.

Still, Stephen kept a steadying hand on the small of Loki's back. A powerful thing, force of habit.

Before long, they reached the theatre district and Stephen's mind flew to the time when they first started seeing each other and how Loki would drag him to see a new play every chance he got.

"Stephen, look." Loki's face lit up in multi-coloured lights from the billboard overhead. "Rent is showing again."

"Huh." Stephen could not believe his luck. "They must have revived it."

"Perhaps we should ask inside if they have last-minute tickets," Loki said slowly, trying to hide his excitement. "You...could ask nicely for a discount?"

When Stephen did not answer, Loki looked down to where Stephen had suddenly dropped to one knee.

"Stephen?"

"I'm just doing your laces," Stephen mumbled.

Loki frowned. "But I'm wearing...loafers…"

His heart stopped.

"What is the meaning of this?" Loki whispered, every drop of blood draining from his face.

"Loki Odinson…"

Stephen's voice quaked but the hope in his eyes was as bright as the gleaming band in his hand. "Will you do me the honour of being my husband?"

Loki could not breathe, could not think -

What was happening to him?

"Come on, dude, just say yes!" A voice he had never heard before jolted him out of his stunned reverie.

Stephen was still staring up at him in earnest, and Loki had never seen a face as kind, eyes as gentle.

A crowd had formed around them but in that moment, there was only him, and Stephen, and the promise of love everlasting and a

"Thousand kisses," Loki vowed, tears quicky filling his eyes, "You...will take payment in kisses, yes?"

Stephen answered serenely, "Yes."

"Then...yes."

The crowd around them erupted in wild cheers as Stephen leaped to his feet and slipped the ring onto Loki's hand, which was shaking harder than Stephen's for once -

"A thousand sweet kisses," Stephen gloated and he leaned in to claim their first kiss as the newly betrothed. "Starting now."

#strangefrost #froststrange #fic #sick loki #ask #take my breath away

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 4 years

Text

An Oxymoron - Mark Davies

CW: Box Boy Universe, implied non-con, implied future non-con, conditioning, box boy whumpee, box babe mention (like 2 words), non-con touch, BBU mindset

This also vaguely references/has correlation/implies real-life Hollywood issues, so please be advised. Nothing is stated outright, but it’s one of those “we all know” kind of deals. Stay safe, loves.

[Other pieces here + here]

It was poker night, but Douglas hadn’t invited the other agents over to smoke them at poker. No, not tonight. He had a special announcement for tonight.

“Gentleman, I want to introduce you to my latest superstar. Come in here, Mark,” Douglass called to the hall as he gestured an arm out. There were just a handful of men there, longtime friends of Douglass Archer.

A boy popped his head around the corner, headphones hanging off one ear. He smiled and pulled them off his head entirely. He had a charming white smile, black hair tied up on his head in a loose bun.

“Hey,” he greeted casually as he reached a hand out for a handshake. The other agent smirked and shook his hand.

“There he finally is! I’ve been hearing good things about you, kid. I’m David Ferguson, but you can just call me David. Quite a devil you got yourself as a manager. Be careful, I’m pretty sure he bites.”

Mark smiled again and shook his head slightly. “Hey, I’m just grateful for the opportunity, you know?”

David laughed and clapped a hand on Mark’s back. “God, I miss when they’re young and humble. All my clients do now is call to bitch about their social media numbers.” He fished a card out and tucked in the pocket of Mark’s black jeans. “Call me if you ever find yourself find yourself in the market for a new agent, I’d love to have someone like you on my team.”

Mark squirmed a little under David’s arm and the other man took it as sign to back off. He pulled his arm away and bumped Mark’s elbow conspiratorially. “Joining us for the game?”

Mark shrugged. “Sure, but I probably won’t play.”

“Oh, that’s fine. You can just watch me as I take your Manager’s beach house.” Douglass and David laughed at some inside joke and Mark cracked a smile, too. He said hello to the other three men and they sat down at the table.

Phil insisted that Mark dealt so it was fair.

Douglas leaned back in his chair and took another drink. His cards were fine, but nothing to write home about. David across from his raised an eyebrow a minute amount, but Douglass had played poker with him long enough to know it was a fake tell.

Mark sat at the table with them but didn’t play. He chatted with the other guys or scrolled on his phone, paying attention absently. Just there.

In the end, Phil won and they called it a night. When everyone was still milling around and finishing up their drinks, Douglass pulled his old friend aside.

“Hey David, you remember that idea I had early last year?” David gave an amused yet exasperated sigh.

“Oh, come on Doug, you can’t expect me to remember all your hair-brained plots. Just fill me in.”

The other man didn’t answer, arching his brows and grinning like a cheshire cat.

David ran his tongue across his teeth and tried to remember which one of the plots would impress itself so hard into his friend’s memory when the others hadn’t. He groaned.

“The WRU one? Doug, there’s no way-“

Douglas put a finger up to stop him and turned his head.

“Mark? Show some respect.”

Mark had been standing off to the side, chatting with Phil. At the command, a thud rang through the room and Mark was on his knees, forehead pressed against the floor. Phil took a step back, surprised and muttering curses under his breath.

David’s jaw hung open, and Douglass relished in the responses.

“Holy shit! I didn’t notice anything! Damn, WRU can really do anything can’t they?” David mussed as he walked over. He snapped his fingers a few times to get Mark’s attention. “Position two.”

Mark sat up on his knees, chin level with the floor and eyes straight ahead. David took his chin and tilted the boy’s head to take a better look.

The boy he had been chatting and laughing with not ten minutes before.

Mark didn’t react, didn’t pull away or flinch. His eyes were different now, distant and softer. His body language was tense and stiff. Breathing shallow.

“This is crazy impressive. I think if I had mine try and act like a real person, you’d be able to see whatever’s left of her brain dripping out her ears. She’d last less than a minute before breaking out in tears.”

The man studied Mark’s blank expression for another moment before a slight look of confused amusement came over his face.

“Position 6.”

Mark brought his arms out, wrists up, and the man pulled up the sleeve on his right arm. Then his left.

“No barcode? How’d you get away with that? I thought that was some kind of requirement or something.” Douglass grinned and pulled a small black flashlight out of his pocket.

David nearly laughed at how well planned out this was. The meeting, the big reveal, everything.

He clicks it on and shines it on the skin of the boy’s right wrist, lighting up a previously hidden tattoo. Under the light, his barcode and the numbers are easily read.

“Ooh, very nice. But what if he gets lost?” Douglas turned off the light and put it back in his pocket with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, this kid’s going to be a superstar. Won’t be able to get five feet from me or a bodyguard, hell even the paparazzi. He’s not going anywhere.”

He reaches down and tugs at the boy’s hair playfully. His hands are still out in front of him, waiting for further instruction.

“Besides, he’s still chipped so you’re really not going anywhere are you, Mark?”

“No, Sir.” His voice is different now, soft and docile. David shakes his head in amazement.

“This is just crazy, man. Mark, what’s your designation?”

“Platonic, Sir.” His manager arched an eyebrow and grabbed the boy’s bun, pulling his head backwards.

“And?”

Mark swallowed as he leaned back to try and get enough slack to breath properly. He nearly jerked his arms back for balance, but he knew Sir would want him to be perfect for his friend. Perfect for the crowds and the pictures and the crew and for him. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Never a detail overlooked or glance in the wrong direction for too long.

He had just wanted to sing. He had just wanted to be an artist.

You signed up for this.

“Platonic w-with secondary ro-mantic training, Sir,” he squeaked out. His hair was released, and he fell forward slightly as he took a deep breath. He fought a shiver as David laughed. Whenever possible, Mark skirted around his saying romantic training. It was okay, he could be good, but wasn’t made for it. He was made for Sir, and Sir didn’t want him for that.

He’s supposed to, though. He’s supposed to want me but he doesn’t. The handlers told me that my owner would want me but he doesn’t. He doesn’t and he never will. People say I’m supposed to love him but they never taught me to do that and he doesn’t want me like that.

“How does that work? Isn’t that some sort of oxymoron or something?” asked Phil, stepping forward and eyeing Mark with a different kind of look.

That was the other reason he didn’t want to mention his secondary training. Mark like to imagine that he shied away, but in reality, he stayed perfectly still. He could only pretend, only imagine leaning away from the hands that would come and touch and touch and touch.

“Oh he’s a platonic for me and a romantic for anyone who wants to sleep with a superstar.”

Mark swallowed again, hoping that it wasn’t noticeable. He didn’t love Sir, but he didn’t hate him. He was trained for him and he cared about him, but he knew it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t even; Sir was still his owner and Mark was his pet. His pet that he could make do whatever he wanted.

The handlers told me collars are safe and my owner wants me, but I don’t get to wear mine most of time and he doesn’t want me. Mine doesn’t he want me. I must have done something wrong or misunderstood or something because something is missing and he doesn’t want me. But he gives me away to other people and I don’t understand.

Why did he let them train me for him and then not want me?

No, no no no bad.

It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.

Phil used his foot to push down Mark’s shaking arms. He crouched down and lifted the boy’s chin with a smile.

“God, why didn’t we think of this years ago? Could have saved Hollywood quite a bit of trouble and maybe even a few scandals.”

The room laughed again, but this time no one expected Mark to pretend to laugh along with them.

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ryder-s-block · 4 years

Text

Jaig Eyes (Ch 58)

Jaig Eyes (58/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

————————-

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Transport Hijacking

The fire had long burned out by the time I sensed Ahsoka approaching. I lifted my head from where I had knelt it in meditation an hour prior, signaling the two younglings to pay attention the entrance. Ahsoka’s outline appeared, the Togrtuta looking haggard and tired in the soft glow of the remaining embers.

“You made it,” Jinx said, standing beside his friend to greet the padawan. My eyes were elsewhere, though, noting the lack of Kalifa before the others.

“We feared the worst,” O-mer worried while I cast my eyes up to meet Ahsoka’s gaze. She was sad, but angry, too. Determined. I gave her a small nod of understanding.

Jinx caught on. “Where’s Kalifa?”

“She didn’t make it.”

The boys both gaped. It was grief, but it was also….surprise. “She’s dead?” Jinx asked Ahsoka for clarification, the padawan folding herself in her own arms. “I….I can’t believe it. She had been here longer than any of us, and now….”

Jinx’s voice trailed off but O-mer was quick to jut in with a “We’re all going to die here.” He crouched down, wrapping his arms around his knees. “It’s only a matter of time.” That was a dark sentiment, but I would be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind.

I felt a billow of determination from Ahsoka. “If it’s only a matter of time till we die,” she turned and addressed the group with a new fire, clenching her fists. “I say we go down with a fight!”

“That is suicide,” Jinx scoffed after a beat of silence, sitting down.

I scowled at him. “And you guys just said we’re going to die anyway,” I bit back, standing beside Ahsoka. “If we are, I’d rather die on my terms than theirs.”

“You’ve said that every few day they release new prisoners on the beach,” Ahsoka reasoned, jumping off the silence I caused with my dark words. “I say we attack that drop ship head-on.”

I crossed my arms, smirking. “That’s certainly daring. I see your master’s tendencies have rubbed off on you.”

She returned the cheeky grin. “They’ll never expect it.” The younglings were quiet while we watched them absorb Ahsoka’s words.

Finally, O-mer sighed, glancing at his Twi’lek friend. “Is it worth a shot?”

“Maybe it is,” Jinx allowed, standing to look at Ahsoka.

“It’s a good time for this plan,” I teased, moving to look out the front of our cave. The Force whispered gently in my ear, letting me hear the slow-approaching engine. “There’s one coming now.”

Anxiety spiked in the group, but Ahsoka seemed only eager. She, like me, was done with this stupid island and these hunters. I was supposed to the hunter, dammit, not the prey. “Let’s go,” Ahsoka said with a firm tone. It eased the youngling’s worry, energizing them to follow as I leapt from the cave and onto the branch to begin our quick journey to the beach.

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

The engine was easy to hear when we reached the treeline, crouching in the shadows to watch the floodlights of the vessel sweep through the clouds above. “Get ready,” Ahsoka said from where she knelt beside me. “We’ll have to be swift.”

“The drop point’s not far,” O-mer announced, hiding in the shadows behind us.

“As much as I adore your determination,” I whispered, giving her a glance. “I can’t help but notice I lack a jet pack. Am I a distraction in this plan?”

Her cerulean eyes widened only slightly before she looked confused. “Distraction? No. Can’t you…” she trailed off, seeing me frown.

I shook my head slightly, giving a small laugh. “Ahsoka, I can do some things but...make myself jump that high?” I watched the approaching ship, remembering how far we’d fallen from our cages when we were dropped off. I could handle the falls and do slightly higher jumps...but this was throwing myself through the air. I shook my head again to reinforce my inability to do that.

“You can do it,” Ahsoka whispered back. I gave her a look, making her sigh.

“We’ll help,” Jinx spoke up, O-mer nodding beside him. “We’ll get you up there, Kida. Jump like you could make it yourself and we’ll do the rest.” I gave them a nod of thanks, knowing their respect for me was growing. Maybe it was my words. Maybe it was fighting the Trandoshan together. Or maybe it was Kalifa dying.

But something in them had changed.

“Let’s do this,” I said, my muscles curling in anticipation as the white and red transport emerged from the fog, lowering itself over the beach.

“Now!”

We raced out to Ahsoka’s command, the boys falling behind me to help me get up onto the transport. Ahsoka went first, scaling the remains of a decimated tree before launching herself skyward. I nearly stumbled at how high she could make herself jump.

It was damned unnatural.

I scurried up the tree, mentally preparing myself to more or less fly through the air. My legs put as much effort in as they could, the Force helping only a little. Just as I felt my body become weightless in an attempt to come back down to the ground, I felt the younglings push at my back with the Force.

I don’t know how I managed to smother my scream as I flew, completely out of control, up and over the viewport of the transport, where Ahsoka was crouching. I wish I could say I landed nicely. Gracefully with the fluidity of my training, rolling easily to find my feet again.

Now for what actually happened.

I was thankful for my armor, but not super stoked that the absorption integrity of the internal mechanism had been damaged from the blast I took to the chest-plate. My body slammed into the top of the ship, knees and chest first. While the armor helped, its edges digging into my skin wasn’t amazing.

I groaned as I pushed myself up, seeing the hatch in front of me slam open. A Trandoshan emerged, making me scoot backwards rapidly as he drew his weapon. Ahsoka appeared behind me, the boys flying over our heads to drop behind the hunter. They rushed him from behind, slamming him down towards the wing.

“We’ll take the pilot,” Ahsoka called to them, tapping my elbow as she raced by to leap into the open hatch. I followed suit, rolling my shoulder to loosen the pain of the fall.

We landed quietly, Ahsoka putting her dirty finger to her lips to keep me silent. I nodded, our boots barely making a sound across the metal grating. We crept into the cockpit, the pilot facing the viewport, disturbing still. The Force whispered a warning in my ear.

“Move!” I yelled, shoving Ahsoka sideways as the Trandoshan turned in his chair, blasting at us with his rifle. We went in opposite directions, the padawan taking the fire as I hurried around the access ladder and slammed my shoulder into the massive Trandoshan. He fell sideways, the gun falling to the side.

Ahsoka leapt in off the wall, swinging her foot across the creature’s face. He swung, the gun catching me on the side of the head. Ahsoka managed to dodge both it and me as I flew sideways, jumping up onto the Trandoshan’s chest, pinning the gun between them as the struggled over the controls.

“No!” I yelped through my daze when the Trandoshan shifted sideways in his struggle, the wheel turning under his weight. The ship shifted angrily to the side, tipping us towards the wall behind me. I struggled to find my balance between the moving ship and my aching head, watching helplessly as Ahsoka was thrown across the cockpit.

The Trandoshan opened fire on her, the girl practically dancing around the shots. She held up her hand, her Force signature calm and collected. His gun shifted dramatically to the side when he tried to fire at her again.

I forced myself to rise, taking a step into his blind spot and aiming carefully placed jabs under his raised arms. He let out a pained screech. I knew how to fight a Trandoshan, if I had the chance to get in close.

The issue was that you rarely got that chance.

His claws swiped at me, but I lunged backwards, smug in the hits I’d landed. Ahsoka was advancing behind me, still using the Force to alter the Trandoshan’s aim. “Together,” she said firmly. I didn’t need clarification.

I breathed out slowly, centering myself. It was getting easier, the more I did it. Of course, it was still easier for me to sense things, rather than move them. But I focused myself as best I could, willing the Force to push with the motion of my outstretched hands.

Beside Ahsoka, I watched as the Trandoshan flew backwards and smashed through the viewport window, unconscious. I frowned. Flying with the blast shields up to keep us from being sucked out into space was not going to be easy.

And then the control around us sparked to life, filling the cockpit with smoke. I grabbed the railing around the access ladder as the ship pitched and spun in the air. “We lost something,” I announced over the cracking of electricity and whirring of engines. The displays were all flashing red, showing that the cargo holdings were detachings completely.

Ahsoka raced to the controls, doing her best to get control of the ship. I watched her, but I could tell from the blaring alarms that it was past saving.

Jinx’s feet thumped against the viewport when he landed there, peering it at us. “Get out of there! Come on!”

Ahsoka glanced at me and I nodded. “We tried. We’ll try again.”

She seemed to agree, but frowned nonetheless. “But the prisoners,” she worried, showing her true Jedi colors. The ones I liked about the Jedi, at least. “They’ll die.”

“Hit the release,” I yelled as the ship pitched again, sounding much worse than it did a moment ago. I rushed forward, grabbing her arm as she hit the release buttons. The mechanisms of the ship whirred as the cargo holds opened, the two of us crawling through the shattered viewport.

“One more time,” O-mer said gently, lifting his hands beside Jinx. I jumped immediately, knowing we didn’t have time for my worrying with the ship on fire. I felt them push my back with the Force, but I felt more in control this time. I kept myself upright as I fell, willing the Force to slow me as I neared the sand.

Rolling deftly upon impact, I was uninjured aside from the sand kicking into my face. The Jedi landed beside me, not needing to roll at all, as the transport exploded where the water met the land. It went up in an explosion of fire and sand before it settled, leaving us in the silence of night again.

“Well,” O-mer said as he rose, dusting himself off. “I guess we won’t be escaping on that ship.”

I quirked a smile while Ahsoka tried to be reassuring. “We’ll find another way,” she said. I glanced around at the group, seeing our faces dirty and tired. Still, there was hope in the younglings’ eyes.

Ahsoka was a good leader, I’d give her that.

My head lifted at the sound of a roar. A roar...that sounded terrible familiar. “What was that?” Jinx asked, peering into where the rubble smoked and sparked.

“A survivor,” Ahsoka responded with hope, racing into the wreckage. “It could be one of the prisoners they were dropping off.” In the rubble, there was a looming figure that only grew bigger as it stood to full height.

I grinned slightly when O-mer worried, “What is that?”

The creature walked into the light, regarding us suspiciously. “It’s a Wookie,” Ahsoka breathed, the creature roaring in return. I grinned, understanding him now that I knew he was speaking Shyriiwook.

I garbled at him in his native tongue, earning a look from everyone, including him. The Wookie looked excited, speaking quickly. I did my best to catch it all, but stopped him when he continued.

“Easy,” I said gently. “I haven’t spoken Shyriiwook in a long time. I’m a bit rusty.” The Wookie calmed, nodding in understanding. At least he understood Basic.

“We should get out of here anyways,” Jinx cut in, looking around nervously. He was right, of course. We’d sent up a signal fire, more or less, with the scorching remains of the prisoner transport.

“What about the other prisoners?” Ahsoka asked, looking to her fellow Jedi. “There could be other survivors.”

The Wookie warbled. “He said he was the only prisoner aboard,” I translated, earning a nod from the group.

“Let’s go.” Ahsoka led us back through the trees, the group staying silent as we crept in the darkness. With the first show of light, I was sure the Trandoshans would be crawling all over that beach. And I wanted to be nowhere near it.

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

“I didn’t know you could speak Wookie,” Ahsoka mused, giving me a grin as we reentered our cave.

“It’s Shyriiwook,” I teased. “And I was a translator for Jabba, remember? I had to be good or I’d be replaced with a service droid like 3PO.” My words made her laugh, as she had grown used to my casual reference to my enslavement.

The younglings, however.

“You were a slave?”

I glanced up, giving them a nod. “Though I don’t think that’s important right now.” The boys glanced away when I looked back to Ahsoka.

“I know it’s called that,” she teased back, ignoring the boys. “I know it a bit, too. Though I’m not as fluent as you.”

Speaking of….the Wookie garbled beside me, earning my attention. I gave him a genuine smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Chewbacca,” I greeted in Basic. “Though I wish our circumstances were different.” He chortled.

“Chewbacca,” O-mer cut in, “Does anyone even know you were taken?”

The Wookie replied. “No,” I translated, “But his homeworld is very close.”

“That’s great,” Jinx sighed as he stood. “But it might as well be Coruscant, as far as I’m concerned. We’ve got no ship.”

Chewbacca got angry, getting up and shouting in his native tongue, his arms waving in the air. When he was done, he sat between Ahsoka and I again. “He thinks he can contact his home planet if we find a way to translate a signal ,” Ahsoka translated for me when I didn’t speak. I’d heard what he said and was mulling it over, my thumb striking the side of my jaw thoughtfully.

“Right and how would we do that?” Jinx asked. “Send smoke signals? We don’t exactly have a transmitter lying around, if you haven’t noticed.”

“What about the ship?” Ahsoka asked.

I shook my head. “The Trandoshans are likely already down there and they’d disable that if it’s still working.” The Wookie garbled beside me, making me frown in thought. “That could work.”

“Chewbacca says he can build a transmitter from the wreckage on the beach,” Ahsoka announced to the younglings.

“Well, we can’t just sit here,” O-mer declared, trying to be the optimistic one.

“Fine,” Jinx sighed. “We’ll do it the Wookie way.”

I rose, stretching slightly to try and loosen the soreness in my body. “We don’t have long until sunrise. I suggest everyone gets some rest.”

“What about the transmitter?” O-mer asked.

“The Trandoshans are probably all over that beach already,” I explained, getting comfortable in the place I’d started calling my bed. “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow night.”

“She’s right,” Ahsoka agreed, bedding down as well. “We’ll get back to getting out of here after we rest.”

The group laid down, my eyes watching the swirls of our small fire as they curled against the top of our cave. Slowly, I felt sleep wash over me, and with it, came visions.

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

The first thing I heard within the darkness was thumping. Not like someone getting hurt, but like the beat of a song. The floor beneath my bare feet felt cold, like polished stone. It shuddered beneath me with the music, becoming more clear as I heard the sound of a door opening. It shut again, muting the music, but I knew where I was.

I was in my club office.

Slowly, my environment cleared, letting me see the unused room. It was dark, aside for the flashing lights coming through the one-way window overlooking my club. Another light clicked on, making me turn to see Rouva and a shadowed figure I couldn’t make out.

“Like I said,” Rouva announced to the figure behind her. “She’s not here.” The Twi’lek seemed to deflate slightly, giving her guest a sad look. “But her words still stand, should you like to stay?”

The figure--definitely a male--cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. I stepped closer, wanting to see who it was, but the Force wouldn’t let me see him. Finally, his shadowy outline shook its head.

Rouva pressed her lips together and sighed. “I’ll give you a minute, if you’d like.” She didn’t wait for his reply, stepping past him to open the door again. Music poured into the room like water rushing from a stream. Rouva stopped, her head-tails swishing slightly as she turned to face the figure again. “This is how life is with Kida sometimes,” she sighed gently. “It can hurt to love her, I know.” My heart ached at her words. I knew I wasn’t an easy person to get close to, mostly because I rarely let myself get close to people. But that was because I knew that caring about me was a terrible thing to ask of someone--my life was usually in danger. “I’m sorry that you have the terrible privilege of loving her, Captain.”

Her words struck me like a slap to the face, the Force finally focusing enough for me to see the slouched shoulders of my loving captain. Rex didn’t respond to Rouva, merely swallowing and giving her a nod before she left the room, the thumping of the club fading with the closing of the door behind her.

I watched quietly, knowing Rex wouldn’t hear me if I spoke. He wasn’t Force-sensitive, for one, but I also felt that the Force intended for me to watch, rather than act. I scoffed under my breath gently, watching Rex’s golden gaze slide over the contents of my office, just like he had the first night he’d stayed there.

The leave during the debate over the coordinates of the Nexus Route had extended longer than we could have ever hoped for, giving us two full weeks of time together between drills and meetings. I was contacted some time between all of that, and brought on for the next mission to Felucia to team up with Plo Koon and the Wolf Pack.

My feet followed Rex without my having to think about it, watching him put his helmet down on the dresser inside my bedroom. I blushed, remembering something I’d put in there before shipping out. He’d been on the assignment with me...I’d never imagined he’d be back in before I could hide it. Or before I could at least call Rouva and have her hide it for me.

Rex saw it in a moment--the only new addition to the room that glowed faintly on my nightstand. My bed was still unkempt beside it--my side, of course. Rex’s was still tucked in and untouched, aside from the vague outline of a handprint sliding across the comforter’s soft surface. He’d had to stay in the barracks the night before shipping in out in order to ensure timely departure of his men.

I watched his throat bob as he swallowed, emotions rippling off him in overwhelming waves. I took a small step further from him in the room in hopes to put some distance between the senses, taking up a post beneath my window….beside the picture of Jango, Boba, and I.

During my few weeks mingling with the 501st during their leave, I’d added a few holo-pictures to my barely personalized room. There were two new additions, aside from the newest that Rex was currently approaching hesitantly.

There was one atop my dresser by the door, depicting the first night I’d had the clones at my club. I was in the center, my cherry-painted lips split in a wide smile. Our group was piled together on the dance floor, multicolored lights painting our faces like fireworks in our skin. Hardcase had his arm around my waist, his cheek tucked against my bare shoulder. His eyes were bright, despite the obvious alcohol in his system. I was leaning slightly away from Hardcase, my back shoulder dipping into Rex’s chest. He didn’t seem to mind in the photo, the skin around his golden eyes crinkling as he grinned. Still, it wasn’t the wide-toothed smile I saw when it was just the two of us. Fives had his arm around Rex, his other hand on Jesse’s shoulder, who was beside me, his face bright with a wide smile that rivalled my own. The last was Tup, who had his arms around Vamira on the other side of Hardcase. His joy looked terribly pure. It hurt me to know the boy had to see horrible things in war.

The second was a holo-picture of Padme, Ahsoka, Anakin, and I. We had been in Padme’s office with the intent on getting updated on the debate over the Nexus Route. The update devolved into the four of us eating dinner and drinking into the night together. It was pleasant--and where I figured out that Ahsoka was completely aware of her master’s secret relationship. She didn’t say anything, but they were honestly bad at hiding their chemistry. The picture showed us huddled around Padme, Anakin’s arm protectively over the back of her chair, Ahsoka leaning over the top. I was perched on the other armrest, my half-full glass clinking together with Padme’s as we both laugh.

I smiled, looking over the pictures, immediately missing the warmth of the memories when my bed creaked under Rex’s weight. He was sitting where my body had slept last, the covers tossed off in my hurry to make my call time for the mission. His golden gaze shimmered slightly in the flicker of the newest holo-picture, making me wonder if there was a bit of moisture he was holding in.

Steeling myself, I stepped away from the wall to approach the opposite side of the bed--the one he had started to sleep on. Over Rex’s armored shoulder, I watched him pick up the small holo-picture, the image shuddering under the movement. It was the two of us---a picture I’d taken the first night he visited the club without his brothers. One of the many times in the two weeks he’d come with the other clones, he’d asked to keep the civy clothes I’d loaned him. Having no need for them, I let him.

And then he showed up to the club like a regular patron, ordering from one of the girls who didn’t know him yet. Eventually, I sensed him and stalked him out like an anooba on the floor. It’d been a surprise, sure….but not an unpleasant one.

After drinking and partying like two regular people who were trying to create some sort of a relationship, Rex had come up behind me when I sat on my barstool. His strong arms encircled me from behind and he boldly planted a kiss to my temple, nuzzling my hair and breathing in the smell of my soaps and hairspray. I’d taken a picture, capturing the soft smile on his lips and the glimmer in his golden gaze as he looked up to catch me freezing the moment. My face was flushed with a blush and booze, my eyes smushed close with the wideness of my smile.

Rex’s gloved fingers touched the hologram, making it shudder. He drew his hand away again. My heart ached as I watched his shoulder pauldron begin to tremble, his worry billowing off him like fire spreading through a dry field.

“Cyare,” he whispered, lifting the holo-picture to nearly touch his forehead, the image flickering. “Please be alive. I couldn’t handle-” His voice broke slightly, his thick swallow audible from behind him. “Not after the Citadel. Not after the time we had. You can’t….you can’t be….” he was struggling to say the word, his shoulders trembling with the effort of fighting his emotions. He was a trained soldier, after all. Attachment wasn’t in his design. Neither was loss.

But he was just a man, after all.

A man in love.

“I’m alright, Rex,” I called, hearing my voice echo around me in the Force. He couldn’t hear me, I knew. It was a miracle the Force was even letting me see him from this far away. “Well, not alright, but I’m alive. Don’t worry.”

He still trembled with emotion. Fear. Worry. Love. Anger. Frustration. Sorrow. I steeled myself, taking a slow breath and strengthening my connection to the Force. It was weird that the Jedi shunned using emotion to strengthen one’s bond with the Force. I understood it had to be controlled….but why was that something they deemed unachievable?

Walking around the bed, I stood before Rex’s sitting form, watching the few tears slip through his tough defense and onto his cheeks. I hesitated for only a moment before reaching out, touching my phantom fingers to his forehead beside the holo-image. The surge of emotions was almost deafening. It was jarring enough to almost wake me from my dream and rip me from my vision, but I fought it, willing the Force to let me stay a bit longer.

A few slow breaths let me ease through the onslaught of emotions from Rex, letting me into his incredibly intricate mind. I loved his mind. Calculating, but also passionate. Loyal, but deviously cunning. Deadly, but also so gently and loving.

Breathing out slowly through my nose, I smoothed over Rex’s spiking worries like my hand over a mound of sand. The clone stilled before me as I projected the calmest thoughts and feelings over him, letting his heightened tension gently ease out.

Suddenly, he stood, the holoprojector still in hand. I leapt backwards in freight, my connection through the Force wavering as the clone looked around the room. His eyes were wide. Afraid, but full of hope.

“Kida?” he said softly through panicked pants. My name was said as if he had seen a ghost. In a way, if he had truly felt me….it was like he had. He looked around the room hopelessly, but obviously couldn’t see me. My heart ached at his lost look, unable to do anything.

Stopping in the center of the room, he glanced back at the holo-image for a moment before addressing the room loudly. “Kida….Cyare….if you’re out there,” he sighed lowly closing his eyes and holding the holoprojector to his chest as if reciting a wish. “Come back to me.”

Tears burst forth unwelcome from my eyes as I stepped forward, looking up at his closed eyes. Knowing neither of us would feel it, I tilted forward onto my toes, putting my lips where they’d need to be to connect with his.

For a moment, and only a moment, it almost felt like they connected.

“I’m here Rex. And I’m coming back to you,” I whispered against him, willing with every cell of my being that he heard me. I pulled away as I felt the vision fading, the Force pulling me back to my body as the sun likely rose over the Trandoshan moon. I gave Rex a tearful smile, despite him being unable to see me, when his gloves fingers touched his lips gently, his eyes wide with shock. “I promise.”

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27percentonrottentomatoes · 5 years

Text

I was listening to this song and I got an idea for a Drabble and I couldn’t stop myself from writing it. I’m not a great writer and the characters might be kinda ooc, but I hope y’all like it!!

Again

“I’m sorry, Marinette. I’m in love with someone else.”

His words seemed to rip through her. An uneven smile seemed to replace her nervous one, bringing with it a slight fog over her eyes.

Adrien reached out to her, hoping to give her some sort of consolation, some sort of confirmation that he hadn’t ruined one of his only friendships. Before he could say anything to fix this, she turned to leave.

“I-I think I should go. My uh-my mom doesn’t want me staying out too late...”

Adrien wanted to object. He needed to object, but he couldn’t come up with a valid reason why. He reached for her arm again, but she had already turned away. Every step she took further from him, he felt a step closer to running after her. Just as he began to move his feet in an effort to stop her, Nino grabbed his shoulder. He wanted to push Nino off, wanted to yell at him for holding him back, but when he looked back at Marinette, he realized doing so would only make it worse. Turning away, Adriens head dropped, remorse dragging down every part of his body.

=====

That night, Chat Noir sat on Marinette’s balcony, agonizing on whether he should knock or return to his own lonely bedroom. However, before he got the chance, Marinette opened her skylight.

“Chat, if you’re going to sit on my balcony, you could at least tell me you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you to knock for ten minutes.”

Chat’s face burned a bright pink, the heat consuming the space not hidden by his mask. He stuttered for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. Now that he was actually in front of Mari, he had no idea what to say.

The light giggle that escaped her surprised Chat. He could clearly see her swollen eyes. It was obvious she’s been crying.

“You’re such a silly kitty.”

The words seemed to reanimate Chat. Sure, he had seemingly just broken Marinette’s heart and Adrien May very well never be friends with her again, but he could always enjoy her company as Chat. While the thought process was flawed, he let it go and decided he was just Chat, talking to his friend Marinette.

“A Knight must always watch over his Purrincess!” He said it so matter of factly that Marinette couldn’t help the next giggle that escaped.

“Since when do they let strays become Knights?”

Chat’s dramatic gasp was indication enough that he disagreed with her assessment of him, and it was enough to cause him to get up, as though he were going to leave.

“A strong knight such as myself refuses to take this!”

He had taken one step towards the railing when he felt a small bit firm grasp on his bicep.

“Chat...”

The desperation in her voice stopped Chat in his tracks. He was reminded of earlier in the day all over again and couldn’t stop his ears from laying flat against his head in disdain. He never wanted Mari to sound like that again.

“Please stay.”

The simple words, laced with heartbreak, completely broke Chat Noir. Without a second thought, he turned around and wrapped his arms around Mari’s slender frame.

The tight grip had a relaxing effect on Marinette. She could always count on her partner, in or out of the mask. Her arms were tight around his back. In a way, he was almost shielding her from the pain she was feeling, just as he always did in battle. With that thought, she let out a sigh. Even if Adrien didn’t love her, Chat Noir would always be there for her and she was okay with that.

=====

Over the next couple months, Chat Noir would often appear on Marinette Dupin Cheng’s balcony. Sometimes it’d be just as the sun sinks below the horizon while other times it was late at night, not long after Ladybug and Chat Noir’s patrol.

This particular night was late in the evening, right after his patrol with Ladybug. He dropped down onto Mari’s balcony, seeing her resting on her lawn chair. Her eyes were closed, as though asleep, but Chat Noir could tell she was awake. He had recently learned she slept with her mouth open, so the fact her mouth was shut now indicated she was just resting her eyes. It was one of the many things he’d learned about her in the past months.

Chat didn’t much think about it, but Ladybug has started to notice that nearing the end of their patrols, Chat would be ansty for it to end, and she quickly found out why. He had been cutting their patrols short, shooting off some sort of excuse, only to show up at Marinette’s balcony minutes later. Ladybug had to rush to get home before Chat got there, and tonight she had just barely dropped her transformation when the feline hero dropped onto her balcony. She couldn’t exactly say she was upset with the whole thing, but she was certainly surprised. When Tikki suggested he might like Marinette as herself, Marinette scoffed and waved the Ladybug themed god off.

Chat’s feline stealth played a unique advantage in this situation, as Marinette knew he was there, she felt the slight breeze of him landing, she couldn’t quite pinpoint his location, even when she opened her eyes. She had furnished her balcony a bit more when Chat’s nightly visits started up, but due to her rushing, she hadn’t had time to turn on the fairy lights she had strewn around. The only light was the light of the city and a faint glow coming from her room. Although the city was bright, Chat still hid in the dark, waiting to pounce.

When Marinette got up, the real game began. Chat loved to show off for his Princess, and Marinette secretly enjoyed it. Even being Ladybug, she had to admit Chat was impressive, with his night vision and his ability to be even stealthier than she. With this thought, she decided to play coy. She wasn’t positive, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell Chat was there if it weren’t for her being Ladybug.

“Hello? Chat, is that you?” She forced a bit of timidness into her voice, making a show of looking around. She couldn’t let him know she was Ladybug, after all.

She couldn’t see him anywhere, but she figured he was probably on the roof. It’d allow him ease of access to watch over her, as well as stay hidden. She moved towards the roof, making a show of looking around. She didn’t see him up there, but she decided to see if she could climb up there anyway. It was dangerous, she knew, but Chat would catch her if she fell. She had complete trust in him.

With that, Marinette put a foot on the railing, testing it to see if it’d hold her weight. After a moment, she realized Chat perched on it all the time. Hoisting herself up with her arms, she used her legs to propel her forwards up onto the roof. She nearly lost her footing, but a quick redistribution of weight allowed her to balance again. Finally, she was up on the roof, crawling forward a few feet before carefully standing up. As Ladybug, she jumped from rooftop to rooftop all the time, but she had the strength of her suit and her yo-yo then. It was a very different experience without Tikki’s power, and although Marinette knew Chat Noir was nearby, the fact she couldn’t see him added a bit of fear to the already reckless endeavor.

Marinette looked around, but still couldn’t see Chat. She decided he was probably hiding behind one of the chimneys or boxes situated on the roof of the connected buildings, and began carefully making her way across the rooftop, peering behind each obstruction to her view. She was probably halfway across the rooftop when she realized Chat wasn’t up there. He wouldn’t let the game go on this long, he’s too excitable. Plus, he’d never let Mari put herself in danger. With this in mind, she came to two conclusions.

One, Chat definitely wasn’t watching her right now. Wherever he was hiding, if he was there at all, he couldn’t keep a strict eye on her.

Two, if Chat was in fact hiding somewhere, he was probably relying on his hearing to guide him, which meant he might not know she was up on the roof.

The only other option was Chat wasn’t there at all, and if this was true, then who was watching her? Not only that, but she was now up on the roof, a very dangerous place for someone as clumsy as her.

The sudden rush of fear did absolutely nothing to help Marinette. She started moving back towards her balcony, trying not to rush, but Tikki had flitted inside to eat cookies and rest. It was where she usually stayed during Marinette’s meetings with Chat. Without Tikki, there was no Ladybug, and if she couldn’t transform and Chat wasn’t there, she was in a very dangerous situation.

The whole situation weighed on Marinette, causing her to lose her footing. She wasn’t right next to the edge, but she was close enough that if she fell backwards, she would more than likely fall off. Marinette realized this as she started to skid backwards, the gravel rooftop only helping her to fall further.

She let out a small yelp before her hips hit something sharp on the side of the roof and she tipped over the side. They building was three stories, and she fell head first, so her death was all but guaranteed.

The small cry from Marinette is what alerted Chat that the game was over. He was up from his hiding place, just below her balcony, and rushing into action before he even fully comprehended what was happening. All he knew was that Marinette was falling and he needed to catch her.

Thankfully, he got to her before she even reached the first story. He grabbed her around the waist and used his staff to bring them back up to the roof. He took a quick leap onto her balcony where he set her down gently, albeit sideways.

“Princess, what were you doing on the roof? Are you okay?”

Marinette couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She’d fought as Ladybug several times, fallen further than that several more, and yet she had never come so close to death. She felt pain on her hip, right above the top of her thigh, and she pressed a hand to it. She realized a second later that there was a piece of metal stuck inside.

When Chat saw Mari’s hand go to her hip, he swore at the sight. A thin piece of metal was sticking out, and Chat realized it must have been from a repairmen fixing one of the A/C units.

“Do you want me to take you to a hospital? O-or do you want an ambulance? I have a private doctor I can wake up! I’ll get him here right now!”

Chat was a little panicky. Sure, civilians have gotten hurt during Akuma attacks before, but Ladybugs Miracle Cure always healed them. Ladybug and Chat have gotten a little banged up before as well, but they were superhero’s! He didn’t know what to do when Marinette got hurt, and even though she wouldn’t talk to Adrien, he would do anything for her.

“Chat, calm down. It’s just a little metal. I have a first aid kit inside, but it hurts to move my leg and I won’t be able to take the metal out by myself. Will you help me?”

The answer was a given. He immediately swept her into his arms, careful not to move her injured leg too much. If he was right, it was probably lodged in a bit of muscle. It didn’t appear to be too deep, or too big, but it definitely tore the muscle a bit.

Careful to not hurt her, Chat maneuvered Marinette and himself through her trapdoor. It was definitely a bit of a feat, as Chat had to go first and carefully lift her down into her room. When he had her situated on her chaise, he was instructed to get the first aid kit out of the bathroom.

When he returned, a deep red blush burned his face and he had to look away.

Mari had taken off her jeans, the discarded, bloodied fabric lying on the floor next to the chaise. He knew that she would have to, to treat the wound, but he wasn’t ready when she had done it.

Marinette had a light pink flushing her face, but she didn’t have much time to dwell on her current state of undress with the injury. There hadn’t been an Akuma attack at all in the past two days, which meant one would happen any moment. It wasn’t often Hawkmoth went more than a day without one. This meant fighting with an injury, so she needed to get it fixed ASAP.

“Chat, I need you to pull it out. I can’t see it properly and I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

Chat took a deep breath and nodded, making his way over to Mari and carefully keeping his eyes on her injury. It was just so easy to let his eyes stray to her thigh, where he could see a freckle here and there. His eyes sought out each freckle until he saw her underwear. Light pink, with a small bow. They were plain, but he could tell by the thinness of the strap that they didn’t cover everything behind her hips. When the thought crossed his mind, he forced his eyes back to the injury and tried to force the thoughts from his mind. However, just like the fire consuming his face, the thoughts wouldn’t go away.

With a shaking hand, Chat managed to pull the piece of metal out. It was only maybe three inches long, but over half of that had been in her leg. Mari’s teeth were clenched, and she let out a breath before pulling a needle out of the first aid kit.

“Do you know how to stitch?”

The question allowed Chat to drag his mind out of the gutter for a moment, and Chat had to think hard on what she asked.

“I know how, but I’m not very good. I’ve only done it a couple times.”

Marinette nodded and handed him the needle. She couldn’t see the wound, but she knew it was small. Chat’s work would have to do.

“Princess... I think you should go to a doctor. I-I can’t...” Chat couldn’t take the needle from her hand. What if he messed up? He couldn’t stand the idea of ruining her perfect skin.

“Chat, it’s not a big deal. It’s a small wound. I trust you, okay? Please, just stitch it up.”

Chat hesitated for a moment. She trusted him? Before he could let that sink in, he grabbed the needle and carefully started stitching. He wasn’t very good, but he would make this his best stitch yet. He knew that a medical stitch was different from sewing. He had read on a few different kinds for a first aid class, but he had never done one. He did his best to remember the one most commonly used and put his limited knowledge to practice. When he was done, he could tell it was a little crooked, but it was stitched.

“Thank you, Kitty.”

“Mari, what were you doing in the roof? You scared me.”

His quiet confession surprised Marinette, though it shouldn’t of. She debated on her answer, but decided the truth, as silly as it was, was the best answer.

“You thought I was on the roof? But I was on the roof last time, why would I be there this time?”

His logic could only make Marinette laugh. Of course, how could she forget?

“I’m sorry, Kitty. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

With that, Marinette shifted, wrapping her arms around him. He really was her Knight in Shining Armour, though she would never admit that.

Chat returned the hug, holding her close to his chest. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized, but holding her in his arms, Chat realized that she meant everything to him. He was in love with her, and it had happened without him realizing it.

Being so close to Chat, Marinette thought back to the roof. When she had been falling, she only had one thought on her mind. She was in love with Chat Noir, and she wouldn’t have been able to tell him if she had died.

Marinette pulled away slightly. Her arms were still linked around Chat’s neck as he leaned over her. She looked up into his beautiful green eyes. A moment later, their lips were pressed together in a moment of fervent passion.

“I love you.”

In the moment they had pulled apart to breath, they both said the words that the other had realized moments before. The synchronization in which they held, their breathes, their heartbeats, their words, they all came together in a beautiful moment of intensity.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #marichat #romance #love #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #sad #rip #again #my work

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lostinfic · 5 years

Text

2. Indonesia, summer (cont’d)

Summary: She writes for magazines about luxurious resorts in exotic places and five-star hotels in glamorous cities. He’s photographed devastated war zones, refugee camps and child soldiers. For both of them travel is an escape, but he’s had enough of this grim reality, and she’s had enough of this disconnected fantasy. Perhaps together they can find something in between, something real, and stop running from themselves. Each season, a new destination and a chance to grow closer.

Pairing: Alec Hardy x Hannah Baxter Rating: Mature~ish (for now) Word count: 2.6k

Prologue | Chap. 1 | Ao3

The sun had sunk halfway down the Indian ocean. On the beach, the hotel staff were retrieving lounge chairs and parasols for the night. Only a few couples lingered on the shore. The distant echo of conversation and clanking dishes came from the terraces of the hotel’s restaurants.

Sun-heated sand slipped into Hannah’s sandals and splashed against her calves. She removed her shoes and walked in shallow water instead.

Hardy walked fast, ahead of her, as if ashamed to be seen with her, but he still sporadically checked on her over his shoulder. “Watch out, there’s a crab.”

They didn’t exchange more than a few words. She didn’t peg him as the small talk kind anyway, so she didn’t make an effort. He scanned the beach, eyes narrowed, serious dimples in his cheeks. He kept his hands poised on the camera hanging around his neck. This was no romantic stroll. They were colleagues, out on the prowl, chasing a scoop— and she loved it.

They were looking for that bunker-like structure Hannah had seen in the background of her selfie, from the sailboat excursion. Despite declaring she could guide him there, she had only a vague idea of where it might be located. Hardy had a real, old-school compass to guide them westward, but darkness would make it harder to find.

The main structure of the resort faded into impressionist patches of light. They still passed by smaller buildings— private villas, storage, kayak rental kiosk— but they were fewer and farther in between.

“I think it’s on the other side of that,” Hannah said. She pointed at a rock formation ahead. It was much taller than a human, came form inland and dipped into the sea, essentially blocking the whole width of the beach. She was no geologist, but it looked like volcanic rock to her, like fat rolls of lava descended from the center of the island. At low tide, barnacles and sea grapes clung to its side. A line of orange buoys extended from it, far into the sea to mark out the end of the resort’s beach.

By the time they reached the rock, only the full moon illuminated their path. Hardy shined a tiny LED flashlight over its surface.

Hannah thought she could skirt around it in the water and cross over the buoys. Hardy wasn’t too keen on trudging through water and opted to hike over the rock instead. Hannah walked farther into the sea. It was deeper than she’d anticipated. She was in up to mid-thighs before even reaching the buoys. She retreated and climbed behind Hardy. Her sandals slid over the slimy rock. He offered his hand. She held on to it tightly as he hauled her up on top of the rock formation.

“Wow!”

In the bay, on the other side, the shore sparkled with thousands of tiny electric-blue dots, like something out of a science-fiction movie. The ebb and flow of the water stirred and alighted them. Everything else around was dark.

Hannah grinned, in all her trips, she’d never seen anything like it.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“Bioluminescent plankton,” Hardy supplied.

They climbed down the other side, his hand at her elbow in case she slipped.

“D’you think I can touch it?”

He shrugged. “It’s always in the water, you just don’t usually see it.”

She kicked off her sandals once more and tiptoed into the sea. She giggled like a child, each step generated more blue dots.

“It lights up when it’s agitated,” Hardy explained. “There must be some strong current around here.”

Hannah kicked the water, propelling a luminous arc of plankton in the air. She heard the camera shutter, and glanced at Hardy over her shoulder.

“Perv,” she joked.

He chuckled, and she wished she could see his smile.

“Why is it only on this side—eeww!”

Something slimy covered her ankle. Panicked, she kicked it off but lost balance. Hardy caught her in the nick of time. She grasped his shoulders until she was steady again, and then they hopped out of the water.

“Thanks,” she said out of breath, heart still hammering. His arms remained around her. “Christ, what was that?”

Hardy shone his torchlight on the water. There was a squid, dead, decomposing even. The flashlight revealed more dead fish floating on the surface. Hannah shivered with disgust and hid her face against Hardy’s shoulder.

“We must be close to something,” he said. “Bioluminescence can indicate harmful algae in the water.”

“You could have said before.”

“You alright?” He aimed the light at her legs.

“I’m fine.”

Truth be told, all she wanted now was to go back to her room and take a shower. But, remembering Duncan’s grating “stick to what you’re good at” comment, she persevered. A sigh puffed up her cheeks, and she took off after Hardy.

“Did you come here specifically to investigate?” she asked him.

“Aye. A former colleague called me. You?”

“I’m working but I wasn’t sent here for this. I’m writing a piece on the resort for Elite Travelers.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “Thought you said you’re a journalist.”

“I am a journalist.”

He scoffed. “That’s a liberal use of the word.”

Hannah gaped in outrage. How dare he? Before she could reply, he started walking again, faster.

“And who do you work for?”

“Depends.”

“Don’t give out everything, it’s embarrassing,” she said sarcastically.

“This is freelance work.”

“But who have you worked for before? Name one if you’re so much better than me.”

“The Broadchurch Echo… The New York Times.”

“Alright, well, it doesn’t matter, I want to expose this sham as much as you.”

“No.” He stopped walking, and she nearly bumped into him. “This is my job, my life, you’re just—“

“My readers will care.”

“Your readers?” he all but squeaked. “They’re the problem.”

“I’m trying to learn here, okay?”

“You gotta do more than that.”

“I just— Urgh! I don’t want to get too involved, people start expecting things from you and I can’t— I can’t do that.”

They started walking again. She thought he’d dropped the subject, but ten minutes later, he asked: “Who pays for your stay here? And the article you’re writing. Who’s paying you?”

“What? The magazine, of course.”

“Right, who’s paying them?”

“Do I really need to explain this to you? Subscriptions, advertisement…”

“The owners of the resort? The local government?”

“No, it’s not like that,” she replied.

“How can you be sure, uh? This, your magazine, your article, it’s nothing more than propaganda.”

God, that man was infuriating. But he had sowed doubt in her mind. Was that why Duncan didn’t want her to cover ecotourism? What if she was just a tool?

She breathed audibly out of her nose and stalked past Hardy. “I’m gonna find that bloody bunker,” she muttered.

Not long after, they saw the bunker-like building in the distance, inland. An industrial spotlight hung above its metal door. It cast an artificial white light over its surroundings. Flies and moths buzzed around it. There was one security camera too, and they tried to stay out of its scope.

“Out-bloody-standing,” Hardy whispered. He clapped her too hard on the shoulder. “You found it.” He raised his camera and took several pictures.

It was still almost ten feet away and then bushes blocked the path. As they approached, a sound of water, distinct from the waves, grew louder. There was some kind of river behind the vegetation. She rose on her tiptoes, to look over the narrow hedge. She couldn’t quite see the river and she realized this was because it was at the bottom of a ravine. The water was maybe twelve feet below, between steep walls of rock and soil. It created a natural moat around the building. There seemed to be no way around it, and the rest of the building was protected by an electric fence.

“What now? We can’t get any closer,” she said.

“Yes, we can.”

She watched, aghast, as he waded through the bushes to the ravine. What was he doing? It was too wide to jump over. He crouched on the edge. His foot slipped and rocks tumbled below with a delayed echo.

“You’re not thinking of climbing down, are you?” He didn’t answer. “Hardy?”

Hannah cursed under her breath and trudged through the thorny bushes. She shivered at the thought of all the creepy crawlies in there. When she joined him, he was testing the strength of a branch to rappel down the ravine.

“You’ll kill yourself,” she said.

“If that’s what it takes.”

They stared at each other, his eyes defiant. The color drain from her face.

“What?”

“Maybe if a white man dies people will finally care about what’s happening here.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. “Oh no, you’re not doing this to me.” Hardy was in a too precarious position to resist her tug, but Hannah expected him to fight back. So she pulled with all her strength and weight, and they stumbled backwards. Her foot caught in a root. They fell to the ground, Hardy landed on top of her. His camera knocked her on the jaw.

“OW!”

His eyes widened. “Sorry.” He touched her jaw lightly, and it struck her how a man so careless with himself, could be so gentle with her. Their eyes met, and she became very aware of his body covering hers.

“Berhenti! Berhenti!” yelled a security guard, running towards them. Their argument must have alerted him.

“Bollocks.”

They stood up.

The man’s cap flew off his head as he ran faster. They could outrun him for sure, but Hardy didn’t budge. The security guard was a middle-age Indonesian man with small sticky-out ears. Upon noticing they were not locals, he switched to English. “Stop! You cannot be here. Forbidden. You come with me.”

Arms crossed, Hardy towered over him. “What are you hiding, uh? Who are you protecting?”

“You come with me.” He grabbed a walkie-talkie from his utility belt, to call for back-up perhaps. He had a stun gun too.

“They’re destroying your island, your birthplace,” Hardy continued. “Report us to your management and this will go on. But we can help change this situation that’s—”

“Look, we were not doing anything wrong,” Hannah intervened before Hardy got them in trouble. She looped her arm through his. “Just wandering, exploring. It’s such a romantic place, we got carried away…”

She fluttered her eyelashes at Hardy, but he made no attempt at playing along. The security guard lowered his walkie-talkie.

“I understand it’s important that we don’t come here. I’m sure there’s a good reason, it looks dangerous. Really, it’s our fault, we shouldn’t be trespassing.”

Hardy finally looked at her, appalled by her apologies. Hannah continued, taking on a honeyed voice and offering her nicest smile.

“We don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss. I mean, you would, wouldn’t you? Be in trouble that is, if your boss knew we’d wandered all the way here by accident.”

It took a moment for Hannah’s words to sink in, after a few blinks, the security guard’s blank stare turned into a smile.

“Yes, yes. Okay. You leave, I”— he mimed zipping and locking his mouth— “no trouble for you. Thank you for me, okay?”

She nudged Hardy. “Give him some money.”

“I’m not participating in corruption.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She had a few Rupiahs folded in her phone case, and she handed them all to the man. “Can you show us the way back? I think we got a little lost. Thank you, you’re very kind.”

The security guard escorted them back to the lobby. The concierge noticed them arriving together, but the guard lied and said he’d found them lost. It reassured Hannah that he wouldn’t talk. Under no suspicion, she would be free to continue investigating. If only Hardy hadn’t gotten on his high horse, they could already have proof of the resort’s scam.

As they walked towards the south wing of the hotel, Hannah kept glancing at him expectantly.

“Wha’?”

“Aren’t you going to thank me for saving your arse?” she said.

“Sorry? Saving my arse! He could’ve helped us more if you hadn’t bribed him. If I’d had time to convince him—”

“Not with the way you were talking to him. You’re just so fucking condescending.”

He crossed his arms and clenched his jaw.

“So the hotel’s not very good for the environment. Is it really worth risking your life for?” Hannah asked.

He huffed impatiently and took her aside. He told her everything he knew: the foreign investors, the Navy evicting families, the corruption, the threats to his journalist friend, the destruction of mangroves and fields. It was so much bigger than she’d imagined. Overwhelmingly so. He told her about the Tirrand family. How the father tried to protect his farm and received five bullets to the chest. In front of his own daughter. Hannah thought of that little girl with the fierce eyes, dauntless now that she’d already seen the worst possible thing.

Hannah felt suddenly very cold. She cared about what had happened. And then she didn’t. She turned her gaze towards the window and the starlit sea.

“It would be a shame not to share such beauty with the world,” she said in a voice that seemed to come from outside herself. “I don’t like how it happened, but why should they keep this island to themselves?”

“What are you on about?”

“I’m just saying, what’s done is done,” she continued without looking at him. “They can’t go back, the resort’s built, might as well make the best of it.”

She was aware of the strain in her cheeks as she smiled.

“You need some rest,” he said.

What a pretentious wanker, she hoped to never see him again.

______

Chapter 3: Singapore

#hardy x hannah #Broadchurch #secret diary of a call girl #Alec Hardy #romantic plankton #travelers AU #lostinfic writes stuff

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1rosex · 6 years

Text

BTS reaction to their s/o scaring them

Request: Hoi, can I request a members reaction to their s/o pranking them and scaring them?? Thank youu have a good day!

Masterlist

Jin

You could hear Jin softly singing awake to himself as you crept up the hallway. You came to a stop right before the door to his bedroom, reaching for the handle as quietly as you could. Once you grabbed on, you turned it quickly and leapt inside while screaming "AHH!"

"Flyy-AAAA!" Jin, who was in the middle of getting changed and still in his boxers, let out a scream you hadn't heard come from him before. He jumped back and lifted his hands up in defense before he even realized it was you. "YA! Y/N you scared me!" He scolded, dragging his hand down his face and sighing.

"Wow, that was a nice high note." You said before laughing, leaning on the doorway for support. Jin's face was red as he came over and tried to shove you out of his room, though you kept struggling against him. "Oh come on Jin don't be mad!" You grinned, knowing well that you'd just scared the daylights out of him. Jin couldn't even hold a grudge, there was still a smile on his face as you wrapped your arms around him.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you?"

Namjoon

It was Namjoon's birthday and of course you'd gotten him some great presents, but you also gave him a scare. One of the cards you gave him had a paper spider that jumped out when you opened it, and you watched as Namjoon received it. He read the cover and pulled it open, the paper spider flying out at him.

Namjoon shrieked and slapped at himself, pushing into his chair so much he nearly tipped it over. Namjoon finally brushed the spider off and regained his balance before giving you the most dead pan expression. You doubled over onto the table, roaring with laughter at the small yell that Namjoon had given when the spider jumped out. Namjoon set the card down, taking a deep breath before looking over at you. "That was so childish."

"I know. But it was flipping hilarious." You wheezed, pretending to wipe a tear from your eye. Namjoon smiled slightly, threw the paper spider at you and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"I'm getting you back for that you brat."

Yoongi

Almost there, just a little bit more. You were hiding in Yoongi's closet, leaning against the door with all of his hoodies pressed to your back. You almost wanted to stay there, cozy amongst the fabrics that all smelled of your boyfriends cologne. But you needed to jump out when Yoongi passed by, which would be soon considering his footsteps were getting louder. You listened, he was right in front of the closet now. He reached for the handles, started to pull the door open. As soon as a silver of light shone through, you pushed open the doors and screamed out "BOO!"

Yoongi jumped back and balled his hands up into fists, bringing them up. "yaAaAA!" He yelled out before realizing it was just you. You started cracking up, tumbling out of the closet laughing.

Yoongi leaned against his bed, clutching his chest like he had just suffered a heart attack while you rolled around. Eventually he recovered from the scare you'd given him and looked up at you with a pained expression.

"Y/N! Are you trying to give me heart problems before I turn 40?"

J-Hope

Hoseok better hurry, your legs were cramping up from staying in the trashcan for so long. Why the trash? Well because, why not? You'd cleaned it out well so it was the perfect hiding spot, right besides the door.

"Y/N I'm home!~" Hoseok called in a cute sing song voice that almost made you feel guilty about scaring him.

Almost.

He started humming to himself, coming towards the kitchen, in your direction. You listened carefully as he got closer and closer till he was right beside you. "BOO!" You yelled as you jumped and threw the lid off. Hoseok gave one of the most high pitched screams you'd ever heard come from a male and fell back, holding his hands over his head. Your bin toppled over and sent you sprawling onto the floor, though you weren't even worried about it. You started laughing, rolling on the tile while Hoseok recognized your voice. He jumped to his feet and ran over to see if you were alright, despite just having been scared half to death.

"Are you okay?? Wait wait, actually, I hope you're not!" He huffed and crossed his arms. "You scared me! I trusted you!"

Jimin

As soon as you saw Jimin coming towards the house, you sprinted down the hallway and ducked around the corner into hiding. You heard Jimin enter through the door and could tell he was coming down the hall, he was singing. You listened from your hiding spot around the corner, his volume becoming louder the closer he came. The adrenaline started to kick in, you could tell he was only feet away now. You waited just another few seconds longer before leaping out right in front of him mid-song.

"Save me-aaAAAH!" Jimin jumped a foot back and raised his hands in defense, like he was about to karate chop you. You started laughing as Jimin tripped over his own feet backing up and struggled to catch his balance. "Y/N!" He gasped, realizing it was just you who had jumped out at him in the darkness. "Wow haha.. Nice try. You almost.. got me." He laughed nervously, his cheeks heating up. "No, I totally scared you." You giggled while trying to catch your breath. Jimin rolled his eyes and sighed, smiling at you.

"You almost made me die is what you did"

Taehyung

You were hiding right behind the door, waiting for Taehyung to arrive home. He usually wasn't an easy person to scare, you had to make sure he absolutely didn't see it coming or he wouldn't be frightened. So you decided to give it to him as soon as he entered the house. Taehyung came up to the porch, you heard his keys enter the lock on the door and watched the door knob turn. Taehyung pushed open the door just as you leapt out. "RAH!" You shouted.

"aaAISSH!" Taehyung's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped, jumping away from you with his hands defending his face. You fell back against the wall, laughing so hard at his expression you thought you were gonna pee yourself.

"Oh my god.. Tae, your face. You looked like Jungkook when Jin had the talk with him." You wheezed, falling onto the floor. "Ya! I trusted youuu!" Taehyung was still trying to calm down, letting out a deep breath as he held his chest.

"That was the most terrifying two seconds of my life. And to think! I brought you home snacks!"

Jungkook

You didn't have any closets you could fit in and scare Jungkook, or any corners either. Jungkook was hard to scare, you had to go all out in a way Jungkook wouldn't expect. So you laid down, completely silent on the floor beside the bed when Jungkook thought you had left for work. You heard Jungkook come into the room and sigh, collapsing on the mattress. He shimmied his way up the bed, so that his head was propped up on the pillows and his legs crossed while he scrolled through his phone. You very quietly lifted your head so that you were right besides his ear and took a deep breath. "BOO"

Jungkook cried out and flung his phone at you before scurrying off the bed like some kind of cheetah. You squeaked with surprise as his phone made impact on your head, falling backwards and starting to laugh.

"Did you seriously throw your phone at me? How would you call the police if this was a real life situation?" You laughed.

"Oh mY gOd Y/N I think I just lost ten years from my life span!" Jungkook wheezed as he put his hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat against his palm. You just started to crack up even more, wishing you could photograph his expression when you appeared besides him.

"Big mistake Y/N, you better watch your back."

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graceomeallain · 5 years

Text

The Lady in the Lighthouse (prompt 6a)

Alice jolted as she came to, choking and spluttering up the icy seawater threatening to invade her lungs. She dragged herself up the beach, away from the harsh wave that had just crashed over her head, and collapsed against the freezing sand, too sapped of energy to go further. She coughed again, drops of seawater and flecks of sand escaping as she did. The roar of the raging sea behind her was deafening, and the rain lashed her back. Her jacket was lost to the depths of the sea, along with her hat and one of her boots, and she was shivering violently.

Somewhere in her exhausted mind, she realised that if she allowed herself to lie here much longer, she would pass out again against the sand already leeching the last dregs of warmth from her bones, and almost certainly die. If she could just drag herself off this beach, perhaps she could find shelter, if only under a bush, until this furious tempest exhausted itself, and she could see if any of her crewmates had survived the ordeal.

She very much doubted they had. She alone could swim, and when it had become clear that the sea had more then defeated them, while every man on board clung to the rig or the rail, she had surrendered to it, diving over the side and praying she would make it to land, rather than going down with the ship. Though the storm clouds had blotted out the sun and darkened the sky so it seemed like night, that had only been early evening. Now it was truly the middle of the night, and alone and frozen with no way to warm herself, Alice didn't know if she would see the sunrise.

Feeling her eyes beginning to slip shut, she forced herself to her knees. A blast of wind nearly sent her sprawling back into the waves she had barely pulled herself clear of, but she kept her balance, and with a Herculean effort, made it to her feet. Her fingers were stiff and stinging with cold, and she stuffed them under her arms as she stumbled up the beach, blown from side to side by wrenching gusts of wind. About halfway up the beach, her bare foot descended on a razor sharp shard of glass, concealed in the sand, and she yelled out in pain, her cry drowned by the thunder. Her foot gave, and she dropped to her knees, tears of pain and desperation mingling with the rainwater pouring down her face.

Every fibre of her ached to give in, to lie down and sleep in the soft sand beneath her knees, and leave herself to the mercy of the tempest, but she knew that if she did, she would never wake up again. She had sacrificed too much and travelled too far to let herself die now, when she was finally on the same soil as the one she had come all this way to find. She reached for the ring on her left hand, that had remained steadfast on her finger when most of her belongings and attire had failed her, and twisted it a few times, reminding herself why she had done all this. She had to keep her promise.

As she knelt in the sand, steeling herself to get up again and carry on, a jagged, forked bolt of lightning cut across the sky, and for a fraction of a second, the world was bathed in eerie light. Before everything was plunged into darkness again, Alice caught sight of a lighthouse on the headland at the end of the beach. Ordinarily, it would have been no more than a couple of minutes running, but in her current state, it might as well have been a hundred miles. Still, it was the only shelter she could see; there was no guarantee she'd find anywhere warm on the other side of the sand dunes further up the beach.

On legs so heavy she wondered that she could even drag her feet along, Alice forced herself to limp onward across the beach, trailing blood in the sand behind her. When she reached the headland, she allowed herself a pause. The lighthouse stood on a low cliff, separated from the churning ocean by a swathe of rough black rock. From the beach, a lightly worn dirt track led up through drenched grass to the lighthouse. It would normally have been a stroll, no more than a five minute walk, but just like the walk down the beach, it seemed insurmountable.

In the end, she managed most of the hill on her hands and knees, barely even noticing anymore as the gritty track tore at her breeches and grazed the heels of her palms. When the lighthouse finally loomed over her, she lurched to her feet, collapsing against the door and hammering on it with her fist. She waited, huddled against the door in an attempt to retain what little was left of her body heat, and when no answer came, she knocked again. Then a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth, with increasingly shorter pauses as she began to realise nobody was coming.

When the fifth knock went unanswered, she slid down the door to sit with her back against it, and curled into a ball. She was utterly spent, with no energy left to go elsewhere. Her best chance would be to huddle in this doorframe until morning and hope she survived that long. It was a slim chance, but at least the doorway was marginally better than the beach. She began to twist the ring on her finger again, praying that Ben would forgive her if she didn't find her way back.

Just as she was starting to drift into a sleep she was almost certain would be her last, she fell backwards onto hard stone. She opened her stinging, red rimmed eyes, and found herself staring up into another pair, strikingly green and illuminated by wobbling lamplight that cast shadows into the deep crevices around them. Alice scrambled to her feet as the door was shut behind her, and took in the wizened woman in front of her.

She was certain she'd never seen anyone so old in her life. The woman was hunched and gnarled, with wrinkles like valleys in her face, motley grey and white hair that looked like it hadn't seen the right end of a blade in years, and claw-like fingers that clutched the lantern in an unsteady grip. Unusually, she, like Alice, was wearing breeches and a shirt, and both looked like they'd seen more years on this earth than Alice had. Yet for all the marks time had etched into her, those green eyes were bright with intelligence, a young woman's eyes shining out of an ancient vessel, and Alice knew that this was not a senile old woman.

"My dear girl, what in God's name are you doing out on a night like this?" asked the woman.

Her voice was raspy, like blades screeching across each other, and its low pitch betrayed years, if not decades, of smoking the pipe that poked from her breast pocket, right next to a hip flask filled with a brown liquid. Her accent held faint traces of an Irish burr, but it was the accent of someone who had been away from their home country for many years.

"I was shipwrecked," Alice croaked out, bracing one hand on the wall to steady herself.

"Well, you must come in," said the woman, "come, come."

She held out her spare hand, and Alice hesitantly took it. It was rough and calloused, and the woman's fingers were bony but strong. She led Alice into the stairwell, and up an echoing stone spiral that seemed to go on forever until the lamp finally illuminated a heavy wooden door. The staircase continued upwards, but they didn't follow it. The old woman finally released Alice's hand to open the door, revealing a round room.

A large hearth was set into the wall, a pot hanging in it, and a threadbare armchair in front of it that looked like it might once have been red. The shrieking of the wind was still audible outside, and the rain assaulted the small windows, but no draughts crept in. This room was clearly the old woman's entire living space; a table was near the door, a single chair beside it, and across the room was a shelf of kitchen utensils, with a cupboard underneath it. Near the largest of the windows was a narrow bed, and a closet was pressed against the wall at the foot of it. On the opposite side of the room to the door, a curtain of worn and patched canvas, that wouldn't have looked out of place as a sail, obscured a small part of the room.

The old woman took a splint of wood from the table, and lit it from the lantern, then set the lantern down on the table and crossed to the hearth. She dropped the splint onto the logs stacked there, and pulled the flask from her pocket, uncorking it and tossing a dash of whatever was inside onto the hearth. A bright flame flared and caught, and the wood began to crackle. Alice was by the hearth in the time it took the woman to lift the flask to her lips and take a swig. She knelt next to it, holding her numb fingers as close as she dared to the sparking logs.

The feeling came back into her extremities painfully, like the pricking of a hundred needles against her skin, then like she'd stuck her hand directly into the fire, but anything was better than the deadly cold of the storm. The pain was just starting to abate when the woman returned and handed her a bundle of clothes, gesturing to the curtain.

"You'll catch your death in those clothes," she said, "I'll fix us something to eat, you get changed."

"Thank you."

Alice was loathe to leave her warm spot by the fire, but she knew the woman was right. She got to her feet, and her eyes went wide with horror as she saw a bloodstain on the rug beneath her, left by her foot.

"I'm so sorry," she said, looking down at it, "I didn't realise it was bleeding so heavily."

"Oh, don't worry, dear," said the woman, "you just get changed, I'll fix that up in no time. You can leave those wet things in the tub."

Alice nodded, and slipped behind the curtain. It felt like sailcloth, as well as looking like it, and it smelled like salt. Behind it was a tub that was currently drained, and Alice slowly changed out of her sodden clothes and into the mercifully dry breeches, socks and shirt the woman had given her, leaving a sock off her bleeding foot. The woman's hunch made her look smaller than she was - the clothes weren't a bad fit. She dropped her own clothes into the tub, and wrung out her straggly black hair over it, so it wasn't dripping.

When she emerged, the woman was poking at something in the pot over the fire, and she had pulled the wooden chair over to sit by the armchair. A knife sat on the chair, along with a bandage and a rag.

"Much better," said the woman as she looked at Alice's dry clothes, "come sit, let me take a look at your foot."

The woman took the chair with the bandage, and when Alice sat in the armchair, held out a hand for Alice's foot. Sh lifted it, and the woman inspected it closely, bony fingers pressing hard against Alice's ankle.

"Hmm, painful that," she said, "you'll be alright, though, there's nothing lodged inside. This'll sting."

She opened her flask again, and tipped a little of the contents onto the rag. When she held it to Alice's foot, it burned against the wound, and Alice sucked in a sharp breath. After a few seconds, the woman removed it, and cut a length of the bandage. As she began expertly wrapping Alice's foot, a smell floated over from the pot above the fire that was nothing short of heavenly. When the woman finished, the tucked the bandage under itself to secure it, and stood up.

"There now," she said, "get a sock over that, I'll get us some stew."

She fetched two bowls and two spoons from the cupboard under the rack of kitchen utensils, and dished up a nondescript, dark coloured stew, handing one bowl to Alice. In reality, it was nothing particularly special, much akin to the things Alice had eaten every day on the long voyage from Port Royal, but she gulped it down faster than she'd ever eaten before, not realising until she took the first bite how starved she was.

Once she had eaten, warmer and fuller than she had been before, she began to think a little more coherently, and she realised she had yet to hear the name of the ancient woman currently packing away the bowls.

"What's your name?" she asked.

The woman looked over her shoulder with a curious expression on her face, as if she was surprised to be asked.

"Annie," she said, "yourself?"

"Alice."

"And how'd you come to be shipwrecked, Alice?" asked Annie, "your captain must have been soft in the head to sail through these waters. The storm clouds have been gathering since dawn, and it's a ship killer out there."

"He isn't," said Alice, then corrected herself, "he wasn't. We were set upon by pirates, and the only way to outrun them was into the storm."

Annie gave a rattling, mirthless laugh.

"Pirates? There hasn't been a real pirate from here to Boston in a lifetime."

Alice felt her temper flare a little at that; her entire crew had been driven to their deaths by pirates, and this old woman in her lighthouse was claiming they didn't exist.

"There are, they were flying the black flag!"

"Piracy was stamped out before you were a twinkle in your mam's eye," said Annie.

Already irritated, Alice felt a sudden wave of anger break over her.

"Why is there no light on upstairs? This is a lighthouse. We might have made a safe landing if we'd had a guide, why didn't you have the light on?"

"With the force of the wind? This bay's dangerous, dear. No helmsman alive could navigate his way into it with his sails furled and only the lighthouse for a guide, and with the wind as it is, no ship could have its sails out without having the masts ripped clean from the hull. It's precarious out there, but at least it's open water. There's always more of a chance than there would have been here - you would have run aground, sure as the sun'll rise tomorrow."

Alice blinked a few times. Annie was right, now she considered it, but how the old woman knew so much about seafaring was another thing to add to the list of mysteries.

"In any case, how was it you ended up on board a ship in the first place?" asked Annie, "you don't look like a sailor. Certainly don't sound like one."

"I was running away," said Alice, beginning to twist the ring on her finger unconsciously.

Annie gave her a knowing nod, and looked at her hand.

"From your husband?"

Alice shook her head immediately.

"No, nothing like that. I'm not married."

Annie sat down, raising an eyebrow. She'd rolled up her sleeves in the time she was away from the hearth, and her forearms were littered with old scars, remnants of slashes and burns. Alice couldn't fathom how this women had come to be here, or where she had come from.

"What's the ring for?"

"I'm engaged."

"Running to something, then."

Alice allowed herself a smile as she thought about how close she was to Ben. Within the week, she would be back in his arms, and it was a reassuring thought, even as she sat in this dark lighthouse with a woman who was becoming ever more of an enigma.

"Ben," she said, "when we lived in England, I fell in love with him, but my father disapproved, because he was poor. We moved to Charlestown, and I promised him I would come back. So I dressed as a man, and came on board a merchant ship."

It had been months since she'd last seen him, since she'd waved tearfully from the back of her father's carriage as he stood in the fields, doubled over and breathless and unable to keep pace any further. She didn't doubt for a second that he would still be there, with the money they had stashed to start a life away from her father and the trappings of the lifestyle he insisted on. The thought made her want to run out into the storm and all the way to him in one night.

"You love this Ben, then?"

"Very much," Alice said honestly.

Annie's eyes turned wistful, and she gave a slight smile, reaching up to finger a ring on a chain around her neck that Alice hadn't noticed before. The chain it hung on was weathered and tarnished, like everything else in the room, but the ring was clearly gold, and it still shone in the firelight.

"I loved a man, once," she said, "before even your father was born, probably."

"What was his name?"

"Jack. When I was young, I was married, but I wasn't in love. But as soon as we met, I knew we were cut from the same cloth, Jack and I. He swept me off my feet, and I ran away with him. We went places and did things you couldn't begin to imagine."

"What happened to him?"

"He died young."

Her tone was wistful, and Alice's heart broke for her. The story reminded her of Ben, and her breath caught in her throat at the very thought of what it would be like to lose him young.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I imagine I'll find him again soon, on the other side."

There was a faraway look in her eyes as she looked out of the rain spattered window to the roiling, black sea, and Alice was even more curious than she'd been before.

"How did you come to own this lighthouse?"

"Well, not many people are drawn to the life of a lighthouse keeper, dear. The old man was getting married, he gave it over for free."

"But you're drawn to it?"

Another rasping, almost bitter laugh.

"Not at all."

She didn't elaborate, and Alice sensed she wouldn't even if asked. There was a long pause filled by the crackling of the fire and the storm outside, then Annie got to her feet.

"You must be exhausted, dear," she said, "there's a chest behind the curtain, on the other side of the tub, there should be a blanket in there for you. Tomorrow morning, I'll see you're on your way to your Ben."

She had lit a candle while Alice was eating, and she handed it to her now.

"Thank you."

Alice got up and ducked past the sailcloth again, moving around the tub. Two chests sat in the corner there. One was a plain wooden box, like a shipping crate, but the other was more intricate, iron bound with a keyhole. The thick layer of dust coating it made it impossible to tell what colour it actually was, and told Alice beyond any doubt that Annie had meant the other crate, but the sailcloth fully obscured her actions, and curiosity got the better of her. Wedging her fingernails into the crack where the chest shut so as not to disturb the dust, she lifted the lid just enough for the light of the candle sitting next to her to catch the trigger of a pistol inside.

Alice's chest tightened, and her mind began to race. She was young and strong where Annie was old and wizened, but there was clearly more to Annie than met the eye, and they had only just met. She was an old woman living alone. Perhaps the pistol was for her own protection, but Alice was uneasy all the same. Perhaps she shouldn't trust her. A bellow of thunder from beyond the walls reminded her that she had little choice.

Quick footsteps warned her of Annie's approach, and she hurriedly shut the chest, just in time for Annie's head to appear around the sailcloth.

"The one on the right, dear," she said.

"Thanks," said Alice, "I was about to ask."

Annie left again, and Alice waited for her racing heart to return to normal, then opened the crate and pulled out a blanket, shaking it to reveal any insects. Nothing undesirable fell from it, so she shut the crate again, and came back out to find Annie getting into bed, boots abandoned.

"Sorry there's only the armchair, dear," she said, "there was a time I'd have offered, but I'm afraid I'm too old to sleep anywhere but a bed these days."

"That's okay," said Alice, "thank you again for letting me stay."

"No trouble at all," said Annie, "goodnight, dear."

Annie settled down in the armchair and pulled the blanket up to her chin, watching the flames in the hearth flicker and die to embers. She was bone tired, but she couldn't fall asleep. Every time her eyes began to drift shut, on the edge of falling into the sleep of the dead, something pulled her back from the precipice, and she was jolted into full wakefulness again, no less exhausted than she had been before.

Eventually, she realised it was Annie. The armchair faced away from the bed. She had no way of turning it without looking suspicious, and no way of falling asleep until she knew exactly who she would be sleeping with her back to. She had to know what was in that chest. Once the resolution had been made, she found it easier to stay fully alert. She waited for several minutes, the steady pattern of Annie's breathing slow and constant. After minutes of that, she was certain the old woman was asleep.

She shifted the blanket back and tentatively set her feet down on the floor. She crept across the room, treading gingerly so her socks didn't hiss across the stone, and slipped behind the sailcloth curtain. She knelt down beside the chest again, and glanced up at the small window above it. The moon was still hidden behind the walls of clouds, but the odd flash of lightning illuminated the world outside, so she lifted the chest onto the stone window ledge, and eased it open.

Even in the low light, the items on top were easy to make out. Three knives - not kitchen knives, but the sort sailors wore at their belts for working in the rig and fighting - and a pistol. She checked, and found it unloaded. Every rational part of her told her that that ought to be the end of it. Annie was no threat, and she should go to bed, but her curiosity overwhelmed her instinct towards self preservation all of a sudden.

She removed the weapons painstakingly carefully to look underneath. A large, leather pouch sat on one side of the chest, shut with a drawstring, and reaching inside, Alice's fingers traced over scores of coins she knew by shape to be gold. What was someone with this much gold doing in a lighthouse with furniture as old as she was?

Alice pushed it aside, not daring to lift it for fear of the clink of coins being moved, and reached for what remained - a compass, a necklace of shells and two folded sheets of paper so fragile that Alice thought they might break when she picked them up. She set the shells and compass down by the pistol, and unfolded the first sheet of paper. Holding it close to the icy glass of the window, she could see the imposing word stamped at the top of it. WANTED.

Underneath the word was a picture drawn by a sketch artist of two people from the shoulders up. On the left, a man with sharp features, a jagged scar across his face and a necklace of shells around his neck, and on the right, a woman with long hair, harsh faced but beautiful, and implacably familiar.

Alice held it closer to the window still, and brought her face nearer, squinting at the writing underneath to see it in the dim light. Wanted for the crimes of high seas piracy, robbery, murder and treason against the crown, Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny. Alice looked at the woman again, and saw a face she recognised, as it had been before time had worked its evils.

Everything came together at once, and it was all Alice could do not to recoil from the poster. That unravelled Annie's mystery all at once. Alice was under the roof of a cutthroat pirate masquerading as a sweet old lady, and the urge to run out into the night was as strong as a riptide. But it wasn't quite strong enough to overcome her desperation to know the whole story. She replaced the poster, and unfolded the last sheet of paper.

It was a letter, written in the large, scrawling hand of someone clearly unused to writing. Trying to put the killer in the next room out of her mind, Alice held it to the window and began to decipher the messy scrawl.

Annie, it read, I'm writing this as I sit in the hold. Even though you're one of the fiercest fighters I've ever been lucky enough to know, I know you can't match up to England's whole navy, so I don't know if we'll ever get the chance to talk again. I tried to wait for you to come below when the soldiers arrived, but the crew barricaded us down here anyway. I pray they let you live to stand trial, and that I can slip you this note somewhere between here and Charlestown. I'll try and slip my necklace, too, as a memento - I don't think it'll go well with the rope round my neck, do you? Love, I'm for the noose, but you don't have to be. Plead your belly at your trial, and they'll have to wait to kill you. I know you, and I know you'll be brilliant enough to find a way to escape in that time, just like you were brilliant enough to find a way to run away with me, once. You have years left to live, and so many places to go and things to do. I will see you again, one day, I don't doubt it for a second. When I do, I expect to hear stories of a life fully lived. In the meantime, know that I love you, and I'm so sorry it had to end like this. Yours, always, Jack.

Alice folded the letter again, horrified by the tears that sprung to her eyes. The woman separated from her by only a sailcloth was a pirate, the most depraved of monsters, the villain in the stories Alice had been told as a child. Her husband was cut from the same cloth, she had said it herself. And yet here in this letter was not a monster, but a man, heart and soul spilled over the page for the woman who had kept it for decades, and who still wore her wedding ring around her neck. The sincerity in the scratchy letter in front of her was almost enough to move Alice to tears, and a wave of shame washed over her for the revulsion she'd felt when she realised Annie was a pirate, for assuming the woman who had taken her in from the storm to be a monster.

She tucked the papers away again, and replaced the necklace and weapons, careful to arrange them as they had been before. Once everything was as it had been, she set the chest back in its original spot on the floor. She padded back out from behind the sailcloth and into the room beyond. As soon as she was out, a heavy dread spread across her shoulders, and she froze. Unable to place anything wrong, she let out a long breath, and shook herself. It was just guilt. Nerves assuaged, she collapsed into the armchair, and all but passed out.

She woke stiff but refreshed, a shaft of pale sunlight falling across her face, and uncurled out of the armchair. Through the window, she could sea a calm sea, exhausted by the rage of the previous night. The roaring of the wind was gone, and the world was silent. She was halfway to the window when her heart stopped, and she realised what had put such a feeling of dread in her the previous night, when her instincts had known more than her. The rhythm of Annie's breathing that she had listened so carefully to had stopped.

Alice whirled and ran to the old woman's bed, needing to be sure she was alright. Annie was lying on her back, eyes closed and wrinkled face peaceful. For all the world, she could have been asleep, but she was preternaturally still. Alice held a finger under her nose and felt nothing.

"Annie." No response. "Annie." She shook the old woman's shoulder, but Annie was a deadweight. "Annie, wake up."

She shook her again, felt for breath, and felt for a pulse, but after a few desperate minutes, it was clear that there was no life left in the woman in on the bed in front of her. Her heart must have given out. Alice sat down heavily on the side of the bed, stunned. She had seemed in the best of health the previous evening, but then again, she was almost unbelievably old.

Alice sat there for several minutes, floundering in her mind. She couldn't just leave Annie there, but she also couldn't stay long enough to arrange any kind of funeral; her father would have sent people to stop her as soon as he realised she was gone. He had to know where she'd be headed, and they would be only days behind. She had to reach Ben before they did. There had to be a town nearby, she realised eventually. They had been shipwrecked off the coast of Cornwall, and the surrounding area was littered with little villages. She would stop in the nearest town on her way north, and let the local priest know. She could pay him out of Annie's stash of gold coins to ensure she was given a proper funeral.

Resolved on a plan, she decided she had to be on her way. She cast about the room, and her eyes fell on her lone boot. She certainly couldn't travel all the way to Ben in one boot, and though it made her uneasy to wear a dead woman's shoes, she was forced to don Annie's. She returned to the room behind the sailcloth and opened the chest, taking the pouch of gold coins. The lid was half shut when she stopped and reached back inside, retrieving the necklace of shells and the compass.

She stopped by Annie's bed once more before she left, pushing back a long curtain of salt and pepper hair so she could reach behind her neck, trying not to grimace at the cold skin under her fingers. She fastened the shells around Annie's neck, then tucked the compass into her deep breast pocket, beside the pipe and flask.

"To help you find him," she said quietly, "on the other side."

With that, she turned and left behind the room, and the lighthouse, and the strangest acquaintance she'd ever met, or ever would again.

@readerwriterconnect

#readerwriterconnectcomp

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the-supporting-character · 6 years

Text

He’s Not Here (Davey x Jack)

Requested: What do you think? A/N: I don’t know why I wanted to write this, but I did and here it is. Warnings: Violence, one swear Length: 1970

The famous (and rather obnoxious) Jack Kelly lounged on a sofa in the middle of the Lodging House, looking at exactly nothing that was not inside his own head. His silence struck Davey, who sat in an opposing chair with a book hanging loosely from his hands. Usually, Kelly never shut up just when he was just getting to a good part, and yet in the past two hours that Davey had lost himself in a story, he spoke seldom. Instead of bouncing up and down or fidgeting relentlessly he slumped on the couch with little purpose.

“Hey…” At the sound of Davey’s voice, Jack bolted upright. Davey felt a bit ashamed, having left his boyfriend to slip into a daze while he was content to maintain his reading habits. All sense that Jack was staring off into space was gone as a mischievous glint returned to his eyes at the sound of Davey’s voice. Seeing him like that made a smile appear on Davey’s lips.

“We can, uh, do something?” He placed a bookmark in his book and set it aside. He sighed inwardly at his own awkwardness, sometimes he really had no idea what to say to such a cute boy. Just staring at him gave him butterflies, despite the fact that they had been dating for a couple of months now.

“Ya don’t sound sure about that.” Jack was staring at him now, a grin making its way across his face. He got up from the couch. and with a swagger only Jack Kelly could pull off, walked over to Davey and draped himself across his lap as if he wasn’t even there. He had sat down with a dramatic sigh, calling for Davey’s undivided attention.

“That’s not -huff- what I had in mind.” Davey groaned underneath the weight and yet was delighted to feel needed. With each breath Kelly took, the weight shifted slightly until they sat perfectly comfortable and tangled together. Kind of like a puzzle piece. Jack’s face was behind Davey’s out of sight to his view, but he felt the comforting breeze of each exhale on his ear.

“Too bad. S’what I wanted.” Davey felt a blush spread across his cheeks. Noticing, Jack let out a loud laugh and answered with a small peck on the cheek, turning Davey a darker shade red.

“Wes got all the time in the world.” It sure did feel like. For the next hour or so, Davey opened his book again and they sat in a comfortable silence. He checked his watch, aware that if he didn’t go home soon, his mother would start to worry (and one never wanted to upset Mrs. Jacobs).

“I wish I could stay but…” Jack was nearly asleep on his shoulder. His hair fell in his face as he lifted it, mumbling as Davey tried to slip away, his eyes opening out of his sleepy daze. Davey was nearly out of the chair when he felt a strong hand grip his wrist.

“I love you, Davey.” Davey wished he could stay and would give anything to hear those words a hundred time a day. Blood rushed to his ears.

“I love you too, Jackie. I’ll come back tomorrow, first thing.” Jack nodded and Davey picked up his book and left the Lodging House.

Not too far from the House, Davey hummed to himself smiling at the thought of Jack’s words. Just thinking about him made him want to skip all the way home, although he would never do that, less one of the other boys walked into him on the way home. That boy made him crazy, every action and every breath sent him deeper into a spiral and Davey never wanted to get out. He could only hope that Jack felt the same way.

Still walking with a spring in his step, he didn’t notice the gathering shadow behind him. A large hand grabbed his shoulder, forcing him backward near the alley. He let out a yelp in surprise as another hand grabbed his arm and pulled him farther in.

“Romeo? Race is that y- oof!” A hard yank pulled him backward, and the figure let go, letting his head smack the ground. His head spun, his vision dotting as he tried to look at the other person. He was hoping it was one of the guys just playing a prank (Race was always doing that, scaring him from dark alleyways), but this was not someone he knew.

It was a teenager for sure, larger and thicker than Davey and cruel smile set on his face. A scar ran down his cheek, bending to the corners of his lips. He shuddered to think where it came from, it didn’t seem like it was the result of some silly accident, like Jack’s scar from their first date. Jack. Davey called for him, until the boy reeled back his foot, sending it flying towards Davey. He rolled over, coughing as he felt pain begin to bloom in his chest. Panicking, he tried to scramble back to the entrance of the alley but it was no use. Another teen stood behind him, casting a long shadow down onto Davey. A bottle rolled from behind him, and Davey quickly turned his head to see another boy emerging from the shadows. The three stood tall around him, pillars as he laid against the dirt. One of them stepped forward.

“Yous did good this time, Beef. Get his coin.” Davey looked around glancing at the street for any passers-by. He didn’t like the way this kid talked or looked for that matter. He was smaller than the one called Beef, but had the same cruel features that indicated his intentions. The other boy stepped forward, holding something in his palm. With horror, Davey reeled backward as he noticed that object was a small silver knife, gleaming as bright as the boy's eyes.

“Haul him up.” The first teen pulled Davey to his feet, his ribs making a funny sound as he was held out in front of the kid with the knife. The leader, or at least who Davey assumed was the leader, nodded towards the knife-wielder and he took a dangerous step forward.

“ I don’t have anything, I’m just trying to get home.” He tried to put as much conviction in his voice as possible but regardless, his voice shook with unmistakable fear. Davey held his head high, making eye contact with the leader as the other one stepped closer.

“Seriously, I-” A fist flew at his face, making contact with his cheek and jerking his head to the side. A whimper bubbled up from his chest.

“One more word and my guy here will turn ya into swiss cheese.” He kept his eyes on Davey who kept peering down the alleyway, praying that one of the other newsies would walk by. The guy with the knife rummaged through his pockets as the leader watched on with a smile. He tried to pull himself away from the disgusting reach of the kid but the larger boy held fast onto his arms, holding them tightly behind his back. He tried to veer left of the hand trying to reach into his pocket, but the arms holding him tight just forced him back, hard. A soft sound came from his shoulder and Davey let out a scream, his whole side feeling as if it were covered in fire. The spots that were dancing in front of his eyes grew larger and moved with fury, completely blocking out the fist that slammed into his face once more. He was thrown off-balance, throwing his weight completely on the hurt shoulder. He didn’t scream this time, only gasped as his knees gave out.

He could hear the snickers of the boys as he panted in pain, sweat and blood pooling on his brow. His mind went to Jack, he would know what to do in this situation. Actually, he would never be in this situation, but if he did… But Davey wasn’t Jack. He didn’t have his swagger or charm, so instead, he pleaded pathetically with boys. He wanted to cry out for Jack, but he didn’t like the look that the eldest boy was giving him. Still being held back, the leader stepped forward, his eyes piercing into Davey’s.

“Where’s the rest of your coin?” His voice was calm, the question offered like it was no more than a simple ‘how ya doing?’. Davey shook his head, not willing to speak the words. In truth he had nothing else on him, being a newsie wasn’t exactly a well-paying career, and even if he did, that money was his. He had earned it, he needed it for his family, and he would not let some street rat take that away. Not exactly the time to be heroic, but he was only going to be pushed around so far.

The leader’s eyebrows raised in false surprise. He didn’t believe him and indicated to the other boy to stop searching for a moment.

“I don’t have time for lies, kid. Just say where it is and ya can home to yer mommy with all of yer fingers.” His mind was in a panic. He didn't have anything else, and in one last moment of desperation, he strained against the guy holding him and spoke with as much confidence as he could muster.

“Unless you want to get on the bad side of Jack Kelly, I would stop now and walk away while you can.” The guy behind him tensed, the knife-wielder stopped rummaging around his vest looking for hidden pockets, but the leader stood there with a wide smile. Any confidence that Davey had slipped away, and he struggled against his keeper, doing his best to ignore the pain in his shoulder. The leader cocked his head sideways, clearly amused.

“Nice try, but I think wes got it handled.” And then everything went to shit. Davey let out a pathetic sound as he pulled with all his might, kicking Beef to push away. Somehow landing a kick, his grip on Davey loosened and Davey slipped down, just as the kid with the knife was swinging his arm out wildly, catching Davey’s arm and chest. He could tell it was shallow, but the pain was almost overwhelming. Davey was crouched on the ground and fell forward, moving away from the two guys. The leader tsked and before Davey had a chance to move, swiftly kicked his jaw. He fell over into the dirt, groaning and trying to ignore the intense taste of copper in his mouth.

Davey moved to crawl away but was met again by a foot, this time to the ribs. He pushed his way to one of the walls of the alley as the leader stalked towards him, grimacing with every movement. His back to the wall, the older boy blocked him with his long limbs and started to repeatedly throw punches. Davey threw his hands up in defense, now screaming Jack’s name with each blow until he fell over, lying still against the cold ground. He wanted to cry, he wanted to give up, and he wanted so much for them to go away but they stayed.

The leader bent down, breathing in his ear, just as Jack had done not an hour earlier. Davey flinched and could barely make out his next words.

“You better hope I don’t run into you, or this Jack,” he mimicked the way that Davey cried out his name, “on these streets. Won’t be so gentle next time.” He whistled towards the other boys and they stalked out of the alley.

“Jack…” His voice croaked out, but no one could hear him. He slumped down, finally passing out in pain.

I have a part two planned out in my head if anyone is interested, just send me a message :)

#Jack Kelly #Davey Jacobs #newsies #javid #Racetrack #Also I'm going to reblog in the afternoon 'cause I realize now that not everyone is up at 1 am

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stillebesat · 6 years

Text

The Butterfly Effect -Chair legs and Roses (3/26)

Sanders Sides: Roman, Patton, Logan Inspiration: from @writing-prompt-s “My domain is time,” said the Genie. “Instead of three wishes, you get three decisions. Go back and choose again.” Blurb: Roman has three chances to change his life for the better. Three chances to fix past mistakes. Three chances to totally screw it all up. But who said life is worth living unless one takes a little risk? Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Overall Fic Warnings: Major Character Death (mentioned), Suicide (mentioned), Suicide Attempt, Partial Paralysis, Injuries, Blood, Punching/Fighting, Knives, Medicinal Misuse, Toxic Roommates (implied/mentioned), Acrophobia (fear of heights), Falling, Nausea, Bullying (implied/mentioned), Car Accident (mentioned), Prison (mentioned), Negative Self Talk, Panic Attack, Bomb (mention), Surgery (mentioned)

To Catch Up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Of course he was. Roman exhaled, pinching his nose as he briefly closed his eyes. “What else is new?” He muttered. That made this like, what? The seventeenth time?

“That your coffee boy is...a demon?” Patton asked from behind.

Roman lifted his head, not surprised that Pat had heard that. His hearing had gotten much more acute once he lost his eyesight. He smirked turning to his best friend. “Nah, I’ve had him checked, he lacks the horns and tail.”

Reese crossed her arms, glancing to Patton with a frown. “You should check him again.” she said in a more normal tone. “He’s conjured knives this time.”

Oh. Roman clicked his tongue. Okay, that was slightly more serious.

She raised her eyebrow. “You do know what that means, Sanders.” She said holding out her hands. His phone rested in one, the other held a length of ribbon that trailed through her fingertips as the crown pendant resting in her palm glimmered under the lights.

“It means….” Patton asked, leaning forward in his wheelchair. Roman plucked his crown necklace from her hand. “It means, he’s breaking his parole...and I can’t have that.” He said, taking his phone and pocketing it before he lifted his hands to tie the pendant in place. Not after all the cajoling and bribing Roman had gone through in the past couple of months to convince that Parole Officer, Picani, to let him leave the country.

Patton sat back, paling. “Oh.”

Roman exhaled. Yah, that was the reaction most people had when they found out he had an ex-con working for him. He paused as Ellyn gasped.

“Is that?!” She grabbed onto Patton’s shoulder, shaking it as she stared at Roman's neck. “Patton! IT IS!”

Roman raised eyebrow. What was--Oh. The lightbulb clicked. “You mean the necklace?” He asked pulling the ribbon away from his neck.

“The Crown necklace!”

Patton inhaled sharply, nearly falling out of his wheelchair as he thrust out his hand. “Seriously? You...I can’t believe it. You still have it?” He asked, his voice wobbling.

“Have it? He almost never takes it off.” Reese responded with some amusement as Roman gently set the pendent down on Patton’s hand. “He never would if it didn’t clash with most of his roles.”

That was true. He’d had to replace the ribbon multiple times from wearing it out, but the crown remained the same. “Well...I gotta keep my happy thoughts close, right, Pat?” He asked, quietly. “A little fame doesn’t change that.” He licked his lips, butterflies fluttering in his chest as Patton felt over the crown, pausing at the small latch that hid the flashdrive within.

It had been a gift from his best friend, a special commission to celebrate Roman getting his first small role as the Wizard in the Wizard of Oz in their Sophomore year and had quickly become his trademark piece to wear, though only a handful of people knew about the flashdrive hidden within that safekept the happy memories Roman treasured most. Reese being the most recent to know as he’d asked her to guard it with her life while he was on stage.

Speaking of his Technical Director. Reese snapped her fingers in front of his face, drawing him out of memory land. “Earth to Sanders. The chit chat and such is nice and all but you have this Dressing Room. Being Destroyed. By your Coffee Boy. Ringing any bells?”

Patton drew the crown to his heart, giving Roman a watery smile, “Right.” He whispered. He shook his head, clearing his throat. “Ummm.” He brushed under his sunglasses. “Y-you said...you had a demon to handle?” He asked, reluctantly holding out the necklace.

Unfortunately. “I do.” Roman exhaled, mentally cursing the guy. Why now did he have to have one of his freakouts? When had he even shown up? He’d been MIA the entire day.

Roman took the ribbon, quickly tying it around his neck, pressing the cool metal against his throat out of habit to ensure it was in place.

“Before he terrorizes the rest of the costuming department would be nice.” Reese blandly added.

Roman rolled his eyes. “Yah, yah.” He was on it. He just wanted to--

They all winced as an enraged roar reached their ears, followed by a girl’s scream and the sound of shattering glass.

He groaned. That definitely wasn’t good.

Patton offered him an encouraging smile. “Sounds like they need a hero, Ro.”

Roman ran a hand through his hair. “Right.” If only he didn’t have to be one at this moment. He bent down, pecking Patton’s cheek. “Talk soon.” He promised, taking off at a run down the hall to his dressing room.

A brief glimpse of their costumer, Liv, being consoled by his co-lead, Callie as he ran by clued Roman into the source of the scream. Liv had probably come to take his Phantom costume and encountered---Roman ducked just in time to avoid his head being taken off by a glass vase full of red roses as it shattered against the wall.

Roman tsked, giving the broken remains of four other vases on the floor the barest of glances before he turned to face his dressing room and the angry occupant within. “Seriously, Logan? I liked that one.” He twisted to the side, avoiding another vase full of roses; this one accompanied by a knife that embedded itself into the frame next to his ear.

Before Roman could fully straighten, his coffee boy threw himself at him, a guttural scream of rage assailing his senses as Logan went straight for the gut, his fists swinging, the large black LOGIC tattooed over his left eyebrow standing out in stark relief against his flushed face.

Always with the punching. Roman caught one of Logan’s swinging fists by his 221Bee tattooed wrist and pulled him off balance into his chest so that the second punch went wide. “Pinned yah.” Roman said into his ear as he twisted the coffee boy so his arm was pressed against his back.

Logan thrashed, throwing his head backwards, nearly smashing Roman’s face.

He jerked his head to the side, neatly avoiding receiving a broken nose. “Not the face!” Roman hissed, the two of them stumbling backwards as Logan fought to free himself, heedless of the risk of dislocating his shoulder.

“SCREW YOUR UGLY FACE!” Logan roared, one foot managing to snake behind Roman’s ankle.

Shoot. Roman cried out as the two of them fell onto the floor, the impact jarring his grip on the coffee boy as shards of glass dug into his skin through his thin costume. “Ow. Dude!”

He choked on the rest of his sentence, gasping for breath as Logan used his free elbow to jab it into Roman’s stomach.

Logan pulled free from his slackened grip, twisting like a cat to stay on top of Roman, keeping him pinned against the glass strewn floor. “Screw you and YOUR FILTHY LIES!” He yelled, his long dark greasy hair falling in front of his cracked glasses as he swung for the face.

Roman again jerked his head away from the punch, wincing on Logan’s behalf as his fist smacked into the wood by his ear. That had to hurt though Logan showed no sign of feeling it as he pulled back his glass covered fist to hit Roman again.

“Lies?” He grabbed Logan's shoulders and surged upright, knocking his coffee boy back before he could land the punch. The two of them rolled over the shredded flowers, thorns and glass digging into their skin as Logan struggled to keep the upper hand. “Since. When. Did. I. Lie?” Roman demanded, throwing Logan off of him and into his tornado wreck of a dressing room.

He pushed to his feet, ignoring the multitude of stinging cuts burning like fire over his back and arms as he advanced, pulling the door shut with a loud bang behind him. There was no need for the entire theatre to witness this if Logan's beef was with Roman himself.

Logan whirled, a broken chair leg in his hands, his long hair a tangled with petals and glass. “About Everything.” He ground out.

Roman raised an eyebrow, grabbing a mock sword from its place hanging by the door. “Falsehood. I've lied about nothing.”

His eyes flashed behind his cracked lenses. “That's MY WORD!” Logan rushed Roman with his makeshift weapon.

“Really?” Roman parried the chair leg, nearly managing to knock it out of his coffee boy’s hands. “Why don't you use your words then?” He asked as Logan recovered, again clashing with Roman’s blade. “Why now am I now a liar after telling you eleven months ago on that street corner that my word is my bond?”

He wasn't one to give false hope. Especially not to Logan with his criminal history and major trust issues.

Logan whirled, his makeshift sword dipping away from Roman's blade to whack him hard in the side. “I'm not going to leave the state.” Logan said, perfectly mimicking Roman’s voice.

It sent a shiver down his back. He hated it when his coffee boy did that.

Logan bared his teeth. “You'll have a permanent job with me.” He continued, jerking the chair leg up, nearly clipping his chin with the broken end before Roman was able to bring his sword around to block it.

“You. Led. Me. On!” Logan snarled in his normal voice, his arms blurring with the force of his attacks that Roman couldn’t fully avoid. “You had me believing like a fool you'd be filming here in New York City with all that 'research’ you've been doing. Only for your stupid script.” One hand twitched, a gleaming knife appearing briefly in his fingers before he flung it at Roman's vanity without looking, the blade embedding itself into the scattered pages of the filming schedule for The Haunting of Anxiety. “Shows that filming begins Monday in Lon.” He smacked Roman’s sword. “don.” Roman’s blade twisted free, landing on the floor with a clatter. “En.” Logan shoved him against the wall, broken point of the chair leg digging into his throat. “Gland.”

To Be Continued Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26

#The Butterfly Effect #stillebesat #TS Big Bang #Sanders Sides #Roman #Creativity #Patton #Morality #Logan #Logic #Emile Picani #punching/fighting tw #blood tw #knives tw #injuries tw

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p-artsypants · 6 years

Text

Boy Toy (Act VII)

I had this part pre-written, so I’ve been able to just pump these out. Arcadia or Bust will be coming back soon! :)

FF.net | AO3

Horse hooves stomped through the snow as the Princess’ army passed through the town. When the civilians saw the weapons in hand, men and women came running to join them, armed with whatever they could find.

Snotlout rode his horse beside the Princess. “What are we going to do? Just a search and rescue?”

Astrid grit her teeth. “No. We find Hiccup, and get him out. Then we can do some pest control.”

“If my lady will permit me, I’d love to bash in the Milk Drinker’s heads in as much as everyone gathered, but we don’t know what exactly awaits us up there…”

“Then what do you suppose we do? Just keep letting our families be murdered and our town plundered? If Stoick wishes to sit back and let this all happen, then he can. But one day I will be queen, and I will destroy the mountain if I have to.”

—

The mountain hike was devastating, as supplies and weapons were discarded in the snow. Few soldiers turned around and went back, not having the energy to finish. But the army had the will to fight and the need to destroy.

Astrid had never actually been within the village of Bludvist. She had always just seen the lights in the distance. But seeing the hives they lived in was a matter completely different. Hives they were indeed. Their houses were carved out of the walls of the mountain. Some doorways were ornate in design, while others looked like hornet nests. The doorways connected to each other with ladders and wooden bridges.

“Spread out! Find Hiccup and kill anyone that tries to stop you! Burn everything!” Cheers rang through the air as the attack began.

Astrid dismounted her horse and took to the shadows. She would spare her energy, knowing that Fragonard would not be an easy foe. Shouts of anger and screams of pain shot across the sky, waking the unsuspecting outcasts.

The middle of the night was always the best time for an attack. But there was always the problem of the dark. As the fighting mounted, torches were lit behind her. The light reflected off the ice and illuminated the mountain walls. Within that hazy light, Astrid made out a set of stone stairs that wrapped around the backside of the mountain.

She climbed them carefully, as they were crumbling. They took her to the backside of the mountain, where she found exactly what she was looking for. If Fragonard were the leader of these outlaws, he would choose a place fit for a king. A castle was carved out of the rock, but it was in ruins, the side completely broken open. A lantern hung by a door. She withdrew her axe, spinning it carefully in her hand.

The inside was damp, water dripping from the high vaulted ceilings. Wrought iron chandelier nearly dripping with wax hung in the middle of the room and it was the only thing decent left in the building. Animal hides covered the walls and windows. Broken gargoyles sat in the corners. On her left, there was a staircase that ascended to nowhere, as a crack splintered them apart. A deep red glow came from inside.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to attack.

Snotlout threw his arms up in defense. “My Lady!”

She hushed him, and continued to move through the room. “Why did you follow me?” She hissed.

“In case you forgot, it’s my job to guard you. I should have brought others with me as well.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can. But backup will be nice incase you are outnumbered.”

“Fine…but Fragonard is mine.” She moved to open a door carefully, finding the throne room. Torches were lit on their sconces. The windows on the far side were shattered and icy air blew in. “Go find Hiccup.”

“Yes, my lady.” Snotlout hesitated, but ultimately decided to heed his orders.

The moment she was left alone, she heard a greasy voice. “The princess of Berk. Aren’t you supposed to be dead? Like the rest of your family?”

“Come out and face me, you coward!”

Fragonard spoke from the shadows. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you came up here. You’ve flogged enough of my men. I know you hate me.”

“So are you going to admit it? Are you going to tell me you’re the one responsible for this nightmare I live in?”

He chuckled. “If you want to hear it…yes, I started the little bonfire.”

She raised her blade. “That’s all I needed to know.”

“You think killing me will make a difference? Bludvist is like a hydra. You cut off one head, and another takes it’s place. My father, Drago, was killed by some of your men, and now I lead. And after me, I have appointed those that will take control. We’re unstoppable, little girl.”

“I’m not doing this for Berk, I’m doing this for me. I will kill each and every Milk Drinker on my own if I have to! Now, enough talk of the past. Where is my husband?!”

He stood from the chair in the corner he had been sitting in. He had a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. A heavy iron mask hid his face as his armor clinked with each step. Somehow, seeing him like this made the hate in her heart burn even more, if that was even possible.

He spun Hiccup’s wind-up key around his finger, and stuck it in his belt. “A strange creature, that husband of yours. You call us immoral, and yet you have a monster like that walking around you. Hell, you even married it! You should be up here with us.”

With unyielding fury, she leapt. Her feet closed in as a shriek ripped from her throat. His eyes narrowed like arrows, piercing her with fear. Still, she would not waver. Their weapons met in a clash of metal, sparks flying and hands numb from the vibrations. She pulled back and struck again, and was parried by his sword. Her blade sliced against his own, scraping the metal and pushing her farther away. Fragonard swooped downward, releasing her before striking in an arch. Astrid had just enough time to block with the crest of the axe. Her hands trembled as she held him at bay, but he pressed hard against her block.

Astrid leaned in and shoved him back with her foot, before swiveling and landing a blow. He blocked it with his shield. There, the blade held firm and nestled into the wood.

"You're mine," He hissed, plunging his sword towards her.

“Not even close!” She hissed. She twirled her hands around the hilt of her axe and re-gripped it, then, with a speed he couldn't comprehend, she flipped backwards. The motion ripped the axe from it's hold and splintered his shield.

"You were saying?" She spit back.

Impressed, but nonetheless annoyed, he careened the edge of the shield toward her. Astrid repelled it with her arm, but still took on a hit.

"You're fighting much better then I expected from a princess," he brought his sword down for her to parry, "so tell me. How long have you been practicing?" He had said it so casually, like this was a friendly spar.

She snarled and heaved her blade. "I’ve dreamt of this fight for the last 13 years!" Their blades clashed again before he sought refuge behind his shield, her axe being buried once again

The fight moved on. Astrid disarmed Fragonard of his shield, not that it was of use to him anymore. Now it was just a battle of steel.

They circled each other, menacingly, waiting for an opening.

"I was going to make this quick and easy," snarked Fragonard. "But you fight pretty well, for a girl."

She didn't heed his backhanded compliment. Nor would she allow herself to be goaded into this fight. Her blade swooped low and slashed his shins.

Fragonard recoiled and hissed in pain. "That will be your only hit, girl!"

"I beg to differ!" And her axe collided with the side of his head, knocking against his helmet. It knocked him off balance so that she could attack again.

His helmet flew off his head with her third strike. He only had seconds throw up his sword to protect him from the next blow.

"You aren't worth the effort it takes to strike you down!" She hissed.

"That's enough!" He shouted back. He pushed back her weapon and charged, bashing his sword repeatedly against her hold. "I’ve had to fight for my power! My men fear me like a god! The real world will tear you apart, little girl! What makes you think this fight will change anything?"

"It'll change everything!" She kicked his stomach and he stumbled back. They both panted and came to a stand off. "I lost my home, my family, everything that I held important, and you are going to suffer as I have suffered!" She screamed, her voice breaking. Her feet pounded against the ground as her axe rose.

PANG!

Astrid knocked the sword out of his hands.

Terrified, Fragonard flung himself backwards to dodge her next attack. He scrambled and caught up his weapon. She bolted at him, but he threw his blade up at the right time and sliced her side. Astrid recoiled quickly, holding the wound, and that was the only opening the boy needed. He kicked off to the side and hit her in the knee.

The young woman hit the ground hard, the air knocking from her lungs. He recovered as she fell. The tip of his blade pierced her sternum, pinning her to the ground.

"Any last words?"

No…

She couldn't believe it. A stupid trip and it was all over. Her bloodied hand grasped at her side as she panted. This couldn't happen.

She balled her hands into fists and felt a rock by her palm. This fight was not over. She gripped the rock tightly, and swung her arm up, knocking him in the face. He dropped his sword. It was enough of a distraction to get away.

Astrid grabbed her axe and slid after Fragonard. It was a race for the discarded weapon. Fragonard reached it first, but was not able to get to his feet in time. Astrid's blade sunk into his wrist, severing his hand from his body. He screamed wildly in pain.

The blonde caught his neck in the crook of her axe, pinning him to the ground and silencing his cries.

He panted heavily, just like her, and burned his gaze into her eyes.

“So, are you going to finish it?”

Astrid’s nostrils were flared. Anger was nothing new to her, it burned in her veins like an old friend. But this was different, this was unbridled wrath.

“You fought well,” he stated. “But you’re still a princess, and you don’t have the will power to end me.”

Finally, she narrowed her eyes. Her gaze tore through him and burned his soul like fire. He choked.

"You deserve to die." She heaved her axe from the ground and lifted it high into the air. With a shriek, she brought it back down.

She just stood there. The moment was frozen in time. The air was stale and her axe fell listlessly from her hands. She needed to find Hiccup, but she was too focused on the blood that had splattered over her. Her eyes riveted to the red that pooled on the ground, and the body that would never move again.

She felt faint and feverish, whether or not that was from her wound, she had no idea.

She had killed a man. Regardless of his hateful heart and dirty hands, he was a human, and he was dead because of her. She had trained to fight, to kill. But nothing could have prepared her for the actual act. She stumbled a few steps back and vomited on the ground. Her head was spinning, her breaths ragged. Abandoning the body and her beloved axe, she stole the key from him and staggered out of the room.

She needed to focus. She needed to find Hiccup, she need to apologize and tell him that he was right. She needed…to tell him things.

“Snotlout!” She called out. She was feeling light headed from the blood loss.

“Astrid! Over here! I found him!” His voice echoed from a crack in the floor.

“How did you get there?”

“Go down the hall, there’s a hole in the floor and a ladder.”

She followed his instructions and came to the dungeon. At least that’s what she assumed it was, by the stench that hung in the air and the bones scattered about. Snotlout was in the back corner, picking a lock. Before she could rush over she heard a faint voice.

“Astrid? Is...is that you?”

Looking to the cell near her, she could see another prisoner leaning against the wall, chained.

“Yes?” She asked hesitantly.

“Please, please help me!” His voice was hoarse and his face was covered in blood and bruises. His bright read hair had been shaved. It took her a moment, but her eyes widened in recognition.

“Dagur? How—why—?”

“I’m sorry,” he began, “this is all my fault.”

“You...you did this? You told them?!”

“I’m sorry! I just thought—!”

“No.” Astrid’s nostrils flared. “Despite Hiccup’s appearance, he’s still a prince. And by confiding with Bludvist about him, you’ve committed treason. And the punishment is execution.”

“You’re not serious...”

Astrid simply turned her back and hurried to the other end of the room.

“Astrid! Astrid!! Please!” He called in vain.

But she didn’t give him another thought.

Snotlout was still working on the rusty lock, and she saw the huddled mass on the ground.

“Hiccup?” She called through the bars.

There was no response. The door sprang open with a clang and Astrid hurried inside.

Hiccup had been stripped of all his clothes. He lay on his back, his eyes open and lifeless. His left leg had been completely ripped off, and the bottom had been burned. Large cuts spanned the length of his chest and limbs, like the creases had been pried open, and from out of them came a red liquid that Astrid could have sworn was blood.

But that wasn’t possible.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she cupped his cold face. “You were right about everything. As soon as I can, I’ll give up all my toys. I’ll go out and personally give them away.” Delicately, she kissed his forehead and hugged his head to her chest.

“Astrid, he can’t hear you right now. Let’s get you out of here.”

She smiled weakly, “you’re going to have to get someone else to help you get him out.” She held her side. “I think I need medical attention.”

Snotlout rested a hand on her arm. “It’s all over now Astrid, you can finally relax.”

As she heaved a sigh, she felt the red hot blinding rage leave. Like a bucket of water dumped on her and fizzled everything. Tears pooled in her eyes, as she looked down at Hiccup, and she could do nothing to stop them.

“I’m sorry…”

#boy toy #hiccup #astrid #Astrid Hofferson #hiccstrid #fanfiction #pinocchio!AU #tragedy #romance #some whump #some angst

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thatmfnobody · 3 years

Text

A Tale of Betrayal

“A Tale of Betrayal”

A Short Story by J.I. Lorn

On the distant planet of Akarat Prime, the Cyclone Oligarchy thrived in their resource-rich tropical planet. The Oligarchy had stood firm for over three hundred years of almost constant war and opposition with the other Empires & Republics within their Galaxy that wanted the worlds they controlled for their strategic value and limitless amounts of rare resources. But, after a war that lasted almost a decade with the Republic of Causrat, the people of the Oligarchy demanded change. They desired to be rid of the many Governments that had kept them at war for Three Centuries. But their pleas, demands, and outbursts of rage were rejected by the current High Councilor of the Oligarchy, Vicarso Jinx. He, too, had enough of his fair share of war but refused to fight without being provoked by the other Empires, which was what nearly every Councilor before him had vowed to do. The Cyclone definitely had enough power to win a war if they wished to take over the Galaxy. As a matter of fact, they had the largest Navy in the entire Galaxy, with millions of ships all spread out between their primary territories and occupied worlds won during the wars. Alas, the Councilor had refused to start a war that would cost more lives than it would satisfy. He would not allow himself to become the very same warmonger that the Oligarchy had been fighting against for its entire existence. His eldest son, however, had different ambitions.

Vicarso Jinx’s oldest son, Lord Damon Jinx, was the one who started the riots and cries for war. He was also in command of the Elite Military Force within the Cyclone, known as the “Cyclone Knights”. They were blade and magic-wielding warriors who stood unopposed among all of the Elite of the many Empires. Damon was among the best of the Knights, bested by only his father, who also Commanded the Knights before ascending to the rank of Councilor. And although he was only the age of Nineteen, he was already the next candidate for their new Leader in the eyes of the people. Even though the Council of Nine, headed by the Grand Councilor, opposed this idea, there was no stopping the masses of Civilians without ordering a full-on massacre, which would villainize the Councilors and cause a Civil War, something that would tear the fragile Oligarchy apart, leaving nothing but broken pieces that could not be fixed.

On the Thirty First of the Month Valar, only minutes before the Cyclone New Year, Lord Damon Jinx walks the halls of the Council building, behind him followed four of the best Knights the Cyclone had to offer. Their goal?

To Kill Councilor Vicarso.

As the five Knights entered the Councilor’s personal office, they found him facing his window, looking out at the Fireworks that consumed the sky like an inferno. The only thing separating them was his glass desk and office chair, the former of which had some holographic tablets and even written documents stacked atop it. Vicarso knew his son would come for him and make an attempt on his life, so he prepared himself, resting his hands on his two energy swords in preparation.

“Damon, welcome home,” Vicarso said without turning from the window. “I thought you’d be with your betrothed on such an occasion.”

“High Councilor Vicarso Jinx, through the demand of the citizens of the Cyclone, I hereby order you to step down as Councilor and allow the people to chose a new leader.” Damon’s voice was harsh and smug as he drew his sword, igniting the energy field that made the sword glow a dim red. His Knights mirrored this, with all four igniting matching red blades that showcased their intent. Upon the buzzing sound emitted by the activation of the weapons behind him, Vicarso turned from the window. His eyes flicked around, taking note of the five aggressors before him. His face changed from pleasant to condescending as he drew his own weapons.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, son,” He stated as his own swords activated, sparking a bright white light from both sides of each blade that illuminated the dark room and gave off a contrasting aura to that of the Knights. “Turn back now, we don’t have to do this. You don't have to do this…”

“On the contrary, I have to do this,” Damon replied as his Knights began to fan out behind him. “The people cry out for change, and you sit here doing nothing. I am their champion, and I will be the one to make their cries heard.” He entered a combat stance, gripping his sword with both hands and bringing it up to his right shoulder.

Around them, the hands of the four Knights were crackling with mild fire, sparking with electricity, and swirling with ice as they readied spells. As Damon stepped forward toward his father, Vicarso’s expression turned from condescending to saddened.

“So be it, my son…” With that, Vicarso threw his hands to the sides, sending a shockwave around the room that flung the four Knights backward.

Leaping over the table, Damon went on the offensive. Slashes and strikes were countered by swift parries and deflections as Father dueled Son. The Knights were still recovering, with only one of them being able to stand upright, hardly capable to enter the fight. The two combatants slowly circled the room, with Damon keeping his father on the defensive but never being able to get close to landing a hit. Vicarso seemed to be trying his best at wearing his son out before attacking, resorting to just deflecting each attack. This angered Damon slightly, but he hadn’t lost yet. His left hand dropped to his belt, coming back up with a much smaller offhand blade that ignited with yet another red hue. Surprised by this, Vicarso skipped backward, mumbling something under his breath.

“I command thee, forge a link to the otherworld and grant me,” His voice crescendoed as he got closer to the end of the incantation. “Divine Fury!” He yelled as his swords began to flame white-hot, blazing with the fury of a sun.

Damon would respond in kind, drawing backward himself and muttering a spell of his own.

“Under the order of the Lord, my power is exercised, grant me, Hellish Might!” His own sword erupted into a deep red flame.

The two began to circle one another, the blades of both warriors held at the ready. However, neither struck first. Instead, two of the Knights had recovered enough to enter the fray.

“Arc!” One of them yelled, resulting in a stream of electricity springing from their hand, bringing a sudden flash of light to the large room.

The second didn’t utter a word, however, he did let out a battle cry as he charged at Vicarso. In a flash, the bolt of electricity had been deflected to the floor while the sword was parried, leaving one Knight open. As Vicarso slashed at him, Damon’s blade blocked the strike. Once again caught off guard, the Councilor was on the back foot and being driven towards the window. As the four blades clashed, Damon yelled an order at his followers.

“Leave! It was a mistake bringing you all here, you’ll only be risking yourselves if you stay!”

The two who made the attack sheathed their weapons and helped their comrades up, making their way towards the door. All the while, father and son engaged in the most furious duel ever fought in the history of the Cyclone. However, once the door shut behind the four Knights, the two ceased their battle, moving back from each other. Damon seemed unsure of something, while his father took a few breaths as he stepped towards the window.

“Are you sure about this?” Damon asked, the flames on his blade fading somewhat.

“Of course,” Vicarso replied as he looked out over the masses that had gathered for the holiday. “For the Cyclone to live on, their greatest enemy must cease to exist. And that enemy is me.”

The clock on the desk began to chime. It was one minute until the new year.

“But I need your wisdom if I’m to lead these people to a new age.”

“No, you don’t,” Vicarso turned from the window, sheathing one of his blades and stepping back towards his son, placing a hand on Damon’s shoulder. “You may be young, but you’re plenty wise enough without my counsel. You don’t need me anymore.”

Damon smiled warmly, returning his father’s action as the clock chimed again. Thirty seconds to the new year.

“Now, son, do it,” Vicarso stated, removing his hand from his only child’s shoulder. “And remember, the spirits of your ancestors are with you.”

Damon nodded and held up his blade, pushing his father violently towards the window as tears welled up in his eyes. Upon impact with the window, it shattered, and Damon’s blade went through his father’s chest. The two fell from the tower, straight down.

Ten seconds.

Vicarso smiled as his son’s tears were dried by the wind, and his own sword was set loose from his palm.

Five seconds.

The two were but a blur to the citizens as they dropped to the ground, slamming into the concrete and sending a shockwave that knocked down the front line of the crowd, their impact sounding at the same time as the gong that signaled the new year. Once the dust cleared, citizens gathered ‘round the crater. As they peered over the edge, they witnessed Damon Jinx standing over the body of his father, gripping his right arm, his sword still protruding from his father’s robes. When he realized that people had begun to take notice of him, he wiped his eyes and looked up, grinning with his smug, confident smile that gave off the air of a man who stood proud in his victory. But, if one was perceptive enough, they could see the shine of sadness and regret in his eyes. Vicarso Jinx died with a smile on his face, knowing that the nation he cared so much for was in good hands.

From that day forth, the Cyclone answered to a new master, the first in a new Imperial Dynasty: Emperor Damon Jinx, who would lead the Cyclone Empire towards a balance between peace and territorial rule.

#writing #short story #creative writing #science fantasy

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itskateak · 4 years

Text

Oceans and Stars - Chapter 5

Story Summary: A story of how Bucky Barnes falls in love with oceans, stars, and the woman who gave him the reasons to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Velika Dante King (Fem!OC)

Chapter Summary: The only thing keeping Bucky from going crazy are the memories he has.

Words: 2.6K

Warnings: Mentions of battle, mild language, the Train Incident is mentioned or alluded to

A/N: I realize that some of my river descriptions could easily be traced back to Sound of Music. It's ingrained in me at this point so just ignore it. Let it happen. Be blessed by the sound of music.AND I was dumb and forgot to post this so chapter 6 is coming up right after this.

Masterlist

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

𝓡𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝔂.

Bucky collapsed into bed, his back aching from the intense workout. It had been a long day and all he wanted to do was pass out and sleep through the night. That hadn't been a common thing lately. His anxiety had gotten worse ever since Velika left. His worry for her only increased every day she was gone. War was Hell and he couldn't imagine how much worse war in Hell would be.

Sleep was fitful and always interrupted with waking periods to check his phone. He'd never been on this side of war before. He'd never been the one waiting for someone to come home. He rolled onto his back and jerkily pulled his shirt off, chucking it into the corner of his room that the laundry basket was. He didn't care if he didn't make the shot. He was too tired to care. He sighed and tugged the covers over his shoulders, settling in for a few hours of non-restful sleep.

Bucky straightened Velika's dog tags and closed his eyes. Six months. It had only been six months. The only thing keeping him from going insane was the memories he saw in his dreams.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

"Hey, did you know there's a trail in the woods behind the compound?" Velika asked as she entered the common room. It was a hot summer day, so she was in a tank top and shorts. She'd never shied away from wearing sleeveless things despite the scars on the inside of her forearms. When asked about them, she would say they were reminders that she survived and was free. Her hair swung behind her in a loose braid.

"Uh, no. I didn't. Why?" Bucky looked up from his laptop, pausing his typing. After running a mission, he was still working on the report. It had been weighing on him for days and he couldn't find a way to properly explain everything that had happened on the botched mission. Why it had gone wrong was due to mechanical failure, but he still had no idea why there was a mechanical failure, to begin with, and Stark wanted all the details so he knew how to fix it.

"If you wanted to take a break from whatever you're doing, we could go take a walk?" She offered with a smile, cocking her head to the side. "Your shoulders are tight. Just thought you could use a little time away to get a breath of fresh air."

"That sounds nice, actually. How about we head out in ten minutes? I'm almost at a good stopping point." Bucky returned her smile, leaning back against his chair. His back did hurt a little from the hours of sitting and his neck as getting sore. A break would be wonderful and would maybe let him sort out everything that happened.

"Sounds good to me! Meet me out front in ten, then." Velika stopped by the fridge and grabbed a water bottle before bouncing out of the room as quickly as she'd appeared.

Bucky shook his head fondly and returned to his gaze to the screen, determined to finish the paragraph.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

𝓞𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝔂.

"I think there's a river up ahead," Velika said, a few steps ahead of him. She turned back to look at him with a smile, hands sunk into her jacket pockets. She looked completely at home in the woods yet so out of place in the best way.

"Didn't know there was a river in the area." Bucky looked up through the trees at the blue sky. Small white clouds dotted the sky, fluffy like cotton balls. A light breeze ruffled the leaves and caught Velika's braid.

"There's a lake about two miles northwest of the compound, so I wouldn't be surprised if there was a river that dumped into it." She waited for him to catch up to her, holding her right hand out. He arched a brow and took it with his left hand. She grinned and laced their fingers together, starting down the path again.

"Your hand is very warm," Bucky said, turning his head to look through the tree trunks. A pair of birds flitted from branch to branch, twittering happily as they chased each other.

"You can feel that with your metal hand?" Velika asked, giving it a light squeeze. She received one back.

"Stark and Shuri fitted my arm with sensors. I can feel pretty much everything except pain. If it gets damaged, I don't feel pain like I would if my other arm were to be shot or stabbed," He explained with a small shrug. "If I didn't forget it was metal before on occasion, I certainly do now."

"Huh. I still don't understand how all the tech works but that's actually really cool." Velika swung their arms as they walked, silence falling comfortably between them. The forest was lively with chirping birds and buzzing bees. In the distance, a jet took off to carry a team to a mission.

The sound of running water caught her attention and she smiled in victory, turning to look at him with that familiar mischievous look in her eyes.

"You were right." Bucky chuckled. "How'd you know?"

"That's a secret I'll never tell." She winked and tugged him towards the river.

A clear creek ran through the woods, babbling happily as it tripped over stones and branches. Brush and trees hung over the shoreline, dipping just below the surface and leaning to the side as the current dragged it away. The land on the far side was much higher than the land they currently stood on, and a tree trunk laid across the water as a makeshift bridge.

Velika let his hand go and started up the trunk, arms held out to keep her balance. It was a gentle slope, and the trunk was very wide so it wasn't very difficult to walk on.

Bucky sunk his hands into his jacket pockets, watching her with amusement. She lined her feet up one in front of the other like she was walking on a tight rope, effectively making her journey a tad more difficult. She wavered, nearly falling over and caught her balance quickly without ending up in the water. She glanced back at him with a brilliantly wide smile when she got halfway.

"Come on, Buck!"

Bucky looked at the height of the tree over the river. It wasn't very far, but he had a fear of falling off things ever since he fell off the train. He shuddered slightly and shook his head. "I'm good."

"The view is great! You can see the lake from here." Velika turned back around, watching her feet to make sure she wouldn't lose her balance again. She started back and hopped off the tree and onto the ground in front of Bucky. "It'll be fun. An adventure!"

He rubbed the back of his neck, turning his head away in embarrassment. He knew it was a ridiculous fear, but it made his heart pound and his head swim nonetheless. Here he was, scared of standing on a log five feet above a river that wouldn't even be deep enough to reach his waist in front of a woman who wasn't afraid of anything.

"What's wrong?" She asked, expression softening.

"I have this thing about...falling. After the train, I just...I dunno." Bucky muttered sheepishly, gaze falling to his feet. "I'm sorry. It's stupid, I know."

"Bucky, you fell like five hundred feet or more. It's not stupid. It's completely reasonable and I would be concerned if you didn't get nervous at the thought of falling off something high." Velika kicked her flats off and held her hand out to him. "We don't have to cross completely. We can just go far enough to sit down and look at the lake. I promise I won't let you fall."

Bucky kneeled and untied his boots. He toed them off with his socks, grimacing as his bare feet hit the dirt. With a deep breath, he accepted her hand. No time like the present to face his nightmares, even though he hated how his stomach twisted at the thought.

Velika led him carefully to the trunk, stepping onto the wood. She turned to face him, sure of her footing. She walked backward on the fallen tree, glancing down occasionally to make sure she wasn't going to accidentally pull them both down if she lost her balance. He had a death grip on her hand, thankful it was his right. He didn't want to accidentally break her hand just because he was afraid to fall a couple of feet.

Bucky's eyes flickered nervously from where his feet were on the wood to the water below. His vision swam and the distance between the tree and the river looked ten times bigger than it had just a second ago. He swallowed thickly and stared at the rushing water with wide eyes.

"Hey, look at me." Velika squeezed his hand and waited for his gaze to meet hers. "Hi."

"Hi...?" He furrowed his brow. His head spun for a moment at the change in view and his balance wavered. He swung his left arm in a panic to try and steady himself. His heart rate spiked and his throat closed up. Velika reached forward and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back to center and keeping him balanced until he realized he was okay.

"It's okay. I got you. I won't let you fall." Velika smiled in reassurance, rubbing her thumb over his shoulder lightly while he calmed down. "I won't let you go until you're ready. We're almost there, Bucky. You're doing great."

Bucky took deep breaths, his right hand quivering. His whole body was trembling like he'd just run a mile at a dead sprint. Once his chest unwound, he was able to breathe easier and nodded to let her know he was ready.

"Try to focus on where you're placing your feet and me. Don't look at the water as much as possible." Velika stepped back, her pace slower to make sure he was comfortable. His gaze bounced between her face and his feet as they moved. The water rushed underneath the tree, but he kept it out of focus. "There you go. Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other."

"I hate you." He said through gritted teeth. His knees felt weak and he was sure he was going to faint if they went any further.

"Uh-huh. Sure you do." She laughed and stopped since they were at the halfway point. She let go of his hand and turned to sit down on the log, facing the way the river ran and joined the lake.

Bucky warily settled next to her, his heartbeat in his throat. He looked up at the view and his eyes widened. "Okay, that's worth it."

Velika elbowed him gently with a grin. "Told you. You did really well, Bucky. It's only a few feet, but progress is still progress, no matter how small."

They fell into a lull of silence, listening to the creek bubble underneath them. The sunlight reflected off the tiny waves making the water seem like it was encrusted with tiny diamonds. A pair of birds broke out of the woods and followed the stream for a short time until ducking back into the canopies of the trees. It was very peaceful.

"So, really. How did you know this river was here?" Bucky asked, dipping his feet into the water. The chill felt nice in the summer heat. His heart rate had settled considerably and he no longer felt the constant worry of falling off the trunk.

"It has to do with my Mark, actually. You know that tattoo on my sternum and under my boobs?" She lifted her shirt far enough to reveal the edge of her Mark. All he could see were the tips of the feathers of the left wing of an owl.

"Yeah?"

"I gained my Mark after the Battle of Lekiana. The Owl represents wisdom and insight, but can also mean intuition. I have a very strong intuition that allows me to predict things other people can't." Velika dropped her shirt and swung her feet slightly to play in the water. "It was a routine border patrol and a thick fog had settled over the plains to the East of the Silver City. We'd been having issues with the rogues, which are violent angels who don't follow the laws of the City. I was the highest rank I could be - Officer, I think - at the time. This was about six months before I was promoted to Captain in the highest order."

"Obviously, something went wrong," Bucky said with a snort. If it had been a routine border patrol, then there wouldn't have been a name for it. Especially a name with the word battle in it.

"How'd you guess?" Velika teased with a smile. "I started to get a weird feeling in my chest around the edge of the Wilds, which is a large forest that lines the southern and eastern borders. Impressions flashed in the back of my mind and something was telling me that we were going to be ambushed. I instructed my people to set up a defense line and sent someone back for reinforcements. One minute before a group of thirty rogues came running out of the Wilds, I felt like someone had wound my ribs together with wire. I struggled to breathe for that minute and I gave the order to prepare for battle just as my chest released and the bushes rustled."

"How'd it turn out?" Bucky asked, turning his head to look at her. She was staring at the water, eyes glazed over as she fell quiet for a moment. She blinked and shrugged nonchalantly.

"I was able to make our few withstand an all-out attack until reinforcements arrive because of the intuition. We lost two or three people, but our losses could've been much worse. I took charge when reinforcements arrived and beat back the rogues. We captured enough to undermine three different raids." Velika took his hand in hers again. "I had to go through intensive training for six months to learn how to use my insight before being inducted into the Praesidium, which is the highest order."

"Damn. That's impressive. So you knew the river was here because of your intuition?" Bucky mused, watching the sun's dancing reflection on the distant lake. A few ducks were swimming on the surface, and if he squinted, he swore he could make out some duckling paddling them.

"Nope. I did aerial training with Sam the other day and saw it out here." She burst out laughing when he turned to her with an unamused expression, his eyes narrowed at her.

"So what was the point of telling me that?!" He shoved her shoulder, nearly pushing her off the tree. She caught herself and calmed down, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Lekiana was the battle that made me fear myself for the first time," Velika said, looking out at the lake with a vaguely somber expression. "I gained a fear of the unknown. My brother didn't have that ability. My parents didn't either. I thought there was something wrong with me and people looked at me with fear in their eyes. I suppressed my intuition until my ex-commander approached me and took me out to a training field. He forced me to fight him blindfolded, making me have to use my intuition to even stand a chance."

Velika turned to look at him with a small smile. She took his hand again, lacing their fingers together. "He made me face my fears, but also myself. I wasn't afraid of myself after that until they recruited me as a bounty hunter after the war. Until I realized they'd turned me into something I didn't want to be."

Bucky met her gaze, head tilted slightly. His eyes were gentle in his confusion. "I still don't understand."

"You have a fear of falling but I still dragged you onto this tree with me. Sometimes you need to have someone to face your fears with. I wouldn't make you face anyone who hurt you from Hydra, but I will drag you onto trees and ledges because fearing the fall will only make you miss the landing." Velika explained.

"But what if I do fall?"

"James Buchanan Barnes, I promised I wouldn't let you fall and that promise will still stand even when we get off this tree."

"You really promise?" He held his metal hand up, pinky extended. It was childish, but that was the point. She grinned and hooked her pinky with his.

"Promise."

𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰.

Taglist-

#oceans and stars #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x original chracter #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #velika dante king #mcu #marvel #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics · 7 years

Text

On Edge - Part 2 - Request

Requested by anon: Can you make a heated sherlock imagine where he hasn’t had a case in a while but hasn’t been able to go to the drug dens or smoke because of Y/N so he takes out his frustration on her ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (doesn’t have to be smut but it could be real HEATED)

And the bunch of people who asked for a sequel.

Summary: Sherlock has no cases and John forbid him to smoke. (Y/N) continues to mock him about it, without telling him where his cigarettes are, which leads Sherlock to find other ways to take out his frustration and, at the same time, showing her what it’s like to be on edge.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Warnings: Smut - edging, fingering, teasing, oral (male receiving), unprotected (wrap it up, guys), rough -, dominant!Sherlock

Word count: 2,164

A/N: Such a long time since I wrote the first part... Wow.

Enjoy!

| Part 1 |

“Don’t tell John, he’ll kill me if he knows I’m supporting your addiction.” Sherlock turned his cigarette on with a lighter he had on his shirts pockets.

“I feel like my addictions are changing.” He muttered.

(Y/N) shifted slowly, changing the weight of his body from one foot to the other and looked away. Sherlock noticed how bothered she was, yet she looked so sensual, standing there and looking like a stranger. A Greek goddess in a sea of British culture.

She was staring at him, expectantly. Waiting for him to stop smoking in order to pay his full attention back at her.

Sherlock bit his lip at the thought – the memory – of her flustered face buried on his pillows, squirming under his body. “Oh, screw this.” Sherlock mumbled, throwing the cigarette out of the window before pushing (Y/N) to the wall.

He kissed her as if it was the last time he would see her, making sure to put the right pressure between her legs. Feeling how his own body started to react back at her.

“Thank God John’s on holiday.” Sherlock whispered, “We are going to be very busy, my dear.”

Sherlock kept her against the wall as he took his shirt off for the second time in the last hour. Her eyes were locked on his skin, travelling along his fingers as he unbuttoned the shirt and exposed more and more skin.

“Look at you, so flustered by a simple tease.” Sherlock spoke lustfully, making her look up at him.

“It’s your fault, Holmes.” She snapped back, giving him a smug smirk.

“What will you do about it?” Sherlock inquired as he got rid of his shirt for once and for all.

“That depends on you,” She whispered, pressing both hands over his chest, “Tell me, what do you want me to do?”

“Beg.”

Sherlock moved one hand between her legs while the other worked to keep her against the wall. His hand was between her centre and her panties, and (Y/N) could feel him not moving. Sherlock had an expectant grin on his face.

“Please, do something.” She granted.

“Not enough.” Sherlock shrugged his nose and was about to move his hand away but (Y/N) stopped him.

“Please, Sherlock, I need it.” She begged.

“Tell me how much you need it.” Sherlock insisted as he started slowly moving, rubbing, cupping her whole area with his whole hand.

“I need it badly, OK? I understand now what it’s like to be on edge and I…” Sherlock slid two fingers inside of her without a single warning. (Y/N) gasped in satisfaction, unable to finish her sentence.

Sherlock observed her once more as she squirmed and moaned at his contact. It was unbelievable the effect he had over her, as unexperienced as he was, using only two fingers. He was mesmerized by how her mouth had fallen into an O, making her plump lips seem even more desirable, or the clear view he had of her smooth tongue and the sexual pictures it gave him; her closed eyes, and her messy hair contrasting her mouth and the way her body moved, pulsating, swaying, like a sensual dance.

He felt her walls clench around his fingers once again, and her body tensing, and her moans prolonging. Was he willing to give her the so-desired release so easily? With such a simple action? True, it was a huge add up to his ego, but he wanted to prove himself further.

Again, he removed his whole hand before (Y/N) could reach her high.

She breathed out heavily, almost like a huff, and looked up at him with an angry look on her face. “Again?” She asked, Sherlock chuckled.

“I won’t give in that easily.” He said.

“OK, enough of the good-girl play.” She snapped, pressing both hands on his chest in an attempt to push him to the couch and take control.

Sherlock moved her hands away in one swift move and pushed her roughly back in the wall. “Don’t forget who is in charge here, dear.” He whispered, making (Y/N) shiver, and then pressed his lips on her swollen ones.

She moaned at his roughness; she knew he was bossy as Hell, but she hadn’t ever imagined him being such a dominant person when it came to sex. But even so, (Y/N) was enjoying it, maybe in an unhealthy and exaggerated amount.

Her arms snaked up, wrapping around his shoulder while his found his balance by holding her hips. It was a rather softer position, but (Y/N) could tell her lips would be bruised the next day and she didn’t care at all. Sherlock was doing it on purpose, he wanted to show who was in charge but also to leave a mark that let the world know that it had been him who made her scream.

“Please,” she whispered once Sherlock pulled away to take some air.

“What?” He asked, allowing her to talk without distracting her. Her hands moved back to his chest as she put a bit of pressure against it to let him know what she wanted. “You won’t give up on that, will you?”

“No.” She shook her head. Sherlock breathed out tiredly and started giving in to her pressure, walking backwards to his designated seat.

She looked pleased with herself to have finally gained a chance to take control, even for a slight second. Sherlock stared at her, expectant as to what her next move would be.

(Y/N) could see his length tenting his black underwear. She licked her lips and kneeled in front of him. Sherlock tensed, not knowing if he would react in a way she liked because, for some reason, he now cared if he looked as hot as she did.

She placed one finger over the clothed tip and then slid it down as far as possible. Sherlock shivered, unconsciously bucking his hips closer to her. She used one hand to grab him, noticing his thickness and drooling instantly in anticipation.

“I won’t do anything unless you ask me to.” She said.

“I won’t beg.” Sherlock breathed out and mentally kicked himself for it, because he actually wanted her to do something.

“Don’t beg, command.”

Sherlock licked his lips, wondering what the correct words would be. Maybe the ones on his mind where far too vulgar, even for their current situation, and would turn her off; or perhaps they were too innocent. In the end, he gave up and said whatever came to his mind first.

“Whatever you… You were thinking to do, do it.” He stuttered and (Y/N) giggled at his innocence.

She asked him to lift his hips just enough for her to get rid of his underwear, leaving him completely naked. She bit her lip at the sight of him; it was all she had expected and more.

“Do it.” Sherlock insisted, and it almost sounded like he was begging.

She nodded and slid her tongue all across his length, following the same path she had traced with her finger before. Sherlock shiver and fought to contain a groan. Then she wrapped her lips around the tip, making sure to move her tongue in circles over it as her hand moved up and down his shaft.

Sherlock dug his nails at both of the arm resters as his head fell back and a loud sigh left his lips. It felt better than he had imagined. She was doing an excellent job in whatever the hell she was doing, and Sherlock was enjoying it more than he should.

(Y/N) finally let go off her hand and bobbed her head down his shaft, covering as much as she could. Sherlock breathed out a moan at last, making her feel proud of herself. She had cracked the ice man.

Sherlock looked down at her, moving the strand of her out of her face before raking his fingers into it, fisting a considerable amount and pulling her upwards, and then down, and up again. Sherlock Holmes was guiding her and she, of course, was letting him.

Their eyes were locked together. She could see his eyebrows furrowed and his chin trembling every time she went down, and how his mouth was only half open and his teeth were pressed tightly together. His pupils were dilated, hiding the cold blue of his eyes and replacing it with dark lust.

As he guided her, her hands slithered up his thighs, using the tip of her nails to make it more stimulating. Sherlock tensed under touch, increasing his speed and making her gag every so often. She was getting dizzy, but she also didn’t want to stop. Sherlock had started bucking his hips upper, at the same time he moved her head down to make her go deeper.

He was groaning, whimpering, panting, moaning… His eyes were shut and his head had fallen back. Her breathing became heavier and his cheeks were blushed. The picture of him was nearly divine. His smooth skin was shining, covered in sweat and tense. His black curls bounced over his face with each breath he took, and his lips were plump and pink, begging to be kissed.

(Y/N) was so into him that she almost forgot what she was doing. True, Sherlock was doing most part of it, but she wanted to give her best and so she forced herself to focus on that one part she had craved for. His cock flinched inside her mouth, and although she wanted to finish him, she pulled away, holding Sherlock’s hand to keep it from pushing her back.

Sherlock groaned angrily and looked down at her.

“To be on edge…” She quoted.

“You had me on edge all morning.” Sherlock argued breathlessly.

“Sue me.” She dared.

Sherlock got up from his chair and helped her to get on her feet. “I will do something better.” He threatened and walked her back to the room. Their eyes didn’t disconnect during the short trip, and it wasn’t until Sherlock pushed her back to lay in the mattress that they lost the eye contact.

(Y/N) shifted so she was in the centre and with her head in the pillow. Sherlock crawled over her, and she could sense some kind of hunger in his eyes.

He aligned himself between her legs, which were bent enough to frame his hips. His weight was on his knees; he lifted one hand, licked the back of the three fingers on the centre and then used those same three to rub her entrance. She tensed; bucking her hips forward within seconds and making he chuckled lightly.

“Spread your legs.” He ordered. Where had he heard that expression from? He didn’t know, but was pleased to know that she was obeying.

He thrusted into her mercilessly, but being careful enough not to hurt her. She was wet, warm, welcoming, pulsating over his dick. Sherlock breathed out a groan and started thrusting more and more, each time faster and harder.

The springs of his bed could be heard under them, as the headboard hit the wall over and over again.

Once again, Sherlock found himself aroused by the mere image of her head buried on his pillow, with her (Y/H/C) hair spread all over the light-coloured fabric. Her eyes were shut and her mouth was open; Sherlock cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him as she found her release.

Sherlock had been hitting her sweet spot without knowing it, not consciously, and added up to the long-lasting teasing, she found her release rather quickly. She tightened around him, making him groan, as her back arched and a loud moan escaped her lips. Sherlock noticed her hands fisting the sheets, and her toes curling.

She looked stunning, sexy, and… Sherlock came too, letting his head fall in the crook of her neck, as his hands searched for her body to hold onto her. He grabbed her waist, not thinking that his fingers would leave bruises afterwards due to the strength he put on them. His whole body tensed for a second and then relaxed as he moaned her name one last time.

They were panting, holding each other, covered in sticky sweat laying over the messy bed. The whole ambience felt strange once the sexual aura faded. It was normal now, and the sudden change was hard to adapt to.

“Do you want a cigarette?” She asked in a whisper after she recovered her normal breath pace.

“No.” Sherlock replied, pulling away to look at her straight into her eyes.

He locked his lips once more, but this time it was a softer kiss, tired even, and soothing.

*A week later*

“Is this um… for a case?” John inquired. He had caught (Y/N) and Sherlock snogging in the kitchen.

“Are you back from the holidays already?” Sherlock asked, ignoring John’s question.

“Already? I left for two weeks! Now answer my question!” The doctor demanded and was only responded by (Y/N) and Sherlock laughing at him.

I think I deserve a clap for that Experiment foreshadowing or whatever it’s called.

Masterlist.

Sherlock Tags: @oaisara @charlottemalfoy @zena-dukmak @just-a-blog00 @wefracturedmotivation @beccamullz @sugarshai @vancepter @roseyhxnt @thisisjessicatalking @foureyedsiopao @nicole-pierce @captain-sherlockomg @kissed-by-white-wolf @samanthasmileys @love-charmer-sketch @givemeamemoryicanuse @diesintheshower @demonminnion3 @thatmoodindigo @sexyporntime @jennajoseh @destiel5100 @peachyoshi64 @1enchantedfantasy1 @thesherlockblr

Benedict Tags: @newts-fan-case @resurrection-huntress

Forever Tags: @dekahg

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock au #sherlock reader insert #sherlock imagines #sherlock oneshot #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #sherlock one shot #sherlock fanfiction #imagine sherlock #sherlock one-shot #sherlock holmes x reader #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock smut #sequel #part two

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eyesocketsandsuits · 7 years

Text

Omen Manages to Embarrass Everyone

Omen is a mess.

Spoilers for SpX.

On AO3. On FFn.

Omen fell back on his back. He was used to this, by now. Omen usually fell down—well, was punched down—to the ground. This time, Valkyrie had managed to get him with a feign to… Well, he wasn't really sure. She was doing something with her leg, but then he gave him a nasty push backwards, and here he was.

Looking at the ceiling.

Valkyrie popped into his field of vision. "How you doing, Sport?"

"Don't let it get you down, Tiger," Skulduggery called from the other side of the room.

"Don't worry," Omen said, hopping up. "Wasn't bad."

"Yeah," Valkyrie said, stretching her arms over her head. "I don't give you black eyes like some really rude person."

Omen couldn't tell if Skulduggery was still looking at his book or not, but Valkyrie's smile only grew bigger, so he was probably glaring at her.

"I didn't give him a black eye," Skulduggery said, turning a page in his book. "He ran into my elbow."

Omen raised a hand, a habit he found himself doing whenever the two of them started on like this. "With my eye."

Skulduggery gestured to Omen with his book. "See, Omen knows. He ran into my elbow with his eye."

Valkyrie waved a hand. "You saw it coming."

"Yes, but Omen, have you gotten a black eye since then?"

Valkyrie turned her dark eyes to Omen. Omen, meanwhile, adjusting the string of his pants; he had lost a lot of weight since Valkyrie and Skulduggery had started giving him lessons. He could feel himself start to flush the longer the silence went on.

"I mean…" Omen cleared his throat. "I, uh, haven't had a black eye since Skulduggery gave me one."

"Point proven," Skulduggery said, saying each word with relish.

"Coincidence!" Valkyrie threw her hands in the air. "You know as well as I that that's because you haven't been giving him lessons since you, you know, gave him a black eye."

"I have imparted a valuable lesson."

"Are you going to break something of mine to teach me a lesson?"

"No, but I might put a muzzle on you."

Omen cleared his throat again, louder. Valkyrie turned back towards him, rolling her head and shoulders, literally a tank or something. Omen was still a little winded from the whole "pushed to the floor" thing, but he got into the stance the two of them had drilled into him.

"Alright, Champ," Valkyrie said, "why don't you look at your stance and tell me what's wrong with it."

Omen stared at his feet for a good few minutes. Valkyrie let him think, though. She was always good at that, letting him work through things.

He slid one foot a little farther back and bent his knees.

Valkyrie beamed. "Good. I know you're probably a little sore from today, but that posture has to become second nature to you. Good for conducting magic and for balance. So, say, I did this—"

She whipped her leg out, hitting him in the calf. Tears sprung to Omen's eyes, and he nearly toppled back over to the floor, but he managed to steady himself.

Valkyrie smiled. "You won't topple to the floor."

Omen smiled back.

Valkyrie threw a lazy punch, which Omen managed to duck out of the way from. Valkyrie nodded, throwing a faster one, which Omen blocked—he had seen that one coming, he grinned, more than proud of himself.

Valkyrie once again kicked out at him, and his thigh twinged. He hopped out of the way, desperate to give himself room.

"Attack," Skulduggery said sharply. "You're fighting, not defending."

Omen blew air through his lips. He pushed at the air—he knew he was going to miss as soon as he released the energy. Valkyrie didn't even flinch, hadn't even considered the possibility of Omen's attack hitting her, and slammed her elbow into shoulder.

That was her same trick as last time, and he was already adjusting his weight. Her elbow smacked into him, but he hardly felt it. Now, he lashed forward, fist heading towards her throat. She caught his hand, twisting, and then that thing with her leg again—

Back on his back.

"Good, Sport." Valkyrie stood over him.

"What are you doing with your leg?"

"Feigning," she said, watching him scrape himself off the floor.

"Yeah, but, how?" Omen rubbed his thigh.

Skulduggery snapped his book shut and stood. "Shall we demonstrate?"

"That depends." Valkyrie swiveled to face the skeleton. "Am I going to run into your elbow?"

Omen excused himself to Skulduggery's chair, grateful to rest. He was tempted to pull out his phone and check Never's messages, but kept his eyes on the pair.

Skulduggery faced Valkyrie, but talked loud enough for Omen to hear. "I'm pretty sure we've went over this, but when someone attempts to kick you…"

Valkyrie swung her right leg in an arc. Skulduggery caught her foot and gestured to Valkyrie's other leg.

"Her weight is planted all on her other foot. So what you're picking up on is that shifting of weight, and you're subconsciously expecting a kick. Which is pretty impressive for someone who doesn't do well in his self-defense class."

"Yeah." Omen shrugged. "I got kicked a lot."

Skulduggery released Valkyrie's leg, but she suddenly swung at him with her elbow. He jerked back, hands immediately coming up to his sides. She kept coming, trying to get under his guard, sending out quick jabs.

"Now see, Omen," Skulduggery called, ducking and weaving. "This is what we call a sloppy attempt at an attack."

Valkyrie let out a vicious little laugh, snapping her palm forward and managing to hit his chest. Skulduggery skipped back.

"Now, I can see what you're thinking, Omen," Skulduggery continued to talk. "But that was a ruse, you see, to get her confidence up, because she happens to know my weak spots. However, I also happen to know—"

His knee came up into her thigh.

Omen subtly took his phone out of his pocket.

"Are we boring you?"

Valkyrie was suddenly right over him. Omen's palms instantly grew sweaty, and he shoved his phone back in his pocket.

"No!" Omen felt his face getting hot. "No, I just, I didn't think you would…"

"Notice?" Skulduggery loomed behind her like a shadow.

"Well, no. You were… sort of doing your own thing." Omen pointed weakly to the training mat. "You know."

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. "We were demonstrating fighting styles. Skulduggery blocks less, because he has less mass to defend, and is lighter, so he prefers to dodge attacks. I tend to attack first, before they can hit me, or take the punishment until I can hit back."

Omen felt very silly for checking his phone. "Well, I just thought you guys were…"

"Were?" Skulduggery was absolutely still.

"You know. Doing your…" Omen wondered how the situation had spiraled so far out of control. "Your talking thing."

Valkyrie blinked at him. "I'm not going to pretend to know what that's referring to."

Omen closed his eyes. Try not to get punched. "Well, sometimes you guys sort of, like, talk to each other and, you know, argue or whatever back and forth, and touch each other, and sometimes the—the lessons sort of de… devolves from the point?"

He opened his eyes to them both staring at him.

"Not often," he offered.

"We don't flirt," Valkyrie said hotly.

Omen raised his hands. "I didn't say that."

"He didn't say that," Skulduggery agreed.

Valkyrie looked at Skulduggery, and then back to Omen. "Well, no, but that's what he was sort of implying, wasn't it? That we argue and…" Valkyrie looked like how Omen probably had just a minute ago.

Skulduggery nodded. "Omen, just for the record's sake, who touches who more? I only ask because it should be clear for further instructing purposes, so that we can punish those responsible, and not distract you from your lessons in the future."

Valkyrie whirled to Skulduggery. "This isn't a hearing!"

Skulduggery shook his head. "You're distracting Sport with your flirting, Valkyrie."

Omen raised a hand. "I mean, technically, you do, Skulduggery."

"Excuse me?"

"You flirt more?"

Skulduggery didn't have a face, but Omen knew the expression well.

#skulduggery pleasant #valkyrie cain #omen darkly #skulduggery spoilers #spx spoilers #sp spoilers #writing #traffic

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