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arvinsescape · 3 years

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Nurse Y/N

A/N: I’ve been working on this for a couple of days and happy to finally be able to post it. Mob Tom fic, i tried to add smut but i don’t think my writings there at the minute, i’ll do it eventually. Bit of a slow burn but not too much. As always i hope you enjoy.

Summary: You’re a nurse and you’ve always been on the right side of the law, what happens when you meet a man that sweet and caring but definitely not on the right side of the law.

Warnings: Language, mentions and hints of smut.

W/C: 4.4K,

You’d lived with your best friend for around a year now. A bad relationship had brought you to his door, he took you in and the rest is history. You were working as a nurse in the local hospital and you had no idea what exactly it was that your best friend did, he didn’t talk much about it, claiming he “just did odd jobs for someone”. You were sceptical to say the least, the amount of times he had come home covered in bruises led you to believe that his activities were probably not legal. But he never brought it home and being non the wiser made things slightly easier for you. It was your day off and you were stuck into a Netflix series when you saw your best friends name light up on your phone screen. You noticed it was 1am and wondered why he wasn’t home yet.

“Hi James. What’s up?”

“Y/N? Where are you?” He asked in a rushed tone. He sounded out of breath. You could hear the slamming of a car door over the speaker.

“I’m at home. Why? James what’s wrong?” You asked him, voice growing more concerned.

“I need your help. If I text you an address can you meet me there?”

“Sure. James are you okay?” You asked as you started to put your shoes on.

“I’m fine! I just need you to meet me.”

“Okay, text me the address.” You sighed as you hung up and grabbed your car keys.

Once you received the address you set off in the direction that your SAT NAV was taking you. As you came nearer to the destination you started to feel more and more uneasy. It was almost too quiet for London. You pulled into what looked like an abandoned warehouse, now you were really uneasy. You fumbled around your bag as you tried to find your phone, with a tight grip you dialled James’ number.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

“I’m outside but what is going on? Where have you brought me?”

“Stay there I’ll be out in a second.” He huffed as he put the phone down.

He wasn’t wrong, it couldn’t have been 30 seconds later that he arrived at your car, pulling the door open. He looked physically fine but the worry on his face still had you on your guard. What on Earth was going on? You glanced at the time in your car 1.10am. What the hell is happening?

“Y/N. I’m sorry for calling so late but I didn’t know who else to call. I can’t go to a hospital and I need one, so I need your help. I need you to do something for me.” He spoke faster than you thought physically possible.

“Slow down. What is it? Are you hurt?” You asked as you scanned him overlooking for wounds that weren’t there. What did he mean he needed a hospital but couldn’t go?

“The guy I work for. He’s been injured, someone managed to get a shot off on him.” He rambled as he pulled you towards the building.

“Shot! What the hell are you talking about? What do you do?” You almost screamed.

“Look. I promise I’ll explain everything Y/N. But right now I need you to help him. I can’t take him to a hospital it would be too risky. I need you to take the bullet out and stitch him up. Please, he’s my boss. He’ll make it worth your while.” He asked you with pleading eyes as he pulled you further into the warehouse.

“James. I’m not a surgeon! I don’t know if I can do that!” You started to panic now.

“You can give stitches though? He’s been shot in the arm, he’s losing blood, but I think the bullet is stemming the bleeding. I don’t think it’s lodged too far in. Please and I promise I’ll explain everything.”

The nurse in you was screaming at you to try and help who ever it was but you were frightened, you weren’t a surgeon. What if it went wrong? He could sue you; you’d lose your career. You weren’t supposed to do this off duty. So many things were running through your mind as James took you into another room that was filled with 4 other men. All dressed rather smart to say they’d clearly been involved in illegal activity. The man who James had informed you was the boss became apparent when you saw him clutching his arm. Blood dripping down it.

“Boss. This is Y/N, she’s a nurse.” James explained as you both stopped in front of him. He was attractive at first glance. Beautiful brown eyes and brown curls that were almost begging to have fingers run through them. You kept quiet, feeling intimidated as he stared you down, expression completely unreadable.

“Can you trust her?” The ‘Boss’ asked James.

“She’s been my best friend for years; you can trust her.” James answered confidently. You just shook your head, finally having the courage to speak up.

“Hang on just a second. What do you mean can you trust her? I’m the one who should be wondering that, your sat there having been shot, apparently need my help and you have the audacity to ask if you can trust me?” You almost screamed at the man in front of you. You don’t know what made you snap, maybe it was the stress of the situation or how tired you suddenly felt. James grasped your arm in a tight grip.

“Y/N. I love you, but this is no time to be head strong. Just please, be respectful, he’s an important man.” He said to you as he released your arm. Before you could say anything, the brown eyed man spoke first.

“No, that’s quite alright James. She’s feisty, nothing wrong with that.” He said as he smirked in your direction. He may have been good looking, but he was irritating the hell out of you. You just looked at him as if to say, “what the fuck?” He just smiled at you. “Now, I would very much appreciate it if you could help me out. I will pay you what ever you want, and I promise not to say a word to anyone about what you have done for me.” He gave you what seemed to be a genuine smile and you sighed. Perhaps doing what he asked was the fastest way to get to bed.

“Look, I’m not a surgeon. I might not be able to do much, but I’ll try. Let me have a look.” You said as you eyed him carefully. James had left to stand near the other 3 men in the room. You took his arm as you assessed the damage. Maybe you could do this. The wound didn’t look all that bad. “I think I can do this. It just, it will hurt, and I don’t have anything to numb the pain. In fact, I don’t have anything at all to work with.” You suddenly realised.

“Well I came somewhat prepared. Sam? Have you got the first aid kit?” He turned to one of the men. ‘Sam’ nodded and made his way towards you, handing you the first aid kit and making his way back to his original spot. This really was some strange operation.

“Like I said, this might hurt.” You sighed as you got to work.

“Okay. All done.” You said as you finished up the stitching. You were surprised at how little he flinched throughout the process. He must have one hell of a pain tolerance. “Take some paracetamol and ibuprofen when you get home. I really would suggest you go to an actual hospital to make sure I removed that bullet properly.” You said as covered the stitching with a bandage.

“Thank you very much. I’m sure I won’t be going to a hospital, not sure how I would explain a bullet wound without the police getting involved and what would I tell them? I’d have to tell them nurse Y/N helped me out in the first place.” He teased.

“Whatever, just please don’t sue me if you end up losing your arm.”

“I promise. Now how much would you like for what you have done. Name your price. It’s yours.”

“I don’t want anything. Just please don’t tell anyone what I did and try and stay out of trouble.” You sighed as you looked into his brown eyes. You really were tired now, thankful that you had a day off tomorrow, well today.

“I already promised that I wouldn’t say anything and as for staying out of trouble I’m afraid I can’t promise you that. But hopefully I won’t need your services like this again. Are you sure you don’t want any money?”

“I’m sure. It wouldn’t feel right to take money when I know I shouldn’t have done that. I really just want to go home and go to bed.”

“Whatever makes you feel better princess.” He said as he flashed you a genuine smile and that nickname made your stomach do things that you’d rather not think about. He wasn’t someone you should get mixed up with. That much you could tell.

“James? Are you coming?” You finally turned to your best friend and he just shook his head, saying that he had things to finish up there and with that you left. You fell into bed and as soon as your head hit the pillow you were asleep.

You woke up at around 12pm, having not gotten into bed until 3am and you were still feeling exhausted. You briefly wondered if last night was just a strange dream was just but you knew it wasn’t. You made your way downstairs and made yourself a coffee, yeah you were going to need caffeine to wake up today. You wandered into the living room where you saw James sat on the couch, he looked over at you.

“Y/N. Thank you so much for last night. I’m so fucking sorry that I dragged you into that, but I couldn’t let anything happen to him, he’s a very important man.” James rambled as you took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, sipping your coffee.

“I just want an explanation, James. It’s the least you can do.” You were still slightly pissed at him, but you knew he wouldn’t have risked you and your job if it wasn’t important.

“Okay. Look, I’m involved with the London ‘mob’ if you want to call it that. I’ve made it pretty far up in the ranks and that was my boss, the leader you saved last night. We were reclaiming some old territory when things went a little south and he got shot. I can’t thank you enough for what you did, and I promise I wouldn’t have gotten you involved if I didn’t have to.” He sighed. You’d stayed silent, taking in his words and you just sighed back.

“Listen, I’m still pissed but it’ll pass. I had a gut feeling you were involved in something illegal and I think you should get out if you can but please don’t get me involved like that again and we’ll continue to pretend that this never happened and you don’t do what you do for a living. The less I know the better.” James smiled at you as he hugged you.

“Thank you Y/N. You’re the best. I love you; you know that. I can deal with you being pissed; I deserve that much. I promise I’ll make it up to you, pizza for tea. I’m buying!”

Most people would say that you’d had a rather nonchalant response but honestly. You didn’t want to know more; he was your best friend and maybe you were trying to look the other way to protect your image of him or maybe you were still tired and your brain hadn’t quite caught up yet but you left it at that and he told you he was going to ‘work’ and off he went about his day as you started going about your own.

You’d just been for a shower when you heard a knock at the door. You hadn’t been expecting a visitor and assumed it was your friend who also had today off. You threw on your pyjamas which consisted of shorts and a tank top as you made your way to the door.

“You know Lizzy, you could’ve texted me before you decided to- “Your words were cut short as you opened the door. It wasn’t Lizzy at all, it was the man you’d helped last night, escorted by two other men that you didn’t recognise.

“If I had your number, I might’ve done sweetheart.” He said as he took in your attire. You suddenly felt self-conscious under his stare and wished you’d have grabbed your dressing gown.

“What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?” you asked him.

“My apologies but James said you lived together, and I know where all my staff live.”

“Okay, so what do you want?”

“I came to thank you properly for last night. You don’t want paying and I can’t take what you did for free.” He said as he watched you cautiously eye the two men that he’d brought with him. “Don’t worry about them, apparently I’m not aloud to go anywhere alone until my arm is healed. Mum’s orders and you know you don’t argue with your mother.” He said, trying to ease you, you still looked somewhat tense. “Can I come in? I’ll make them stay outside.” He asked and there was that genuine smile again. It made your stomach flip and you just nodded as you moved aside and let him in. Shutting the door rapidly as he crossed the thresh hold.

You hadn’t noticed his hands were full until he placed down a large box on your kitchen counter. “Do I want to know what’s in there?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Well unless you’re allergic to anything in there, I wouldn’t be too concerned.” He teased. You made your way over and opened the box, it was full of god knows how many boxes of all different types of chocolate. “I did ask James and he said you loved chocolate so I thought I could repay you by starting there.”

“Well thank you but honestly I don’t want anything else. It’s not like you were on deaths door.” You joked back. Something about him set you at ease when it probably shouldn’t have.

“Well who knows? I might’ve lost my arm.” He laughed. You couldn’t help but laugh with him, it was almost contagious. “Tom by the way.”

“Wow. James didn’t call you Tom; I must be honoured.” You laughed.

“Well unlike James, you don’t work for me princess.”

“No, I suppose I don’t.”

“Cute pj’s by the way.” He teased as he eyed you again. You instantly wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling conscious under his stare, but not in a bad way, in a way that made your stomach flutter and heat rush to your cheeks.

“Um, thanks. Look, not to be rude but what do you want?” You asked as you locked eyes with him. God he was beautiful.

“I’d like to take you out to lunch, as a thank you. Don’t read too much into it.”

“Will you take no for an answer?”

“Not really darling.”

“Fine. Give me 10 minutes.” You laughed as you made your way upstairs to get changed.

He took you to a nice restaurant at the other side of town, it seemed expensive, but he didn’t seem to mind, it seemed like he knew everyone that worked there. He probably owned it; you came to realise. It was actually a lovely afternoon spent chatting and getting to know him. There were numerous times when you found yourself wondering how he ended up being part of a mob. He was sweet but every time you remembered what he did for a living you were reminded that you couldn’t let yourself go there.

“And where have you been?” James teased as you came through the door.

“Out.” You answered vaguely.

“With a certain brown eyed, brown haired mobster?”

“How did you know?” You asked, shocked.

“Well I know he was interested in how I knew you and then we didn’t see him again all day.”

“Right, well, he just wanted to say thank you.” You said as you joined him on the couch.

“Bullshit Y/N. I think he has a soft spot for you.” He continued to tease you. “I mean come on. He’s gorgeous.”

“It was just a thank you lunch!” You defended yourself. “Besides it wouldn’t be a good idea, you know with what he does for a living, if you want to call it that.”

“Yeah, but he could offer you protection and all the money you’d ever need. He might do illegal stuff but he’s not a complete monster Y/N.”

“James, please don’t go there.” You groaned as you took a slice of pizza from the box he’d ordered in.

“Okay, okay. I know that look though. That one you had when you came through that door. I just have one question for you.” He said as he laughed.

“What’s that?” You asked, mouth full of pizza.

“When are you seeing him again?”

You picked up the nearest pillow and hit him with it, mumbling a ‘fuck off’ as he laughed at you. You finished your night watching a movie before heading to bed, dreams of a curly haired, brown eyed boy flooding your dreams.

Two weeks passed before you saw Tom again. James had mentioned he wasn’t going to be in for the night, and you’d decided to read a book as there was a knock at the door. You made your way over and opened the door, there he was, alone this time.

“Déjà vu. I swear you had exactly the same thing on the last time you opened this door for me.” He laughed as he gestured towards your attire.

“I did. What are you doing here Tom?”

“I actually just came to see you.” He said as he made his way past you so you could close the door.

“And why’s that?”

“Look, I can’t stop thinking about Y/N. God knows I’ve tried but I can’t, and I know we hardly know each other but I’d like to change that.” He answered, he’d stepped slightly closer to you.

“Tom.” You sighed. “We shouldn’t. This isn’t a good idea, you know that right?”

“Trust me, I’ve been through this a thousand times since we last saw each other but I can’t help it. I think I like you, like a lot.” He said as he reached towards you, catching a strand of your hair as he played with the end of it. Your heart rate was starting to pick up at the closeness.

“Tom I-“

“I could give you everything and anything you want princess. I’d look after you and that’s a promise, I know my line of work is messy and comes with risks but I’m willing to risk everything for a chance with you.” He’d tucked the strand of hair behind your ear and placed his hand on your cheek, moving his face closer to yours, you could feel his breath on your lips.

“We shouldn’t” you whispered, although you knew you didn’t mean it. He just shook his head in agreement with you. Lips almost touching.

“If you don’t want to just tell me to stop.” He whispered against your lips. Your body moved before your brain could catch up and you connected your lips. It was like fireworks had exploded in your stomach. Your lips moved against each other as your fingers made their way into his curls, god they were soft.

He backed you up until your back hit the cool wall behind you, moving his hands to grip your hips. His tongue slid over your bottom lip asking for access which you gladly gave. Your tongues danced together like they were old dance partners. Knowing exactly how to move together and it made you moan slightly. You pulled back for a bit of air before his lips were back on yours. You’d never been kissed like this before. Almost as if he was trying to tell you everything through the kiss.

He tapped your thigh and you jumped, his strong arms instantly catching you as he pinned you further against the wall. Your mind was racing, this was possibly the hottest, most intense kiss you had ever engaged with. “Do you want to stop?” He mumbled against your lips. You only shook your head in response reconnecting your lips as he carried you through the flat, you directed him towards your bed room and the night was spent with you receiving the most amount of attention and pleasure you’d ever experienced with another human being.

You woke up with a warm arm wrapped around your waist, your mind flooded with the events of the night before. You smiled to yourself as you carefully removed his arm and made your way into the bathroom. You examined yourself in the mirror after having brushed your teeth and gasped at the large hickey that had been left on the sweet spot of your neck. You bit your lip and smiled. You threw on Tom’s shirt that he’d worn last night and some underwear, making your way into the kitchen. You boiled the kettle as you got two mugs out, lost in your thoughts you didn’t hear a second person enter the kitchen.

“Well someone looks happy.” James laughed as you lightly screamed and turned around to face him.

“James, I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” You gasped, hand on heart as you waited for it to beat at a regular pace again.

“I recognise that shirt.”

“How can you recognise a white button up shirt?” You asked in disbelief.

He just laughed at pointed at the sleeve, you looked down and on the cuff of the shirt was ‘T.H’ embroidered in gold. Heat instantly rose to your cheeks.

“It’s none of your business!”

He threw his hands up in defence. “You’re right, it’s not. You look happy though, I’m happy for you.”

“I don’t- we haven’t spoken about it.” You sighed. Just as you spoke Tom walked into the kitchen, he smiled at you.

“I wondered where that had gotten to.” He laughed gesturing towards the shirt as he said morning to James. James shook his head and laughed.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” He grabbed his keys and wallet and walked out of the flat. Leaving you and Tom stood in the kitchen. He was shirtless and he looked good, you bit your lip as you looked at him.

“Morning princess.” He smiled as he wrapped you in a tight, warm embrace.

“We should talk about last night.” You mumbled against his chest. He sighed.

“Look, I meant what I said. All of it.” He kissed the top of your head. You pulled out of his embrace as you looked at him.

“I just- I know it might seem ridiculous because of last night but I want to take it slow. We should get to know each other. We don’t know enough about each other yet and last night, I don’t regret it but maybe we should take it back to step one.”

“Whatever you want princess. I promise I’ll look after you. I know my line of work bothers you and I hope that you can accept that it’s part of what I do but I understand if getting to know me more means that that is too much for you.” He said as he looked into your eyes. He was being vulnerable, honest and you knew you had to give him the chance. You’d regret it if you didn’t.

You went on dates and it would be three months before you found yourself in bed with him again. You fell hard and you fell fast for him. You ended up leaving your job in favour of becoming the woman who oversaw all of Tom’s books. He kept you safe and he loved you and made you feel more loved than you thought possible. Anything you wanted, you got. Anything you needed, you had. Anything you asked of him, done.

You never imagined that you’d end up dating a man on the wrong side of the law and being okay with it, being complicit in it but here you were. You married about three years in and nothing changed, he still made you feel the same way he had years prior. You had three beautiful children with him, and he was best, most loving father a child could hope for. You had two boys which he would do anything and everything for and your little girl well he doted on her completely, she was his little angel, couldn’t do a thing wrong in his eyes.

“You know I never thought I’d say this” he spoke one night as you were cuddled up in bed “but I’m actually thankful I got shot that night.”

“Most people wouldn’t be thankful for that Tom.” You teased him.

“No probably not. But I never would have met you had it not happened.” He said sincerely as he ran his fingers up and down your arm.

“No, you wouldn’t have. I’m always thankful I gave you the chance even if at the time I was wary.” You laughed as you kissed his chest.

“Admit it. I had you the second I kissed you and then gave you one of the best railings you’d ever had.” He teased which earned him a playful smack on the chest.

“Yeah that always helps.” You laughed as you rolled your eyes at him. You couldn’t be more in love with this man if you tried.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #mob!tom

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hanatiny · 3 years

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Perfect Illusion

a/n: this fic is inspired by this post (although I modified the idea a bit)! for those interested, I even made a spotify playlist to hopefully enhance the experience~

pairing: royal guard!San x royal guard/spy!f!reader

genre: smut

word count: 2113

warnings: royal AU, weapons (knives and daggers), brief mention of infidelity (which I do not condone), swearing, teasing, dry humping, hair pulling, name-calling (they keep insulting each other... oops), enemies with benefits, implied enemies to lovers (kind of), slight knife kink, implied pain kink, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, no clear dom/sub roles

-----

Despite excelling at undercover work, you weren’t known be incredibly ‘out there’ in the way you executed your tasks, so this particular mission you had been given must have been the one you disliked the most as of now, not to mention that you despised the tactic of seduction.

You did your best to attract as little attention as possible in order to carry out your information gathering in peace. Although it seemed that in doing so, you had become a little too suspicious for one of the guards. You heaved a sigh, meeting his eyes while most of his face remained covered by the hood and the mask he wore to not look like the odd one out at the royal masquerade event. He nudged his head towards a nearby balcony after asking for one of his fellow guards to watch his spot, signalling you to follow.

Albeit slowly, you did what was asked of you - your beliefs were much too deeply rooted in obedience not to. Once outside, the guard closed and locked the door behind you. Shrugging off his hood, he took off his mask while you did the same so the two of you were equally bare to each other.

“San?!” “Y/n?!” You both gasped aloud in equal shock and surprise, slapping a hand over each other’s mouths to prevent anyone from hearing how casually you spoke with each other.

Prying your hand away from his face, although still holding it in his own, San quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at you, “What, pray tell, are you doing here at this party wearing that?”

Your voice was teasing as you spoke and he gestured towards the black dress you were wearing, “Oh, this old thing~?” He rolled his eyes at your playful tone but allowed you to continue, “As much as I didn’t want to, His Highness requested me to keep my eyes and ears open for anything or anyone suspicious... and had the bright idea of having me use seduction to get the job done.”

Despite knowing how much you hated the technique in question, San thought it fun to tease and rile you up about it, “Do I classify as suspicious then? Cause you’ve definitely caught my interest and seduced me...~”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing him and pulling him close by the tie he was wearing before whispering in his ear, “With how flirty you’re being, definitely. I might have to arrest you now, sunshine~ But if you play your cards right, I might let you fuck me, pretty boy.”

It was your turn to cock an eyebrow when San nonchalantly turned the situation around on you and pinned you against the wall roughly, both of your wrists above your head in one of his own while an almost bored grin danced across on your face at the act. “That all you got~?”

“Not at all, sweetheart...~” “Show me then,” you challenged without hesitation, hooking one of your legs around his hip to draw his body closer and flush against yours, “show me what you can do, unless you want to admit that a woman could dom you~”

Bullseye. You hit him right in his sore spot, knowing him to be much too competitive to let such a cheeky comment slide. You saw something shift in his eyes, something dark, and you knew you had him right then and there, “You asked for it... don’t complain if you limp afterwards.”

“Wanna bet~?” San effectively shut you up by melding his plush lips to yours, your hands tugging greedily at his already messy hair while the grinding of your hips against his coaxed a soft moan from his lips.

“You really don’t intend to make it easy for me do you, little vixen...” He whispered against your lips, his voice low and raspy as he did so, causing you to give him a casual shrug, “You know me, I always want to be the one who comes out on top. Whether that is in the physical sense or not couldn’t matter any less to me, frankly.”

San huffed softly, he knew you were competitive but so was here. However, the difference between the two of you was that you were willing to play dirty to get what you want.

As such, you couldn’t prevent a slight smirk from tugging at your lips when his breath hitched audibly after he pushed the hem of your dress up to your hips and spotted the daggers strapped to one of your thighs. “Staring longer won’t make the image imprint itself in your mind any faster. And in case you haven’t noticed with how much you want my daggers on your body, I’m worked up and hereby telling you to hurry up and fuck me. Right here, right now.”

“Getting feisty and demanding, are we? Two can play that game, Y/n...~” Reaching into the inside of his jacket, San pulled out a knife and held it to your throat while the cocky smirk never left your face, “Are you just gonna keep threatening me with a good time so that I’ll walk right back in there and tell everyone you’re my bitch, or are you actually gonna do something about that obvious boner in your pants?”

San’s eyebrow twitched at your audacity, the discovery of the fact that you had foregone underwear tonight not helping his dwindling patience in the slightest, “Pathetic how desperate you are for my cock, you minx. Needing to cover it up with such a tough girl act...”

He trailed off, watching you closely as he pocketed his knife and used his now unoccupied hand to quickly unfasten his pants and free his aching length from its confines. He stroked himself a few times, the seconds passing torturously slowly in your eyes as you licked your lips in anticipation before throwing your head back against the wall with a strangled gasp when he fully inserted himself inside of you without warning.

“You son of a-” “Shush doll, don’t want anyone to hear what we’re doing out here do you~?” You huffed as he interrupted you, pretending to think for a moment before shaking your head with a smile, “I actually do, imagine the surprise when they’d hear that two of the royal guards are all over each other...~”

San’s eyes darkened once more before narrowing them at you, “You asked for it, then... Be prepared to scream.”

“Such big words from the man who’d let me spit in his mouth~” You weren’t having it though, only mewling and moaning softly while San repeatedly snapped his hips into yours. His pace was rough and quick, eager to get both you and himself off, “Won’t even, fuck- won’t even scream for me... am I not fucking you hard enough?”

“Mmh... nope~!” You replied with a toothy grin, gasping sharply when San thrusted inside of you particularly harshly. “That better?” “Much~” He continued to move at the harsh pace he had just set, his breath hitching when his hand accidentally brushed against the leather garter still fixed securely around your thigh.

He felt himself twitch violently when you spoke through low pants, his thrusts stuttering, “Wouldn’t you love to have me trail one of those daggers over your sensitive skin, sunshine? Perhaps even pierce it a little here and there to show who you belong to~?”

Those last words came out unintentionally but you didn’t feel the need to correct yourself, considering that your possessiveness appeared to be the last straw for San judging by the warmth that filled you as he came, your own orgasm washing over you shortly after. Once you had both caught your breath, he carefully pulled out of you and helped you straighten out your dress after doing the same to his own clothes.

You implying that he was yours was undoubtedly a matter to be discussed, but for now, you two had a masquerade to return to. As such, San handed your mask back to you after having previously stored it in one of his jacket pockets. You both secured your masks back on your faces so that your identities were concealed once more, although San decided to not pull his hood back up.

He unlocked the balcony door before turning to you with a teasing albeit charming smile, holding his hand out for you to take, “Will you let me have this dance, m’lady~?”

You found it amusing how quickly he could switch back to his professional persona, placing your hand in his own regardless, “It’d be my pleasure~”

He led you back inside of the large, well-lit ballroom where no one was any the wiser of what had transpired mere minutes ago, your dress swaying slightly while you danced with San, a small grin painted on your features.

You ended up getting to bed incredibly late, almost stumbling out of it the next morning before quickly making yourself presentable after being requested in the throne room by His Highness himself, wondering what it could possibly be about.

You ran into San on the way there, finding out that he had been called to see the prince as well. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, you weren’t particularly surprised to find it empty besides the presences of you, your companion and Yeosang, who had placed his crown on a pedestal near himself.

Letting his emotionless facade crack a bit, he gave a small smile when he saw the two of you kneel before him as it was custom for the subordinates or the royal family.

“Those who want to wear the crown need to prove they are able to bear its weight.”

Yeosang’s voice rang out through the room, causing you and San to look at each other questioningly and then back up at him in confusion. The older male had never been more glad to not have any other of his court officials or guards besides the two of you inside of his throne room, relieved that he could be blunt about his message.

“I’m sure you both are aware of how I came to be where I am presently, yes?” You both nodded in response. “Then you know my mother was not a true queen and slept her way to the throne. Hell, I’m even a bastard child - her husband was not my father. In short... she was a whore.”

San gasped quietly next to you in surprise at the word choice, causing you to nudge him gently to remind him to focus and listen.

“I don’t want to keep the two of you here any longer than necessary,” the unrightful prince leaned forward, his weight still resting on the arm he had previously propped himself up on, “My coronation is set to be held eleven days from now. Whichever of you comes up with the better plan to cover up my ‘coincidental’ disappearance by then gets to claim the throne.”

It was a tempting offer, that much you had to admit, but it sounded almost too good to actually be true.

“Your Highness-” “Please drop the formalities Y/n, you’ve known me since I was a little child.” The young man in question corrected softly as you cleared your throat with an understanding nod, “Are you sure this will work out as you intend it to? I’m not sure anyone would believe one of your royal guards to be allowed to inherit the crown just like that...”

“Y/n. Surely you’ve noticed how desperate the people are for a ruler who stands with them, even with all the time you spend working? They’ll accept just about anyone. As long as neither of you exposes the truth about any part of my family... do we have a deal?”

San looked at you and met your eyes, lingering for a few beats before getting up from his knees with you following suit as you looked up at the prince and spoke in unison, always up for a challenge - especially if it just so happened to come with a high reward like this one did, “We have a deal.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now off you two go, there is work to be done~” Yeosang hummed, you and your ‘companion’ bowing respectfully and nodding before turning on your respective heels.

San pulled his hood back over his head and glanced at you with a smug grin that you happily mirrored, both of you making a run for it out of the throne room.

After all, it was only a matter of time and of who created the most perfect illusion, aware that only one of you would come out on top.

----- Taglist (tell me if you wanna be added):

@atinykitty @cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @galaxteez @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx @twancingyunhoe @vocalyunho @yunhoiseyecandy

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#8makes1teamnet #ateez royal au #royal au #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #san smut #ateez san smut #me coming out of my figurative writing cave with this: hi did u miss me #hanatiny writes

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musette22 · 3 years

Text

Drunk in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: A week or so ago, I saw this post. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a ficlet, a little Evanstan AU. It’s a bit late maybe, since Christmas has already been and gone, but it’s still technically the holidays so just indulge me? :p

Also, I hit 3k followers this week, so this is also a sort of thank you to all you amazing, wonderful, beautiful people for getting me here. Love you all as much as I love these boys as much as they love each other 💘 Hope you enjoy!

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It’s 3 p.m. on 17 December, and Chris is a little bit drunk. Maybe even a lotta bit.

In his defense, he is currently in Boston for a bachelor party and they did just do a tour of the Samuel Adams Brewery. It’s not like he makes a habit of daytime drinking. Not this much, anyway.

Chris stumbles out of the bar that’s attached to the brewery, surrounded by a dozen or so old school friends, all of whom are in a similar state of inebriation, when they pass the gift shop and a familiar image catches his eye. Chris stops in his tracks. On closer inspection, what he saw turns out to be a photo, displayed in a stand outside the shop, of a park in Concord near where Chris grew up.

No, not a photo.

A postcard.

He plucks the card from the stand, swaying on his feet a little as he peers at it. In the image, the park is covered in snow, much like it would be right now, and stamped across it in a red, gothic font are the words ‘Happy Holidays’.

Instantly, Chris is hit by a wave of nostalgia. No doubt the feeling is heightened by the alcohol – he always tends to get a little sentimental when he’s drunk – but it’s not just that. It’s also the fact that Chris and his friends have been reminiscing about the good old days all afternoon as well as the sudden, depressing realization that despite all he’s achieved in the past decade or so, his happiest memories are probably those of childhood Christmases spent in Concord.

These days, Chris lives in on the West Coast. He’s kind of a superstar now, after all, and superstars live in LA – everybody knows that. Chris doesn’t usually let himself dwell too much on how lonely he is there, or how he misses the comforting accents and the real winters of the East Coast. Tonight, though, whether because of the booze in his system or the ghosts of Christmas past, he allows himself to feel the stab of homesickness.

Without conscious input from his brain, Chris finds himself buying the postcard. When the cashier asks him if he’ll be needing he stamp, too, he hesitates. “Yeah, why not,” he decides, on a whim. It’s a Christmas card, after all, and Christmas cards are supposed to be sent.

There’s just one slight issue with his plan, Chris realizes as soon as he puts the borrowed pen to the card.

He’ll need an address to send the card to.

Frowning, he taps the pen against the counter, thinking as hard as his beer-addled brain will allow him, but the only address he can think of off the top of his head is that of his childhood home, back in Concord. But… that would be weird, right? He has no idea who’s been living there, since his parents sold the house after the divorce. Then again, Chris tells himself, this could be his good Christmas deed. Sending a postcard to a total stranger just to wish them happy holidays, that’s totally in the Christmas spirit, isn’t it?

With a decisive nod of his head, Chris puts his pen to paper and starts to write. It’s just a few lines, because there’s only so much you can say to a total stranger, but when he signs off with his initials, he feels good about it. He asks the cashier for the nearest post box, which happens to be just outside the building, so he thanks the guy and heads outside.

Pulling his pea coat tighter around him against the glacial December air, Chris spares the card one last look, and drops into the post box. It feels significant, somehow.

He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because the moment his friends spot him, he’s immediately and enthusiastically subsumed back into the group and dragged on to the next boozy destination.

Three drinks on, Chris has forgotten all about the postcard.

***

On the morning of 18 December, Sebastian Stan opens his postbox to find a postcard with a photo of the park near his house on the front, and a hastily scribbled message on the back:

Hey,

I used to live in your house.

I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays,

C.E.

Even after re-reading the message three times, Sebastian is none the wiser as to who sent it.

It makes sense other people used to live in the house Sebastian’s been renting, but unsurprisingly, he has no clue who they were. It was only last year that he’d decided to relocate from New York to Concord, craving a change of pace and more peace and quiet than the Big Apple had been able to offer. He’d visited Concord on a research trip for his third novel the year before and had immediately taken a liking to it. So when, after asking his estate agent to put out some feelers in the area, the guy had found him this beautiful place to rent within a day, Sebastian had taken it as a sign.

It’s a big old house – more appropriate for a family than a man living alone, perhaps – but Sebastian can afford it, and it has a lived-in vibe that makes it feel intimate, somehow. Its location on the edge of a large park, peaceful apart from the joggers and young families that frequent it, suits his needs perfectly, too. Despite being a successful author, Sebastian prefers to keep himself to himself. He’s not one for ostentatious book tours or photoshoots, doesn’t believe in social media beyond its promotional potential, and he’s found that he blends in perfectly in this picturesque little town.

In addition to being a private person, however, Sebastian is an inherently curious one.

It’s why he became a writer in the first place, and it’s also why the random, slightly mysterious postcard instantly fascinates him. Someone who decides to send a Christmas card to the stranger living in their childhood home has got to be an interesting person, Sebastian figures.

Unable to resist the temptation, he finds the landlord’s number and presses call.

“The initials C.E.?”

“C.E., that’s right,” Sebastian repeats patiently. “I received a postcard from someone with those initials who said they used to live in this house and wished me Happy Holidays. I’d like to thank them for the card, maybe tell them they’re free to come by the house anytime, if that’s something they’d like.”

“Well,” the landlord says, clear hesitation in his tone. “I wouldn’t usually give out this kind of information, especially not about this particular person. But seeing as he approached you first, I guess it should be alright…”

Chris Evans.

Famous Hollywood actor Chris Evans used to live in Sebastian’s house. The house he’s renting. Whatever.

The point is, Chris Evans sent him a postcard. Sebastian would be lying if he said that knowledge didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. He isn’t one to get star-struck, normally, knowing full well the rich and famous are people just like anyone else, only with an added layer of expensive, sparkly veneer.

Chris Evans, though. Well, let’s just say Chris’s blue eyes, his dazzling smile, and his chest – god, that chest – had helped along Sebastian’s gay awakening considerably, all those years ago.

So even though he realizes what he’s about to do could be considered slightly unethical, the next number Sebastian dials is that of his agent. There’s no harm in asking if there’s any chance she could use her industry connections to pass on a message to Chris Evans, surely?

“Chris Evans?” his agent repeats blankly. “The British radio DJ or the actor?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Actor. Definitely the actor. Why would I want to send a message to a British radio DJ?”

“Why would you want to send a message to the actor?” she shoots back. “Apart from the obvious, of course.”

Touché.

Once he’s explained the situation to her, his agent hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll admit that’s pretty amazing,” she says. “As it happens, I know someone at CAA who owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian thanks her warmly, and then he waits.

***

That afternoon, Chris gets a phone call from his agent.

“Thank you for the postcard,” she reads aloud. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, you’re welcome to stop by the house and have a look around, for old time’s sake. Happy Holidays, Sebastian Stan.”

“Sebastian Stan?” Chris asks, eyebrows shooting up. “The author?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ve read one of his books, though, the one that’s shortlisted for the Pulitzer price, I think? He’s very good.”

His agent hums. “If you say so. Do you want me to pass a message back to him?”

Chris opens his mouth to say yes, then closes it again. “Actually,” he says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, “I’m still in the area so I think I’ll just pay him a visit. Do you think you could you cancel my flight back to LA this afternoon?”

His agent grumbles at him for a bit but eventually concedes, though not before she’s made Chris promise he’ll be back in LA on Tuesday, for the Christmas special he’s due to appear in. Fun.

For a few moments after he’s ended the call, Chris stares out of the window of his hotel room. It’s snowing again, big flakes fluttering down from the sky, slowly turning the grey, slushy roads white again. He wonders if Pulitzer-finalist Sebastian Stan likes to make snow angels in the backyard too, like Chris used to do.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Chris starts to put his things in his overnight bag, and calls an Uber.

It’s almost twilight, by the time the cab come to a stop in front of the house. Chris thanks the driver and steps out, booted feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s piling up quickly, he notices distantly.

It’s odd, being back here, after everything that’s happened since he moved away, so Chris gives himself a moment to just stand there, in the middle of the deserted street, taking in the sight of house he grew up in.

The house that holds countless memories, many of them good, some of them not so much. His first dog and his first kiss. Scraped knees and snowball fights. Raucous laughter and hissed arguments.

The house looks the same but different.

Chris walks up to the front door, snow crunching under his boots, and rings the doorbell.

***

Chris Evans is on Sebastian’s doorstep.

All blue-eyed, bearded, gloriously muscled, six-foot-something of him.

“Uh,” Chris says, blinking at him in something like surprise before his gaze sweeps up and down Sebastian’s body in a blatant once-over. “Sebastian Stan?”

“Oh wow, you actually came,” Sebastian blurts by way of reply.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought- ‘cause you said-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts. “I did say that. I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting you to really turn up – or not this soon, at least. But it’s no trouble at all, I live alone so it’s nice to have a visitor. Especially, y’know. You.” Forcing himself to stop talking, Sebastian runs a hand through his messy hair and wishes he’d worn something better suited to meeting one’s celebrity crush. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s try that again. Hi, I’m Sebastian Stan.”

“Chris Evans.” Chris smiles back warmly as he shakes Sebastian’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely,” Sebastian repeats, holding Chris’s gaze. There are tiny flecks of green mixed in with the blue of his eyes, and his lashes would put any Maybelline model to shame. It takes Sebastian longer than it should to remember to let go of Chris’s hand, but fortunately, Chris doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Huh. Sebastian clears his throat. “Would you- would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to, if you’re putting out,” Chris replies. There’s a beat, and then he freezes, eyes widening in horror. “If I’m not putting you out – not- not if you’re- I wasn’t, I didn’t mean- oh my god, Chris, stop talking you meatball,” Chris groans covering his face with a large hand. His next words come out a little muffled. “I am so sorry. Just ignore me. I have a horrible hangover, I promise I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”

Sebastian laughs, equally charmed by Chris’s helpless chattering as he is by the blush coloring his cheeks, just visible above the line of Chris’s well-groomed beard.

“You’re fine, I’m not easily offended,” he assures him, stepping aside to let Chris into the hallway. “I can take a lot.”

Oh.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to wince at his choice of words, but when he tentatively glances back at his visitor to see if he noticed, he stills. The look on Chris’s face instantly makes him forget all about feeling embarrassed.

Still standing by the door, melting snow forming puddles around his feet, Chris is watching him intently. There’s something curious in his gaze, something sharp and searching.

It makes Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows, resisting the impulse to avert his gaze, play it off as a joke. Instead, he makes himself stare right back. Lets the tension build, lets it simmer and crackle as it stretches out between them, growing stronger with every second they spend looking at each other in heavy silence.

“That right?” Chris asks finally, his voice a low rumble that settles in Sebastian’s bones like smoldering embers. Chris takes a careful step forward, slowly, giving him every chance to back away.

Sebastian stays where he is.

“Mmm,” he hums, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, experimentally, on the soft, plump flesh. When Chris’s eyes flick down to his mouth instantly, homing in on it like an eagle on its prey, Sebastian decides to take a chance.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian says huskily, stepping closer under Chris’s dark, watchful gaze. “Why don’t you give me a tour and show me which bedroom used to be yours-” he comes to a halt right in front of Chris, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “and maybe you’ll find out just how much I can take, hm?”

For a moment, Sebastian holds his breath, praying he read this thing right and didn’t accidentally sexually harass a virtual stranger – but then Chris growls and surges forward, and Sebastian knows his gamble is about to pay off.

Big time.

Merry Christmas to me, Sebastian thinks wildly, just before Chris claims his mouth in a searing kiss. After that, he stops thinking altogether.

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#evanstan #rpf #my fic #my writing #chris evans x sebastian stan #3k celebration

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miraculousluvbug · 3 years

Text

WINGLESS | Ch. 5

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: Plagg panics because Lila's the devil incarnate and Lila learns that Gabriel Agreste is far stupider than he seems.

Adrien fondly flicked through the pages of The Pun-thagorean Theorem (Making Math Funny!) textbook. Plumes of dust wafted up his nostrils, causing his eyes to squint and his mouth to contort into the longest face known to man to avoid a hacking fit, but he smiled afterward nonetheless. The book was withered beyond measure, sure, but within its decaying jacket, it held the fleeting whispers of a previous life. A life before his mother went missing. When she enjoyed teaching him math with puns and pieces of candy while his father clung to the confines of closed doors. When her jokes graced the halls and her smiles left behind a fog of golden joy in her wake.

Adrien’s heart thudded with longing.

But he was determined to push back the feelings he had kept buried deep, deep, deep within his heart. So deep that he often forgot they were even there until they reared their ugly heads like a Hydra from the deepest recesses of the sea. Every time he thought he dealt with it, thought he had cut off its head and could breathe for just a second, two heads sprouted in its stead, determined to grip him by the ankles with their jagged teeth and force him to drown in his debilitating lack of self-worth.

He shook his head violently, as if that could shed him of his intrusive thoughts.

Hopefully, this book would help Lila. And then she’d leave. And then he could skip the anime and just take a fat nap. Keeping the Hydra at bay was exhausting.

Correcting his posture, Adrien approached his classmate, noticing straight away she had moved to his desk chair. Odd. But he was willing to roll with it.

Ha. Get it? Desk chair. Roll with it.

He pursed his lips, trying to hold back his laughter at himself.

Kagami had called him a clown, but Ladybug, as it turned out, appreciated his sense of humor. And if Lady-friggin’-bug--Commander of Wit and Creative Mastermind--thought he was funny, he must have been a damn comedic prodigy.

Plagg recognized that love-struck look on Adrien’s face and had to physically restrain himself from making barf noises.

“Are you ready to start, Lila?” Adrien said. Oblivious to Adrien’s whereabouts, Lila started and spun to greet him. (Was he always that quiet on his feet?)

“Adrien! You found the book.”

“Yep! Why don’t you take a look at it before we start?” Adrien smiled as he passed the book to her.

Lila returned the smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Adrien idly wondered if she had ever meant a smile in her life. She pinched the book between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a moldy sock. “Wow, Adrien, this book is so . . .”

A silence lingered as Lila racked her vocabulary for a word less insulting than crusty.

“Old?” Adrien offered, tilting his head.

Lila tittered unenthusiastically. “Yes, old.” She draped the book onto Adrien’s desk and poked at it. “How long have you, um, had it?”

“It’s been in the family a while.” Adrien hesitated. He didn’t really want to mention his mother to Lila. Lila was poisonous. She spun every piece of information she caught into a sticky web of lies like it was second nature. He didn’t know if he could stomach hearing lies about his mother.

So he bit down on the story of his mom before it could tumble from his lips. Even though he so badly wanted to tell anyone who would listen. His father never afforded him the opportunity to speak about her. His friends at school avoided the topic like the plague.

Come to think of it, Marinette was the only one of his friends who tried to help him see her movie that fateful day the press tried to pass her as his girlfriend. (Which he wouldn’t have minded, honestly, but she always seemed hellbent on them being just friends, so he accepted it.)

Ladybug, the other important person in his life, saw his mother on his desktop during that one akuma attack and commented on her smile. Those two girls (er--women? Which term was more respectful?) were the only people he truly felt safe around. Safe enough to turn his back on the Hydra he always kept a watchful, tired eye on and just enjoy the breeze of the ocean as it caressed his cheeks and messed up his perfect hair.

No, the subject of his mother wouldn’t scare them away. They could handle it.

But Lila was no Ladybug, and she definitely was no Marinette.

Behind them, Plagg was practically pulling his antennae out. It had been at least eight, maybe ten minutes since the akuma alert and his kid was none the wiser. And it really didn’t help that he just saw Ladybug and Rena Rouge pass by Adrien’s gigantic glass wall in a blur of red and orange.

But it was hopeless! He couldn’t get the message to Adrien without being seen!

Or . . .

Or could he?

“‘What’s Pythagoras’ favorite instrument?’” Lila read aloud. Her eyes darted over to the blonde leaning against the desk beside her. He bit his lip and his eyes were doing something weird. She had never seen that emotion on him.

“Go on,” Adrien pushed, his eyes practically sparkling. Huh. Was that emotion . . . eagerness?

She cleared her throat and turned the book upside down to read the answer awaiting her at the bottom of the page.

“‘A triangle.’”

Adrien giggled. What he wanted to do was slap his knee and let the whole world know he found it funny with a booming laughter that rivaled Tom Dupain-Cheng’s, but he knew that was un-gentlemanly.

Lila quirked an eyebrow.

Adrien sobered immediately. “You know,” he tried. “Since a triangle is an instrument and the theorem is about right triangles.”

Lila’s stare was unrelenting.

Adrien coughed. “So the triangle is his . . . favorite instrument.”

Lila stared for a bit longer than necessary before letting out a glaringly obvious fake laugh. Adrien was more offended that she thought that laugh was believable than that she didn’t find the pun funny at all. “Ha. That’s, like, so funny, Adrien. I can tell already that this book is going to be a big help.”

Adrien’s shoulders drooped a little. He hadn’t expected her to fall to the ground in ceaseless mirth, but he hadn’t thought her to be such a brick wall either. “Right. Well, why don’t we start with number one? Do you have your notebook or do you need a spare piece of pap--?”

The sound of the television coming to life cut Adrien’s question short. Lila’s eyes bulged out of her head and the sight would have been comical had it not also meant that Plagg was being a nuisance. Again.

But honestly, when was he not?

Lila burst from her seat and sprinted to the television. “Were you standing on the remote or something?” Lila queried, her voice high-pitched and grating to Adrien’s ears.

Adrien scratched the back of his neck. Think, think, think . . .

“Um, my room is haunted?”

Lila gawked at him wordlessly, gripping the back of his sofa. “You posted something about that on Instagram, but I thought you were, I don’t know? Making it up?”

Because you would be an expert on that, right, Lila?

Adrien plucked the remote from the coffee table and pointed it at the television, his thumb barely brushing the power button when the words from the newscaster reached his ears and sent chills down his spine.

“New akuma . . .”

“Ladybug and Rena Rouge on the scene . . .”

“Chat Noir yet to be spotted . . .”

Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. Furrowing his brow, he ran to his phone and ogled its empty notification list. Why hadn’t he received an akuma alert? Was the Ladyblog acting buggy?

Adrien had to come up with an alibi and fast. Lie like the wind, Bullseye.

He scooped up his cherished pun textbook and shepherded Lila to his bedroom door despite her protests. “I’m so sorry, Lila! I, uh, just remembered I have to practice piano for an extra hour today.” The television droned on about the deadly, unstoppable, mind-controlling, threateningly large, new akuma behind him. The hair on Adrien’s neck stood up with every added adjective.

“You’re not seriously sending me out into the city where the akuma is?” Lila exclaimed.

Oh. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Um, sorry, Lila, but I’m sure you’ll be fine! You’re Ladybug’s best friend, right? She’d never let anything happen to you.” Adrien smirked inwardly at that. Lila was failing miserably at hiding her disgust for his spotted partner when he shut the door--politely--in her face.

Quickly, he propped up his phone on the piano and navigated to his voice memo app.

“I deserve extra cheese,” Plagg drawled, hovering to the side of Adrien.

“For nearly exposing yourself to Lila?” Adrien remarked bitterly.

Plagg narrowed his eyes. “No, for figuring out how to get your attention when Lila was clearly undermining you!”

Adrien stopped dead in his tracks. His finger hovered above his latest piano recording while his mind raced. “What do you mean, Plagg? I didn’t get an akuma alert. That’s not her fault.”

Plagg scoffed. “Uh, you did get an akuma alert. That--that menace got rid of it!” Plagg folded his arms across his chest, clearly much angrier than he would ever admit. “She got rid of the notification so you wouldn’t see. Even when she doesn’t know she’s doing it, she’s sabotaging Ladybug! You can’t let her in your room anymore, Adrien.”

Adrien stiffened. So Lila was far worse than he gave her credit for. He wouldn’t underestimate her again. Harmless snooping, he could live with. Interfering with him protecting his lady? Unforgivable. She did that when he was Chat Noir and he thought he had learned his lesson.

Apparently not.

“We’ll talk about this more later, Plagg,” Adrien finally decided. A moment later, the soft melody of a piano piece danced around the room. His eyes wandered to the whiteboard on his wall that had twelve tally marks souring its otherwise pristine surface. Plagg followed his gaze and looked back at his kid with a frown and drooping brows, tail and antennae betraying his melancholy.

Adrien pointedly ignored Plagg’s Pity™ look. “Ladybug’s already cleansed an akuma twelve times without needing my help. Let’s not let there be a thirteenth. Claws out!”

Meanwhile, from the other side of Adrien’s door, Lila simmered, jaw clenched, mouth dry. She didn’t have an inkling why Adrien had concocted such a ridiculous excuse, but she was ninety percent sure it had something to do with Ladybug.

It always came back to that impudent roach.

Lila dragged her feet all the way to the main staircase with every intention to vacate the Agreste premises, but a quick sweep of the mainroom revealed the bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. And interestingly enough, neither was that dreadfully stoic assistant Adrien was so fond of. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen her when she first entered.

Empty. The room was deliciously empty.

And Lila had never seen the inside of Gabriel’s office.

Smirking, she decided she would have to correct that.

Just in case she got caught, Lila inconspicuously flitted around the room in an attempt to appear like she wasn’t on a mission. She fawned over trinkets and leisurely “admired” the boring paintings accosting the walls before her twitching fingers rested on the door handle.

She waited with an ear pressed against the wood. Silence had never tasted sweeter.

The room was . . . well, it left something to be desired.

Wasn’t Gabriel supposed to be a fashion icon?

His interior design made her want to gouge out her eyes with a plastic spork.

Lila gingerly let the door fall into place behind her, the hinges creaking only slightly (a billionaire or whatever he was could afford to professionally oil his door, she assumed) before her feet carried her to a mustard yellow tapestry. The woman adorning it she recognized was Adrien’s mother. The photos of Adrien to her right were all edited from photoshoots. Perfect. Unblemished.

Lila supposed she could overlook Adrien’s pitiful sense of humor. Adrien was still great eye candy, and his reputation made him an even tastier prize.

The scent of cologne and disinfectant mingled, battling each other for dominance and the result was only a bit nauseating. Orange light seeped in from the windows, the tendrils of luminance touching everything in the room but the wall with the tapestry. It was golden hour apparently.

Unable to help herself, Lila brushed her fingers along the edges of Gabriel’s touchscreen, searching, searching. Ah. There. A ridge. A power button, perhaps? With the tip of her fingernail, she pressed it and . . .

Of course, the thing would be password protected.

Maybe Adrien’s birthday?

Wait. Did she even know Adrien’s birthday?

Lila shrugged and turned on her heel. She was curious, but odds were she would never be able to guess Monsieur Agreste’s password. Unless . . .

Slowly pivoting to face the screen again, she tried typing something crazy and, albeit, a little stupid.

There was just no way. It was a waste of time to even try.

She tapped a green enter button.

The waiting screen consisted of the outline of a butterfly slowly being filled in and then repeating. Interesting. She wouldn’t have pegged Gabriel to be a butterfly guy. But if she thought about it really, reeeeally hard, she could just barely recall a few designs Adrien had modeled that sported a butterfly-like logo.

But whatever. This butterfly waiting screen meant nothing. There was still no way.

There was absolutely no way the password to the great fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste’s personal computer was “password.”

Was there?

She idly tapped her nails on the screen, the clack-clack-clack echoing around her in the frustratingly barren room. The anticipation ate away at her until . . .

Bingo. The screen unlocked, and the light shining on Lila transitioned from the black of the waiting screen to the blue of a schematic.

Lila snorted. “Seriously? I’m no Max but even I know that’s the most brainless password known to man.”

Closer inspection led to a fascinating revelation. The schematic wasn’t actually for a building or even a design. There were photos of her classmates and their . . .

Their hero personas? Interesting. Could he have been planning a Superhero line? How did he even find out their identities?

Wow, there was Nino as Carapace and that one girl Kagami as Ryuko. Max as some horse-looking hero she honestly had never seen in her life. Kim as a monkey. Unsurprising. Some guy with blue highlights who she’d only seen around Marinette. And Alya . . . as Rena Rouge.

Lila clenched her fists. Her nails left indentations in her palms.

She didn’t have time to stew over this infuriating morsel of information, however, before the floor beneath her began to tremble. Wasting no time, she sprinted to the middle of the room and was surprised to find the floor now still. Had she imagined the earth quaking?

What sounded like mechanical whirring had her spinning on her heel to face the painting. Her jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of a hole in the previously-unmarred tile. From the dark pit rose one bonafide, Barney-colored supervillain, his back facing her.

“Nooroo, dark wings fall.”

Instantly, a waterfall of purple and white glitter illuminated the room. The light was so intense, Lila had to lift her arms and shield her retinas. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribcage.

Any sane person would have run away at the sight of a supervillain in their classmate’s mansion.

But not Lila.

Lila quite liked Hawk Moth. She more than shared his distaste for the superhero duo and was overjoyed whenever he graced her with the opportunity to fight them as an akuma.

She was even more overjoyed to find out her boss and Hawk Moth were not just cut from the same cloth . . .

They were the same cloth.

The man otherwise known as Gabriel Agreste stood before her, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

His shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he grumbled, “Blasted children. I’ll get your Miraculous one of these days--”

“Um, Master?” a tiny voice interrupted.

Lila had never seen such a thing. Was that a bug? A fairy?

“What is it, Nooroo?”

Upon Nooroo’s silence, Gabriel turned around and was incapable of hiding the shock on his face when he found Lila Rossi trespassing in his office.

“How much did you see?” he demanded, scowling.

Lila tittered behind her hand. “Even if I hadn’t seen everything, Hawk Moth, I’d still be asking you what on Earth that thing is.” She jabbed a manicured finger at Nooroo.

Upon seeing his computer on and unlocked, Gabriel lifted his chin and sneered at the fifteen year old girl who had evidently outsmarted him.

Understanding, Lila shook her head. “You really are a boomer,” she mused. “‘Password’ is the least intelligent password you could have picked.”

“I thought it was clever, Master,” Nooroo meekly added.

Desperate to get control of the situation, Gabriel folded his hands behind his back and stood until he was at his full height. “So now you know.” He dared not move from higher ground. “I can’t imagine you thought it’d be smart to confront an adult man who’s shown he has nothing to lose.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have, like, a son?”

Gabriel’s gaze was unrelenting.

Lila almost pitied the oblivious blonde boy. “Whatever. I just wanted to snoop around your office. I couldn’t have possibly dreamed a juicier secret. Paris’s beloved and esteemed fashion designer doubling as its masked terrorist?”

Gabriel bristled.

Feigning nonchalance, Lila perched upon one of Gabriel’s long purple benches and crossed one leg over the other before leaning an elbow on her knee and resting her cheek in her palm. Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Scandalous.”

“I could make your life a living hell, young lady,” Gabriel began, but Lila held up a hand, halting him in his tracks.

“No need to get defensive, Monsieur. You have nothing to fear from me.” Lila stood then and crossed the room to stand on equal footing with Gabriel. While the top of her head was far beneath the man she addressed, her confidence made her a formidable contender. She leaned forward and peered up at him. “In fact, I want to help.”

Gabriel’s fingers twitched. He knew she liked getting akumatized, but this was unexpected. His initial reaction was to shut it down. This should have never happened. He had to ensure her silence but keep her far from involved.

His curiosity, however, got the better of him. He was a businessman at heart, after all.

“Help how?” he pressed.

Lila smiled crookedly.

Hook.

“You’ve akumatized me before and we’ve caused great chaos together.” Lila fiddled with one of her foxtails as she circled Gabriel. “Can you imagine if we actually strategized an akuma?”

“Are you implying my previous akuma were unplanned?”

Line.

“Not at all!” Lila mended, already sensing that Gabriel’s pride was a sore spot. “But you catch your victims when they’re unhinged, laden with their own emotions. How many times has an akuma put their own needs before yours?”

Lila turned her back on Gabriel then and moseyed toward the benches once more. She let her hand trail along the fabric of the cushions, waiting for him to take the bait . . .

“I’m listening.”

Sinker.

“What if your akuma’s goals were aligned with yours? Everything would be calculated. Predisposed. And--” Lila couldn’t prevent the smile from bleeding into her voice “--I’ve never had a sentimonster assist me before.” Lila stopped moving but remained facing the window. The sun was nearly set now.

Heels clacked against the tile. Approaching. Lila steeled herself.

“I don’t suppose you’ll join my assistant and I out in the gardens, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

Lila grinned from ear to ear. Oh, she could just imagine the taste of Ladybug’s fear when she loomed over her, fingers pinching her earrings and just ripping them from her lobes. Would the joy blooming in her heart be overwhelming, like a banana overpowering the flavors in a smoothie? Or would it slide down her throat like her mother’s hot chocolate? Rich, creamy, satisfying, and scalding all at the same time . . . but faintly nipping at her vocal cords from the traces of cinnamon?

Was it unbecoming to hope Ladybug’s ears would bleed?

“I would love to.”

Unbecoming or not, it was her greatest desire, from both the deepest and shallowest crevices of her soul.

-----

I just released Chapter 7 over on AO3, so if you're itching for more, go check it out here and leave me some love in the comments. Comments are jet fuel for my creativity 🥰 Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

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fallenfurther · 3 years

Text

Homecoming

This is a story I’ve been planning for over a year and finally feel readyish to post it. This first chapter has been reread about ten times so it’s about time to release it. It introduces the main OC for the story, which will spend the next fifteen chapters exploring Jeff’s return to earth before Josie comes back into play.

Thank you @misssquidtracy for being my cheerleader, this would be no where near as far written if you hadn’t enjoyed it so.

I hope you enjoy chapter one, which is set between Series 2 and 3.

AO3 and FFN

First Impressions

Josie stood outside the hall and took a deep breath. You can do this, she thought, you already have the invite for the invite only event. They might be the big bosses, the people who matter, but you matter too. You just have to network. Don't sell yourself short.

She steeled herself again and swallowed. She really didn't belong here. London was a long way from the compassionate community she grew up with in Scotland. But the idea of getting stuck there and never fulfilling her dreams made her determined, despite the imposter syndrome that plagued her. She looked down at herself and tried to feel comfortable. They were her smartest clothes: a black pencil skirt, blouse with frilly collar and a fitted, thanks to Nancy's excellent seamstress skills, suit jacket. They were all high street brands which wouldn't compare to the designer suits and dresses she'd be mingling with. The only saving grace was the simple diamond chain around her neck. Worth more to Josie than anyone would know, and it gave her the courage she needed. Brushing down her jacket and holding her head high she strode forwards.

She had been so fixated on herself that she almost bumped into a mature couple. Josie stumbled out an apology and let them in first. Flustered, and having lost any semblance of confidence, she entered the room.

****

Another networking event, this time forced on him by Lady Penelope. Scott scouted out the room as he sipped his Scotch. Many eyes were on the two Tracy brothers, all wanting but not yet daring, to approach. The power of his presence in a room of businessmen never ceased to amaze him.

"Found someone you like yet?" Gordon chimed cheerfully from beside him, though Scott knew him well enough to hear the bored undertone. Penelope had invited Gordon and of course he had said yes, his brother absolutely smitten with the lady. Scott shook his head. Events like this maintained Tracy Industries reputation, though they also gave Scott his player reputation. It was an easy place to pick up a girlfriend or let off some steam. Scott surveyed the room again. Within sight there were a few women who appealed to him.

"I don't always leave with someone."

Scott took a sip of his drink.

"Oh, so you're not the ever-successful ladies’ man we thought you were?" Gordon teased.

"Well, I didn't say that." Scott chuckled. "I just don't always want company."

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. I bet you've had many failed conquests. You just don't want to admit it."

Scott shook his head. "You believe what you want, Gordon."

"Bet you can't get a random woman to sleep with you," Gordon challenged.

Scott bit his lip, trying not to rise to Gordon's bait. Yes, Scott had been planning to find some company for the evening, but a bet? He shouldn't sink to that. Thankfully, the CEO of a small engineering company that had worked with Tracy Industries a year ago strolled over. Scott slipped into CEO mode and exchanged the required pleasantries and confirmed that they were considering working with their company again, before one last handshake.

"So, the Great Scott Tracy is backing down from a challenge?"

Scott rolled his eyes. Gordon was bored and just trying to find a way to entertain himself, but Scott did like a challenge. What's the worst that could happen? With a sigh, he gave in.

"What are the stakes?"

"If you can't seduce the woman I pick, then you give the swimming pool its biannual clean."

"And if I win, you are on deck lounger duty for a month."

“Deal.”

Gordon held out his hand and Scott shook it. He knew this was a bad idea, but it

would liven up the evening a little, and Scott was in the mood for a little fun. Something to help him relax after a tough week. His brother’s eyes scouted the room looking for the ideal candidate. The smirk that appeared on Gordon’s face worried him.

“The next woman to walk through the door.”

Scott raised his eyebrow. It was a gamble, but Scott understood why Gordon had

done it. He nodded and took a sip of his drink. Both men had their eyes on the door. A few people left, but no one entered. When the door finally opened, they both held their breath. An older couple entered, their outfits and demeanour radiating their importance. A quick sideward glance at Gordon confirmed he was holding back a laugh. Scott sighed before looking back toward the couple. Behind them the door opened again and in walked a lone woman.

“That one, the nervous blond.” Gordon announced.

A nod from Scott and he accepted the challenge. His eyes surveyed the woman. She was young, probably about Virgil’s age, and she definitely looked uncomfortable. Her clothing was smart and fitted her well, but he could tell they weren’t the high end fashion that many were wearing that evening. Her hair was loose, brushing down past her shoulders, and there was nothing wrong with her features. She had the kind of appearance most people would look over, including himself, for someone more striking. Scott started to formulate a strike plan. He knew he had to avoid overwhelming her, she probably wouldn’t be expecting to get the attention he was going to give her. He turned back to his brother; whose attention had turned to something else. Scott followed Gordon’s gaze to see Lady Penelope with a tall man, laughing away. The man was obviously flirting with the aristocrat. The clenched jaw and stiffened stance of the aquanaut gave in to jealousy he was feeling. Without a second thought, Gordon strolled over to the gathering and joined in, a fake smile plastered his face. Scott shook his head, before turning back to his target.

****

The glass was chilled in her hand, and Josie took a sip of the non-alcoholic mojito with the hopes it would help steady her nerves. Practicing her breathing techniques briefly, she turned around only to come face to chest with someone. She was flustered again and felt heat rise in her cheeks. Her eyes fell on the man in front of her and her heart jumped.

She froze. Her instincts put her on high alert. This man looked like trouble, and she had just made contact with his deep blue eyes. He smiled at her, dimples deepening in his cheeks when he did so. Mind over body, mind over body, she repeated in her head. It was the intensity he gave off, the way he held himself like he was in control. He hadn't been surprised by her almost bumping into him. He'd know she was there and hadn't moved. She'd seen this before at university, she'd learnt the signs from experience. But still, why did they always have to be attractive? Why did they always gravitate to her? Josie rolled her shoulders back and gave him a brief nod.

“Excuse me.” Josie smiled politely, ducking as gracefully as she could past him.

“I’ve not seen you here before.”

Josie paused. His deep voice demanded her attention. She was here to network, at least she could get him over and done with. She could keep her cool, watch out for his game. Josie was wiser now. She turned around and held out her hand.

“Josie McNelly, engineer for Taybrooke Aeronautics, Satellite division.”

He shook her hand firmly. The man looked familiar, though she couldn't place where from.

“Scott Tracy, CEO of Tracy Industries.”

That explained the familiarity. She smile grew as she thought of her brother’s prized

poster of Jeff Tracy which had hung above his bed. Josie could see the resemblance

to the astronaut. Same eyes for certain. She'd been shocked at the sudden loss of the great Jeff Tracy. Not that her brother had ever met him, but the astronaut had been such a big part of their childhood. Especially the fights over who was greater, her admiration for Neil Armstrong was still just as strong. The memories threw her, and suddenly she had no idea what to say next. How do you network again? What do you talk about with the CEO of Tracy Industries, one of the best engineering companies in the world? Facts about the company filled Josie's head and thankfully one stood out.

"Tracy Industries doesn't have a UK branch, so may I ask what brings you to London?"

Josie took a deep breath as the man paused; glad she could make an impression. She congratulated herself while remembering what she was here to do. She'd failed to get a job at Tracy Industries on multiple occasions, maybe this could be a way in. She almost laughed at herself. The CEO was unlikely to care for someone as low down the pecking order as she. Part of her wanted to try, just in case. If people less qualified could get experience and jobs over her by knowing the right people, maybe she could too. That was why she was here, to get the contacts so she could play their game.

"You've done your research. Tracy Industries works with some UK based companies that are represented here tonight, and the event is being hosted by a good friend of mine. I've not heard of Taybrooke Aeronautics before, care to give me some insight?"

His strikingly blue eyes gazed down at her with sincerity. It threw Josie to see it in someone she suspected of having ulterior motives, however she'd tried to keep her cool. Staying wary, she engaged with him.

"Taybrooke Aeronautics is a small Scottish company. It started with plane design and manufacturing then branched out into satellites and astronautical technology. It's well known for its niche and unique satellite designs. It's entirely based in Scotland and has various sites throughout the country."

"Have they done anything I might have heard of?"

"Have you heard of Global One?"

"The GDF's space station."

"Yes, the thrusters that keep it in orbit are a product of Taybrooke Aeronautics. They are actually my design."

"Your design? Aren't they normally developed by a team of engineers."

The surprise on Mr Tracy's face was priceless. It wasn't the first time people were shocked by what Josie could do, and she was planning to make sure it wasn't the last. If she wanted to become a big name rocket designer, she was going to have to blow a few minds.

"The initial design was mine, obviously other engineers had input over materials and the like, but the actual design hasn't changed much. Taybrooke owns the patent, but my name is on it, so you can check it if you don't believe me. They aren't the only thing I've designed that's currently on orbit. Two of my resistojet rockets were used in some private satellites that were launched late last year."

Josie refused to hide her pride. Her family was proud of her achievements even if they didn't understand them. It was why she was here, to continue making them proud of her. She and her brother had had a dream and she was going to fulfil it if she could.

"That's impressive. Have you considered applying for a role in the Tracy Industries aeronautical department? I'm sure we are always in need of people with your kind of skills."

Josie took a deep breath. She wanted to believe Mr Tracy. Every engineer wanted a job at Tracy Industries, it was considered one of the industry leads and had fantastic employee benefits. The company was known worldwide for taking care of its workforce, but she had never made the cut. Neither did she believe this man would remember her beyond today. It was time to end this conversation and see if anyone here might actually be interested in hiring an engineer. Josie met his gaze and prepared to say her piece.

"I have applied for various aeronautical and astronautical roles at Tracy Industries since graduating. I've been called to interview twice, one at the European branch in Germany and another at the Japanese branch. Both times I was turned away for lack of experience. The Japanese branch didn't believe I would fit in with the company's culture and the European job was given to the son of one of the employees. It appears that I’m currently not what Tracy Industries is seeking. It’s been interesting talking with you Mr Tracy, but I have just spotted someone that I would really like to speak with, so if you’d kindly excuse me. Have a pleasant rest of the evening.”

Josie turned and strode away from Mr Tracy. She headed into the crowd, not looking back, keeping her eyes open for the people she'd flagged on the short guest list she had managed to obtain. There were representatives here that might help get her into the industry. Not that she wouldn't stop applying to Tracy Industries jobs, a girl could dream, but she was realistic. Josie knew she had to work her way up and she needed to make the right contacts.

****

Scott watched Josie walk away. She weaved into the crowd and disappeared from his sight. Gordon had lucked out and this bet was going to be harder than he thought. Miss McNelly may be nervous, but there was something beneath her words and her guard was up. He would have to change his approach, and unfortunately, he couldn't use Tracy Industries as bait. Josie wanted a job and she seemed to believe Tracy Industries didn't want her. Even if he could promise her a job, he was sure she wouldn't believe him. Scott was so used to women warming to him, swooning over his smile, and in many cases excited by the prospect of spending the evening with someone from International Rescue. Josie hadn't even mentioned it or made an indication that she knew he was part of the elusive organisation. Scott headed to the bar and ordered another scotch. He lent against the polished wood, swirling the drink in thought. He had to get her to lower her guard, to open up. His eyes hit the crowd and he sighed. Scott knew he was going to have to take the plunge.

Almost an hour later and Scott hadn't been able to get close to Miss McNelly. He'd glimpsed her but being in the crowd meant he had to be polite to the other attendees, especially those who the company did business with. Duty called without the usual klaxon that echoed through the villa. Although Scott did want to be rescued from the current conversation; fisheries in the Atlantic were more Gordon's realm. He inspected the room, going from head to head in search of Miss McNelly. He easily spotted Gordon, standing next to Lady Penelope who was conversing with a young businessman. At least his brother wasn't having much luck either. Continuing, he spotted Mr Sandip with whom he'd had a pleasant conversation with at a previous gala. Excusing himself, Scott headed over to the man, but as he neared, Scott got a glimpse of whom he was talking to. Josie's hands were moving as she described something, and as he stepped up to the pair, he could hear the enthusiasm in her voice. There was a sparkle in her grey eyes that hadn't been there previously.

"Mr Tracy! How good to see you again? How have you been?"

Mitchell Sandip had spotted him out of the corner of his eye and had turned to offer him a hand, which Scott took with a smile.

"I'm very well, thank you, though I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Yes, well, the representative from the engineering department that was meant to attend became unwell. With so few people free to come, I drew the short straw. Though, seeing you has greatly improved my night."

Scott laughed at the accountant, his friendly demeanour had charmed Scott last time they had met.

"Now, Mr Tracy, have you met Miss McNelly? She has quite the head for numbers. Unfortunately, she's not after an accounting job otherwise I'd snap her up before anyone else could!"

Scott turned to the woman in question, eyebrow raised. Head for numbers, well she was an engineer. He watched her straight up and nod politely at him.

"I'm rather good with calculations.”

Mitchell's hand landed on Scott's arm, drawing his attention away from Miss McNelly. The shorter man's hazel eyes peered up at him full of excitement.

"She's being incredibly modest, Mr Tracy. I was certain someone was pilfering funds, and after a week I managed to work out who and how, but I hadn't mentioned it to anyone yet. I’ve just finished collecting all the evidence and sent it to HR. Well, I was just discussing yearly finances with Mr Yang over there, and I was just throwing a lot of numbers about, as you do, trying to show off, when Miss McNelly pipes up saying my calculations are wrong. I told her they weren't, and she said they had to be unless someone was swindling money. I was shocked that she could work it out like that, then she rattled off her calculations faster than anything. Like I said, I hadn’t told anyone and Miss McNelly here was able to work it out in minutes. Obviously, I had to confirm this wasn’t just a one off, so Mr Yang and I rattled a few numbers off, and Josie performed the calculations there and then. All in her head and fast as can be. It was incredible!"

Scott turned with Mitchell back to Miss McNelly. There was a proud smile on her face, even if he could see that she was still nervous. Her fingers were playing gently with the hem of her jacket.

"I've always been fast with numbers."

"Are you certain you don't want to be an accountant?"

Miss McNelly laughed, a blush coming to her cheeks.

"As I told the Professor during my interview at Cambridge, when he asked why I was pursuing a career in engineering over mathematics; for me mathematics is easy. I don't want to be bored. I want to be challenged."

A cheeky grin graced Josie's lips, obviously warming to Mitchell's easy charm. It was hard not to smile around Mitchell, the man had a unique manner that just set people at ease.

"How about a drink then?"

“Fantastic idea, Mr Tracy. I’m sure Miss McNelly is in need of one too.”

Scott beckoned over a waiter, who swiftly moved around the other attendees to reach them.

"I'll have a sherry, if you don't mind."

"I'll have a Scotch please. What would you like, Miss McNelly, another mojito?"

Josie hesitated a moment and seemed to become uneasy, her fingers returning to her hem.

"Another mojito would be lovely, thank you."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you."

Scott dismissed the waiter, still intrigued by Miss McNelly. There was so much to uncover, and although he was starting to feel that he'd be cleaning the pool next week, he hadn't given up. Mitchell was just the person he needed to help break down those walls of hers.

"So, a Cambridge graduate then? I've a friend who did engineering at Cambridge university."

"Yes, it's a fantastic institution. It took me a year to find my feet, but I thrived once I did. Did you visit your friend while he was there?"

Scott chuckled slightly at the thought of visiting Brains at university. His father hadn't met the man yet and he would have been a kid himself.

"No, I never got the chance."

"That's a shame. It's like a world of its own. All the best equipment within old buildings and traditions which go back centuries. Although it was fun at the start, with all the formal dinners and dressing up in your gown, it does get a little mundane after the umpteenth time. Sure, it's a three course meal with wine from some excellent chefs, but you can't eat that rich food every day and it's expensive. I could keep myself fed and watered for a week for the price of two evening meals!"

"I must admit, I didn't make the best decisions when it came to food during my first years in the Air Force."

Scott thought back to the instant noodles and takeaways he'd indulged in on the weekends. The freedom that came with not having to eat Grandma's home cooking had been liberating. Though he did eventually learn to cook a few simple dishes during his time in the Air Force.

"Most of us make bad choices at university. It comes with being young and free."

There was a sadness in her tone and her face dimmed slightly. What mistakes had this woman made that she regretted? Did it have something to do with the guard she hid behind? She put on a forced smile, and he knew he had to keep her engaged. Unfortunately, Lady Penelope and Gordon decided to make their entrance to the group.

"Oh! Why hello Lady Penelope, and you are…."

Mitchell held out his hand to Gordon, who shook it with his usual amount of enthusiasm. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott caught the movement of Miss McNelly's hand. She was once again fiddling with her jacket.

"Gordon Tracy."

"Ahhh, Mr Tracy's brother. I see the resemblance now."

Scott hid his laugh behind a grin, though he caught Miss McNelly’s eyes darting between him and Gordon. He wondered if she was picking up on the same resemblance. Scott watched as Lady Penelope, and then Gordon, introduced themselves. The drinks they had ordered arrived, and Scott noted the way Miss McNelly took a tentative sip of the drink. The small talk started, though Scott caught the small sips she took frequently, as a way to keep herself busy. She was definitely out of her element, which might explain why her guard was up. He listened in, gaining snippets of information about the woman. Gordon was keen to keep her chatting, probably as a way of distracting her from him, thus improving the chances Scott was going to lose the bet. After a while, Miss McNelly politely excused herself. Scott watched as she headed in the direction of the bathrooms, he hoped that meant she’d be back.

“Miss McNelly is quite the interesting character, don’t you think Scott?”

Scott could see the small grin on his brother's face and the gleam in his eye that revealed to Scott the hidden meaning. Gordon thought the bet was his and he’d gotten out of his chore. Another business associate of Tracy Industries joined their group and stole Scott’s attention. Miss McNelly never returned.

****

Finally getting away from yet another business proposal, Scott headed to the bar where Gordon was perched. He lent against it and turned to survey the room with his brother.

"No success then?"

"As much as you've had with Lady Penelope."

Scott's eyes fell on Miss McNelly. She was chatting with Mitchell again. Maybe he still had a chance. Turning to the bartender he ordered a Scotch and mojito. Gordon raised his eyebrow at the order.

"One last chance. I'm not going to give in that easily."

Scott grabbed the drinks and headed toward Miss McNelly. She'd just shaken hands with Mitchell and the man had turned to chase down someone on the other side of the room. He took a breath and turned on the charm.

***

Josie watched Mr Sandip hurry after someone and smiled to herself. He'd promised to pass on her details to recruitment. She was feeling beat but was pretty pleased with her efforts. She'd sold her company and thrown out a few business cards. Hopefully she'd made her mark. The whole event hadn't been as bad as she'd expected, though that one alcoholic drink had eased her nerves a little. She was happy to have been able to keep it to one. Glancing at her watch, she confirmed it was late and she still had some travelling to do. It was time for her to leave.

"Miss McNelly, care to have a drink with me?"

Dread filled her as the familiar voice spoke from behind. Turning she immediately noticed Mr Tracy was standing between her and the exit. She took a deep breath. In the man's hands were two drinks: an amber spirit and a mojito. Her breath caught in her throat, the situation bringing her back to a night she wanted to forget.

"You got me a drink?"

She stared at the glass. She suspected it had alcohol in it, having ordered one in front of him, but what else did it contain? She couldn't confirm it wasn't spiked. Would he do that sort of thing? Save people one day, drug them the next? Rich people never made sense to her though. They defied logic.

"I thought we could chat a little more."

He held out the mojito, forcing Josie to make a choice. Did she trust the man? She looked up into his face. He had a warm smile that met his eyes and she wanted to trust him. She wanted so much to believe he was a good guy. But her fear was there, deep inside as it always was, and she couldn't. She smiled at him as she reached out her right hand and plucked the glass of what she hoped was scotch, from his grip. Josie kept her eyes locked on his as she raised the glass to her lips. The amber liquid was not one she'd tried before, probably a vintage out of her price range. She was thankful it wasn't peaty; she hates those. His mouth dropped in shock as he looked at the cocktail in his hand. Josie couldn’t help the smile as she fought not to laugh. She let the liquid roll over her tongue and down her throat.

"I'm Scottish and it's the end of the night. You never asked me what I wanted."

She locked eyes with him as the shock faded from his face. Mr Tracy glanced down at the cocktail briefly, indecision in his eyes. Josie was still on edge, ready to step back if she had to. She decided to test the water.

"Take a sip. The mojitos here are the best."

Josie challenged him. If he refused to drink it then it must be spiked. If it wasn't, there was no reason not to take a sip. His hand stayed where it was.

"I'd rather the scotch."

"This scotch is mine now, and you don't want to waste that drink now, do you?"

****

Miss McNelly's face was serious. Scott felt slightly uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. It was a challenge. For some reason, she wanted him to drink the mojito. He hadn’t expected her to take his drink and she had sipped it without grimacing. Never before had he met someone who acted as she did. Most people wanted to know more about him, most pestered about International Rescue, but not Miss McNelly. It felt like she had never warmed to him, even if she had seemed better and more relaxed during their conversation with Mitchell. Scott didn't want to drink the mojito; it was his most despised cocktail. What was this woman's game?

"No, thank you."

"Fine."

Scott was shocked again when Miss McNelly took the cocktail from him. What happened next, happened both at lightning speed and in slow motion. There was nothing Scott could do to stop it.

"Thank you for the drink, but I don't appreciate the attention you've given me. I tried to make it clear I wasn't interested."

The cocktail glass was thrust in his direction, its contents flying out at him. Ice and mint hit his face as the sticky fluid started to soak into his shirt. As if that wasn't enough Miss McNelly stood on her toes, stretched up and poured the scotch into his hair. It trickled down his neck.

“I’m not interested.”

Miss McNelly stalked past him. Scott didn't know how to react. One part of him wanted to storm after her and demand an explanation, though that would probably make things worse. This is what he gets for accepting a silly bet. He turned on his heel and headed towards the exit. Gordon was sitting at the bar and the smirk on his face became laugher as Scott approached. His brother was struggling to stay in his stool.

"I'm calling it a night."

"Sure Scott….I look forward...to watching you...clean the pool." Gordon gasped between spasms of laughter.

****

Josie bolted. She started running once she had heard the door shut. She didn't stop, not looking back and running as fast as she could to the nearest light rail station. Fear was a great motivator, and she didn't slow until she was on the platform where she gasped for breath. Josie had never been a runner. She hated it. Her eyes never left the entrance until she was on the train. Only then could she start to relax. Once in the carriage the tears started to fall. She’d overreacted. She'd made a scene. Her body shook. How stupid could she be? Slipping her phone out of her jacket she swiped up her call history and tapped the first person on the list.

****

Josie lay back on the bench. It was around the corner from the hostel she’d booked for the night. The cheapest way to stay in London was to share a bunk bed with a stranger. There was no way she could have a private conversation in a room of sleeping people, and this random street bench was the easiest option. If there was ever someone she needed right now, it was her best friend Graham. His thick Scottish accent rang out from her phone.

“Seriously Josie, ye need to stop seeing every man as a potential threat. Cannae a man just be polite?”

“I don’t suspect all men, just the ones that make me feel uncomfortable.”

“Ye said this guy was Scott Tracy, right?”

“Yes.”

“Scott Tracy, the Commander of International Rescue and pilot of Thunderbird One?”

“Maybe, I can’t remember which one flies which.”

“Hold on, ye can list every damned fact available about the Thunderbirds, but ye cannae tell me who pilots them?”

“You sound like my brother! Why should I care who flies the Thunderbird? I want to know how they fly!”

Graham rolled his eyes, and Josie couldn’t help but laugh at him. She twisted onto her front, her arm aching from holding her phone in the air.

“Well, I’ve looked him up and I think ye would have been safe to drink that mojito. Although I’ll admit that he probably was hitting on ye. According to the gossip blogs he has picked up the odd girlfriend from events like that. Not that they last long, with him spending most of his time savin' people. If ye hadn’t been so aggressive ye could be heading back to Scotland with a great story! Imagine being able to say ye slept with the pilot of Thunderbird One!”

“A. I prefer Thunderbird Three. B. I’d rather spend the night with Thunderbird One herself. C. If I’d known, I would have given him your number.”

Josie stuck her tongue out, only to watch Graham contort his face in response. They both ended up in a fit of giggles.

“At least ye still have a good story for the next campfire. Many girls have slept with Mr Thunderbird One, but I doubt many can claim they threw a drink in his face.”

A groan left Josie as she placed her forehead against the wood, breathing in its damp musk. She was never going to forget this and once it’d been passed round the town, it would definitely make its way to work. They would never let her go to another event again.

“I’m an idiot. The whole night was pointless. No one is going to want to hire me now.”

“Definitely an idiot. They only let those into private schools.”

Josie scowled at her friend, though she was fighting a smile. It was an old joke, one that Graham used when she needed to see perspective. It reminded both of them how far they had come. Even if Josie was still stuck in Scotland. She yawned at the same time as the fifteen-minute warning was announced on Graham’s end.

“Looks like we’re both in bunks tonight.”

“Righty-ho. G'night Josie.”

"G’night Grey.”

Josie was just about to end the call when Graham decided to get the last word in.

“And Jo, FYI Gordon Tracy pilots Thunderbird Four.”

Josie glared at him. The last thing she heard was Graham’s laughter as the screen went black. Cradling her phone in her hand, she stared at it, before turning her head to the sky. She couldn't see the stars that she knew were there. Josie may not have her dream job, yet, but Graham always reminded her of how lucky she was.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #original character #Gordon Tracy #Lady Penelope #gala #bet #homecoming #first impressions #there has to be a scottish character

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tomhardygf · 3 years

Text

an equine mistake 2.7k tommy/alfie

“Peaky Blinders AU where giving someone a horse counts as a courtship tradition amongst the Romanies and not knowing about it, Alfie presents Tommy with a rather beautiful stallion. The next day he has both Arthur AND Polly at his throat. Tommy enjoys the chaos.”

this is silly and dumb and i didn’t wanna bother posting on ao3! has a lot less tommy enjoying chaos and more him being absolutely bewildered. set in a world where homophobia doesn’t exist, maybe. ft: john shelby being a little asshole, alfie being a belligerent asshole, and me dunking on ollie even when there is absolutely no need for it 💖

original prompt: (x) (ty @ohmykaspbrak ✨ ur brain is powerful and huge) ohmykaspbrak’s fill: (x) read it she’s beautiful

Tommy stood on the Garrison doorstop, blinking down at the man before him. “What’s this?” He asks, fingers itching for a cigarette, but too surprised to actually reach for one.

“What’s it fucking look like, mate?” Answers Alfie, rope twined around his hand at least 5 times, as if afraid his charge were to bolt at any moment. “Recently acquired the bloody beast in a deal, and thought to myself, ‘right, who do I know who’ll take this thing off my hands’?”

“And you thought of me?”

Alfie waves his free hand in the air. “Yeah. It was either that, or put a bullet between its eyes.”

Tommy is still skeptical, but he takes a step forward. The horse that Alfie’s brought him is beautiful— fur black as night, with strong, powerful muscles shifting underneath. He moves closer, carefully considering the state of it’s health, but the eyes are bright and clear, the nose and mouth free of any signs of sick, its hooves well maintained, when he picks one up for inspection. It’s young, and it’s clearly been very well taken care of. Whoever Alfie had taken this horse off of had likely poured a great deal of money into its acquisition and it’s upkeep.

“A thoroughbred,” Alfie adds, when Tommy doesn’t respond any further. “Least, think that’s what he said. He wasn’t exactly speaking straight, had something blocking his mouth.”

Tommy makes a considering noise in reply. Alfie turning up in Birmingham tugging a horse along, no car or any of his men in sight was certainly the strangest thing to happen to him that week. He’s half expecting an ambush, for the sounds of gunfire to start hailing down on them, but nothing happens. It’s just Alfie, standing in front of him, looking as out of place on the street in front of the Garrison as Tommy ever could have imagined. The man looks more and more uncomfortable the longer Tommy doesn’t respond, so he eventually takes pity on him. “Do you want to give him a name?”

“Nah,” Alfie snorts, “I trust you can come up with something suitable for the creature.” At that, he begins to unwind the rope from his wrist, holding it out vaguely in Tommy’s direction. Tommy resists the urge to crack a smile at the discomfort still evident in the man’s posture. He’s still a bit bewildered by Alfie thinking to give him what was undeniably a gift— a stallion, of all things— but he’s sure that the man hadn’t meant anything by it.

Tommy lifts his hand to take the rope. Just as it is passing between them, the door to the Garrison swings open, John bustling his way through. He’d been in the back of the bar when Tommy’d been informed about Solomons marching down the road, and Tommy had quietly slipped out before he would be any the wiser. He stumbles to an abrupt stop at the view before him. “What’s this?” He slurs, not drunk, just confused. His eyes dart between the two men and the horse standing behind them, the look on John’s face becoming rapidly accusatory as he takes in the scene before him.

Tommy opens his mouth to speak, to give an explanation that wouldn’t make things worse for himself, but Alfie beats him to it. “Was passing through your pisshole of a city, and thought I’d stop by and drop your brother off a gift I’ve been meaning to give him.”

John’s mouth falls open, face twisting up in a mixture of confusion and outrage. He tears his eyes away from Solomons, staring directly now at Tommy. “He brought you a fucking horse?”

Tommy moves forward, the horse following along after him, docile. Tommy switches to Romani, aware of Alfie’s presence behind him. “Relax, brother. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“He’d better fucking not,” John spits, partially soothed, but shoots a glare over Tommy’s shoulder at Alfie.

“How would he know?” Tommy asks, resting a hand on John’s shoulder, face purposefully clear, despite how much he’s holding in the strange urge to laugh at the situation. “He’s Jewish. Different traditions.”

“Oi,” Alfie interrupts, stepping forward now as well. When Tommy looks over to him, he’s got his chest puffed out, looking harsh and burly. “Don’t know whatever the fuck you two are saying, but I know who you’re talkjng about, alright? Enough whispering.”

John scowls at him, unimpressed with the man. But after a moment, a new expression crosses his face, something significantly more mischievous— his anger having faded, he’s fallen back into just being his little brother. “I’m going to tell Polly about this.”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

John grins, slaps Tommy on the back. He slips back into English. “Yeah, I’m going to tell her.

“John!” Tommy hisses, but John’s already ducked out and away from him, practically skipping down the street in his excitement to cause problems. Tommy sighs as he stares after him. That’ll be something to deal with.

Alfie follows his gaze, deflating a bit now that John’s gone. “What was all that about, then?”

Tommy snorts, and he lifts a hand to pat against the horse’s flank. “It’s… one of the traditions of my people,” he murmurs, his cheeks suddenly feeling a bit warm. “The gift of a stallion represents certain… expectations.”

“Expectations?”

Tommy looks up at Alfie, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, especially at the look of bewilderment on the man. “You’ve asked me to marry you.”

Alfie follows him home. Or, more accurately, Alfie follows him back to Charlie’s Yard, to board the horse, and then he follows him home. He tells Alfie, as they walk, that there’s no need for him to follow— that it wasn’t as if he needed to explain to his family his intentions (or his lack of them), that him showing up will likely only make things worse. But Alfie is apparently determined to make a vaguely uncomfortable conversation into something much more excruciating. So Alfie’s there, at his back as he opens the front door, a dull feeling of dread filling Tommy as he hears John’s gleeful snickering from somewhere deeper in the house.

It was too much to hope that John wouldn’t find Polly before him. Far too much to hope that when John found her, that she wouldn’t already be accompanied by every single member of his immediate family. He turns the corner to the kitchen, five sets of eyes locking in on the two men as they enter.

“See?” John laughs, absolutely delighted, gesturing wildly towards Tommy and Alfie standing in the doorway.

“No,” Arthur grunts, going a bit pale.

Ada and Finn snicker behind their hands, eyes wide.

Polly just purses her lips, eyeing the two of them, considering.

“Alright, look.” Tommy steps forward into the room, shooting his younger brother a quick glare. John, unrepentant, grins back at him. “I’m sure John’s told you—.”

“That congratulations are in order?” Polly interrupts, arching a brow.

“It’s been good weather,” Ada jumps in, still giggling a bit. “Good for an outdoor ceremony.”

“Alright,” Tommy holds both his hands up, trying to quiet them down, to stifle the laughter. “No one’s proposing to anyone, you hear me?”

Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. The rest of them keep looking amused. Polly turns her gaze on Alfie, still standing behind Tommy. “So I suppose I don’t need to ask you for your intentions with my nephew, then?”

Alfie makes one of those noises he does, that deep rumbling in the back of his throat. “Well, you could ask me, right, and maybe I’d tell you, out of respect for our dear Thomas standing over there, but I’d not be sure you’d like my answer.”

Tommy looks up, frowning. He’s always overly cautious around the man, always looking for double meaning behind his words. Is what he’s said… a threat? “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Alfie moves in closer, tilting his head to the side. He lifts a hand, gesturing towards Tommy standing there. “I mean, if given the opportunity, mate, I’d love to take a run at it, but if that would mean volunteering to join in on this family of yours, I’ll have to decline, right.”

The room is silent for a moment. Just for a minute, though.

“What?” Arthur growls. Ada releases a nervous bark of laughter, eyes still wide and shining with her glee. John and Finn, sitting on either side of her, have matching expressions. Tommy just… stands there.

“Jesus Christ,” Polly murmurs, and with that, she rises to her feet. There’s a sly look to her. “Tommy, perhaps you should have a chat in private with your suitor. Best of luck to you, Mr. Solomons. Heaven knows, you’ll need it.”

The Shelby’s slowly leave the room, Arthur and John seeming particularly reluctant to leave them, for very different reasons. Arthur, on his way out, gets directly into Alfie’s face, glaring, but Alfie is as unphased by threat of direct violence as he always is.

Soon (much too soon), it’s just Tommy and Alfie stood in the room.

“What?” Tommy asks, weakly, because he still thinks there’s been some sort of misunderstanding, that he’d not interpreted what the man had said correctly, because there’s no way that Alfie actually meant it, right? Not in that way.

All Shelby’s gone, save Tommy, Alfie has the sense to look a bit more bashful than his previous bravado in the face of Arthur and Polly. “Well, wasn’t gonna just fucking… say it, alright?” He runs a large hand down his face, stroking through his beard. “Was going to be proper nice, was going to be romantic.”

Tommy coughs out a laugh, something far more nervous than he’s normally capable of. “Romantic?”

Alfie nods, twitchy and unpredictable. “Yeah. First was the horse, right? Had to give you a gift, a signal of my esteemed interest. You’re very pretty, is the thing. Makes me want to give you gifts, daft as it is. Couldn’t decide what you’d want, was between that and a razor to sew into those silly little caps of yours. Thought that might come across the wrong way, that you’d think I was threatening to cut ya.” He sighs, eyes darting up towards the ceiling. “Should’ve just gotten you the razor. How was I to know that the horse would be as good as dropping to bended knee?”

Tommy almost blushes at the turn of phrase. Alfie, with his eagle eyes, still notices. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

“That a nice thought, Tom? I’m not as young as I used to be, sweetie, knees don’t cooperate as much as I’d like them to. For someone with a mouth like yours, though, I might be persuaded to try.”

“Alright,” Tommy holds up a hand, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can go any further. He weighs his own words over in his mind, still trying to puzzle through this unprecedented situation. “So… what exactly are you saying? You…” he clears his throat, hating it before he even says it. “You want me?”

Alfie just nods, as if he sees absolutely nothing strange about the concept, as if Tommy’s just asked him if he’d like to stay for a cup of tea. “Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Oh.” Tommy nods back at him. He bites at the inside of his lip. “Okay. You. Alright.”

Alfie studies him, something shifting in his expression that Tommy instantly picks up on. Disappointment, maybe. “You don’t need to reciprocate, lad. Just say, ‘thanks, but no thanks’, and I’ll be right on my way back to Camdentown, won’t I? Daresay I won’t even do something dastardly, like charge you an extra percentage on your goods. No charge for rejection, alright?”

Tommy snorts. “No cost for hurt feelings?”

Alfie, curiously, laughs. “Different sort of cost, perhaps. Nothing I’d hold you to, though.”

It gives him pause. He’d been well on his way to formulating his rejection, on how to say it without causing any damage to their professional relationship. It’s not that he dislikes Alfie, per say. On the contrary, Tommy finds himself thinking frequently of the man, drawn to him like he’s never been drawn to anyone else, be they friend of foe. He’s strong, and broad, and interesting, and exactly the sort of man that Tommy thinks that people would be attracted to. In fact, if Tommy thinks about it for too long, he’d say that he likes Alfie very much. It’s just his first instinct is to draw away in the face of violence and uncertainty, two things of which Alfie had to offer him in spades. Especially if Alfie weren’t all that serious about this, if he’d just like to “take a run” at him, like he’d said, that was too much mystery for too little payoff. Though it’d probably be spectacular.

But… Despite his words, Alfie doesn’t seem all that interested in something quick, a one-off. The way he’s looking at him now, as if Tommy held the fate of the world in his hands certainly seems invested.

“Can I… Can I think about it?” Tommy finally decides on. There’s a tension between them, tension that is not unpleasant.

Alfie nods, expression brightening significantly. He steps forward. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you do that.” He looks so large up close, despite not being all that much bigger than Tommy, in reality. “Suppose I’ll go now, then. Give you your time to think on it. On us.”

“Alright.” Tommy manages, the words threatening to get caught in his throat as Alfie continues to approach him. It doesn’t feel menacing. It feels playful, somehow. “Best get back to Camden.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea, treacle. Left the bakery in Ollie’s incompetent hands, you see. I’d be surprised if half of London hasn’t erupted in flames left under his supervision.”

“Ollie’s not that bad,” Tommy offers, lips twisted up a small smile. Alfie takes yet another step closer. He can feel the heat radiating off of his body, the scent of rum and smoke billowing off of him.

“He has his moments.” Alfie nods, face serious, but Tommy can see the amusement in his expression. “Think he just likes to show off, whenever you’re around. Pretty eyes like that will make a man do stranger things.”

Tommy’s smile grows. “The door is behind you, Mr. Solomons.”

“Yeah, yeah it is, isn’t it?” Alfie’s eyes flicker over Tommy’s face, as if trying to memorize what he sees. “I said I’d leave you to think about it, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Tommy nods, “was very courteous of you.”

Alfie’s beard twitches with his concealed grin. “It was very courteous of me, wasn’t it? And I’ve got to check on Ollie now. So I’m leaving.”

“You’re doing a poor job of it.”

“Alright! Alright, I’m going.” Alfie rubs a hand through his whiskers. “Just want to leave you with one more thing to think about, if that’s alright with you.”

“If what’s alright with me—”

Tommy is quickly cut off by Alfie leaning in the final few inches between them, capturing his mouth in a kiss. Alfie’s lips are warm against his, firm and insistent. There’s a hand holding onto his chin, tilting Tommy’s face in exactly the right position to be kissed properly. Tommy’s surprised by it, and surprised by how he melts, how he allows himself to be held onto, his eyes fluttering closed against his volition.

All too quickly, Alfie darts away, ending the kiss far too soon for Tommy’s liking. He opens his eyes again just in time to see Alfie licking his own lips, as if tasting for anything Tommy might have left behind. The man’s fingers, still holding onto his chin, run soothingly up the length of his jaw before he drops the hand once again to his side.

“Alright.” Alfie grins. “I’ll be off then. You give that a bit of thought, Tom.”

“Oh,” Tommy chokes out, body flustered and reeling from the kiss, and from Alfie’s quick withdrawal. By the time he’s managed to pull himself together a bit, Alfie’s already at the door.

The man glances back over his shoulder. He’s still smiling, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “See you soon, sweetie.” With that, he’s out the door.

Tommy stands there, listening to the door swing shut behind Alfie. He lifts a hand up to his own face, traces over the place where Alfie’s hand had touched him, then over where his lips are still tingling with the memory of the kiss. His blood pumps hot through his veins, heart racing.

He stumbles over his own feet in his haste to get to the door.

#tommy/alfie #:~)#my tommy is always OOC and i will not rest until hes happy #my fic

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

would everything be different today?

characters/pairings: thor and loki, loki/mobius

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 3913

warning: canon character death

summary: Prior to Loki's arrest, Thor attempts to save them and is arrested by the TVA himself. And sure, he doesn't understand much of this institution, but he's pretty sure this Mobius has taken a liking to his younger sibling. (pre-canon, thor pov)

(still obsessing over loki, who’s surprised? no one! half of this fic was written at 2am when i was Not sober, my beloved Cat / @howgodforgives read it for me tho because they’re perfect!! 💖 this is an au... supposed to happen pre-canon... inspired by this post and this post, i love them too much and simply mashed the 2 concepts together so ya. enjoy ??)

read on ao3

Thor thought he could just do one thing. And when Steve revealed his plan about utilizing their time traveling device, just one last time, the offer his friend came with for him to go back was something he had to.

He had a chance to save Loki.

Now, he knows this is far from thought out, far from logical, and Thor never told Steve when he himself was traveling to. They trusted each other, Avengers and all.

Thor knows he could save their mother, too, if he wanted, but perhaps grief was clouding his vision because he’s simply lost too many, and he’ll be damned if he’d let Loki slip away from him after everything they’ve been through.

They were making progress… weren’t they?

It surely couldn’t be another one of his tricks, and although Thor has been naive in the past, he simply can’t lose her. Not now. Not yet.

And so he goes back for them, and he gets there, he’s on the ship, Heimdall and Loki and Valkyrie and Korg and Thanos , and Thor’s never been prone to irrational anger, he tries , but everything happening all over again in such an overwhelming way nearly has sparks jumping from eyes and fingertips.

Thor is so close. And then he isn’t.

He can’t comprehend what happens, but he’s out of time, out of place, and he’s in what resembles most those office buildings he’s seen so many of Midgard. Being crammed in an elevator with these strange people gave him eerie flashbacks to Sakaar, until he’s finally greeted by a significantly short human, brown suit, silver hair and moustache and a lop-sided grin.

Naturally, Thor smiles back in the midst of his confusion, it’s only good manners, you hear.

“Ah!” the man exclaims, patting his elbow with the other hand guiding him forward, “The god of thunder himself! Mighty pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He nods, following, unsure still what’s going on. But Thor’s made too many enemies of a human lifetime, a long time ago, and he wouldn’t want to get on these humans’ bad side, even though they technically kidnapped him… peculiar.

If Loki was here, they’d probably have their knife ready at lightning speed. Classic Loki.

“Well, thank you! I wish I could say the same, but I’m not sure… where I am,” Thor answers. This really does look like an office, one the Midgardians had a decade or so, probably, before they updated themselves. Modernization, that’s what it’s called, silly humans.

“Fair is fair,” the grey haired human turns to him, “Welcome to the Time Variance Authority, TVA for short! I think I speak for everyone here when I say we’re excited to have you here.”

The man chuckles, and Thor doesn’t know if it’s to himself or directed towards him, until the human shrugs. There’s still two of those persons with weaponry and strange glowing devices on either side of them, and it seems his new acquaintance realises the need for explanation.

“Well, technically, you’re not staying as much as… you’re under arrest,” he then says, smile turning hesitant and scratching his cheek.

Arrest?!

That’s certainly a surprise, given human laws don’t really apply to his own kind. Of course, Avenging has different rules and such… but alas.

It seems his new friend notices his eyes widen, significantly, “But don’t worry, buddy! You’re a special case, of course.”

Thor stammers, he always feels a certain embarrassment over himself when this happens, “May I- may I ask for what offense? I don’t mean to offend, these quarters are quite splendid, but Midgard and Asgard operate different-”

“Oh no,” the man interrupts, keeping a quick pace, “I’m afraid this isn’t Midgard, big guy. The TVA, we, well, control all of time!”

The guards escorting them, they must be guards, stop at the same time Thor stops in pure shock. His father never mentioned anything like this. Is this part of the nine realms? He wonders who these people are, if not human. They surely cannot be gods?

“You control… time?”

“Exactamundo! The sacred timeline, to be precise. Let me show you,” his new acquaintance guides him further with that, until they reach a strangely void room, a single table, pair of chairs and some sort of machine the only things in sight. One of those Midgardian ‘computers’?

And when he’s seated (the chair isn’t quite built for a god of his stature, but he shouldn’t complain, politeness is key, of course), this strange man shows him what appears to be a video. A video of… his life. Thor’s life, that is.

This is absurd. “How do you know this? What-”

“We know everything, buddy,” the man tells him, shuts down the device, grin sheepish, “It’s in the job description, you see?”

Thor doesn’t know what to think, rather, his mind feels somehow numb.

He was just with Loki, she was there, within his grasp, then… this. Thor also doesn’t know how long he sits staring at his acquaintance in confusion until another thought dawns upon him, “Do you have Steve Rogers, too?”

The grin lessens, mouth forming a small o, but the man nods once, “Ah, yes, another department. You two sure know how to cause trouble, huh?”

So he gets an answer, but it leaves him none the wiser, or clearer headed, or understanding. It rather feels like those sort of outlandish dreams children have, like he had when he was younger.

But what can he do? Just face this head-on?

Thor wonders if Heimdall can see him right now. Not… his Heimdall, another Heimdall, who might be alive. A Loki who might be alive, if he can save them.

“May I ask one more question of you, uh…”

“Mobius M. Mobius, at your service.”

“Ah,” he replies, and hesitantly smiles back at the grin he receives, “Then why am I here? This department , I mean?”

The stranger, Mobius, chuckles. It’s short handed and with the professionalism of those Midgardian businessmen with replicated suits and briefcases and phones chiming them down. Is this Mobius even human? More Asgardian?

“We’re in need of assistance, you might say,” he finally answers, and turns to power up the machinery once more, “And I, for one, have a feeling you might be invaluable for the cause.”

Although Thor is not sure he yet understands everything in this strange world he’s now come into, this new friend, Mobius, is very educational, and while the thought of being arrested wasn’t all too pleasing, apparently, they wished for him to work for them, instead.

His offence, that’s yet another thing he still doesn’t understand. Thor wasn’t aware of this, uh, this Sacred Timeline , as they call it. Surely a god of his status should’ve been told, shouldn’t he?

He comes to wonder if their father ever knew about this.

Thor is fairly sure about one thing, that Odin wouldn’t possibly have told them, had he had that knowledge. And what about Hela?

But he quickly learns not to think about this too much, and he counts about three Asgardian weeks in the TVA, although he has no idea how time works here , at all. Mobius always says it’s too complicated to explain, maybe he thinks Thor wouldn’t understand.

Loki always said he was as dumb as a doornail. But she never meant it out of spite, he reasons, surely, they’ve always had that sense of humor between the two of them. He loves Loki very much, even when she lets him down. He only hopes his younger sibling feels the same.

Speaking of Loki, that is another thing Thor learns in this weird world- uh, city? Country? Timeline? The TVA is its own thing entirely.

But what he learns, much like his whole life, is that his destiny will forever and always be tied to Loki, and Loki’s to his. Because his new friends at the TVA hired him to find, and catch, his younger sibling and bring them in for a similar crime to his own.

Although he’s also killing people in the process, Mobius explains much to Thor’s horror, and he’ll have to make sure Loki’s not hurt when he finds him, and ask him why this bloodshed is necessary. Again.

Of course, there must be a good reason as to why she’s doing it, he had a good reason to mess with the timeline himself, he must say, and Loki is incredibly clever, his younger sibling’s grand scheme must be extraordinary. He just wishes she wouldn’t hurt other people in the process, they’ve been over this, but she was getting better!

As Mobius put it, “You know them better than anyone, pal, I’ve got a hunch you’re the only one who can find out where they’re hiding. Well, besides themselves.”

Yes, Thor was not certain this was a good idea.

He traveled back in time to save his younger sibling, not cause him even more pain. But Mobius seems somewhat trustworthy, and very polite. He assured him justice would be served fairly, and even a lesser punishment considering the help he himself provides!

Sometimes, Thor has to follow his gut. Loki always hated this trait of his.

This work proves tricky, and tedious, and of course, his sibling is sneaky and manages to escape the TVA time and time again, and if they would just bring Thor with them, surely, he could talk to her. Not apprehend her, but communicate . Not everyone here trusts him as much as Mobius, though, regrettably.

What is curious about his new friend, and Thor’s spent a few nights now racking his brain about this, is that some of the questions he’s posed about Loki are quite specific.

They must be important for the case, he figures.

Just a week ago, hunched over files and files of timeline lingo and alternate futures that Thor has several conflicting emotions about reading, the grey haired man looked up from his scribbles and met his eye.

“Say, Thor,” he started, scratching his chin and twirling the pen in his hand, “Loki ever tell ya what they fancy for dinner?”

And the god had to blink, shuffling the papers. Did he hear it correctly?

“Dinner?”

“I mean, humans, they have favorite foods, you know? Like, preferences,” he chuckled, “I only assume Asgardians are similar?”

Thor smiles as he does when in situations where he doesn’t understand what’s going on, but simple curiousity never hurt anyone. This person’s strange, stranger than the Avengers, but he loved them all the same. “Of course. Loki’s very fond of goat. Herring, too, and our mother’s apple pie.”

Mobius nodded with a grin, and spoke no more of the subject, until two days later (Thor thinks it was two days, as mentioned before, time here confuses him profusely), where his friend inquired him about his younger sibling’s eye color.

They’re blue, clearly.

More muted than Thor’s own, but never grey, although some of these files have wrongly informed otherwise.

Really, this interest Mobius reveals in his younger sibling doesn’t faze him at first, but he’s thinking about it more and more often, as it turns out. And today, when the suited man asks him if Loki might be interested in water sports, it only sends Thor further into the obyss of confusion.

Firstly, he’s not sure what these water sports entail. Second, although he doesn’t doubt Mobius is a reasonable man, what does this have to do with arresting Loki?

“Forgive me,” Thor replies, “What are, uh… water sports?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry, big guy. Ya know, jetskis are quite fun for humans and otherwise. Diving, too. You think Loki would like that sort of thing?”

The god finds himself worrying his lip with little answer to the peculiar question. “Perhaps. They love adventures, you see, that’s a thing we have in common. You think Loki’s hiding somewhere, with, uh… jetskis?”

The grey haired man shrugs. Quite strange.

Then his friend continues as they walk along the hall, past several hunters and seemingly high security offices, “She must like jokes, right?”

“Oh, of course.”

Mobius laughs, “I figured,” and his smile isn’t aimed at Thor, but somewhere into the open air, distant and unexplainably fond, “God of Mischief, pranks in his blood. I’m not too bad myself.”

“Huh?”

When the shorter man opens the door for him, he shrugs again, “Sorry, buddy, this way. I mean, they’re incredibly witty. Don’t need to tell you that, I get it. I heard this joke from a Variant, I think they might like that one. You know it? So once there was-”

And so Mobius continues on, the joke must be brilliant, he’s already wheezing to himself, but now, the god’s pretty sure he understands.

Oh.

Thor’s not as stupid as Loki claims, you see. And he has to say, he knows courtship when he sees it.

Does Thor understand why his younger sibling- or, a version of her, regardless, is hiding out in historic apocalypses ? No, there’s not much logic in this, but it’s certainly in no way surprising.

Loki’s got a knack for adventures and danger simultaneously, after all.

But when he realises what Loki’s doing, he simply has to go, even if his moustached friend isn’t sure how to clear it with the TVA, or if it’s breaking the rules, but isn’t this what they assigned the god to do in the first place?

This is his younger sibling. Loki’s alive. And Thor, well, like he’s done all his life, and like Loki’s done all their life, one must always follow the other, at one point or the other. It’s fate, he decides.

And he finds him, finally , after what feels as hundreds of millions of human years and even longer of their own, in the human city of Pompeii.

Loki isn’t exactly pleased to hear the TVA coming, that much is obvious from his face, but Thor is alone, and it’s only a matter of time before Mobius arrives, so Thor must find a chance to talk to his sibling alone.

And his sibling’s face changes from the expectant grin of a plan to kill the minutemen when they arrive to a gaping mouth in shock. Then realisation. Then frustration.

“Loki!”

And the god of mischief groans, exasperated and loud, the screams of the civilians barely fazing them, “Thor.”

It’s a matter of time, then, because they don’t have much time before they’ll be sunken into the ground they’re standing on, and like Thor first started out his adventure in the Sacred Timeline, his first thought is to get Loki out of there.

It’s his first priority, to keep her safe. There’ll be no death. Not today. Not again.

His younger sibling has their eyes on the volcano as well, their many differences being so in sync at the strangest of times, and before Thor can even think about it, Loki reaches for his arm and they’re teleported somewhere- and some… when? else entirely.

It’s eerily quiet here, a distant rumble from the sky. Rocks as far as he can see. Darkness, besides bolts of lightning striking into the ocean before them, and blinking lights distantly behind them.

And here Loki is; a Variant like himself, as Mobius called it. Breathing.

“Why is it,” she nearly yells, clutching the strange device in her hand and giving Thor that familiar glare of destruction, “You always find a way, somehow, anywhere, to ruin my perfect plan, brother? How? How are you here, you damn fool!?”

The insult is as it always is, and Loki looks like his blood might nearly boil over, but Thor just can’t help it.

He feels the tears in his eyes before they even fall. “Loki.”

“What-”

It’s only a small handful of times in all the centuries they’ve lived that he’s managed to stun his sibling into silence, a loss of words. This is another incident to add to the list.

Thor grips on so tight, he never wants to let go.

He can’t remember the last time they hugged, actually. It might’ve been when they were children.

Loki pats on his back, after a minute or two, and a breath of annoyance and… something else sounds at the same time as his own staggering breathing. His sibling’s never returned his hugs, you see, but she’s doing it now. At least, Thor surely wouldn’t mistake her holding onto him, albeit not as tightly as himself.

They sigh, “What has gotten into you now, you idiot?”

Thor laughs. It’s strained, but it feels good. That one, that’s a thing he’s missed. Loki will surely think he’s lost his mind, but there’s nothing he’d rather do right now than listen to him call him the crudest things they could think of.

It feels like coming back home.

“You’re alive,” Thor whispers.

Loki huffs. “You’ve fallen for my fake death, huh? You fall for it every time.”

He shakes his head in response, knowing his sibling won’t be able to see it, but ultimately lets go, and just looks at them. He smiles. Weirdly, hesitantly, confusedly, Loki smiles back.

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him again, but it’s softer this time.

“Where have you taken us?” Thor asks instead, and the answer is for once a place he knows of, “This is Midgard, brother, but way after the humans. In about an hour, it’ll be nothing but dust.”

That’s a frightening thought, he decides. He’s already seen Asgard in ruins.

And Thor has to take him somewhere safer, before Mobius arrives. They can’t go back to the TVA without some explanation, Loki deserves that.

His sibling seems severely surprised when he uses his own device, and a protest begins, of course, but Thor finds the right time, in Asgard, and jumps them both to it. Before their mother’s death. They’ll have to steer clear of the past versions of themselves, and their parents, and anyone else, considering Loki was imprisoned, but they’ll be safe.

And easy to spot.

“Now is not a time for a homecoming, Thor,” she tells him, already pulling up the device.

“Loki, no,” he reaches out, and Loki reaches for their knife, classic Loki, “Give me time to explain, before they come.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t raise the knife, “You’re not taking me to the TVA, brother.”

Thor blinks. He almost wants to rewind time on that little screen in his hand, to make sure he heard them right, but stranger things have happened. “You know about the TVA?”

“Of course I do, you buffoon. Who do you think I’m running from?”

He bites his tongue. Oh.

Thor has to shrug. Loki sighs again.

“I know, I know, they’ll arrest me for crimes against the Sacred Timeline ,” they say, in an overly dramatic voice and throwing around their hands in flourish, “I can’t believe they got you to help them. I can’t believe you found me.”

It feels quite like the good, old days, as Stark used to say. “I know you, Loki, even if you don’t think I do.”

They both settle into silence, and this is also strange, but the smile he gets in return, less confused and more nostalgic and… safe, it makes it worth it.

Then, the device in Thor’s hand beeps, and he lets his sibling look at it, and he looks all the more annoyed again.

“Guess I’ll have to surrender now, because of you,” she grumbles, for once, not searching for an escape route, “Who’s leading, anyway? B-15?”

Thor pats his shoulder, in what he hopes conveys comfort. “I’m not familiar, unfortunately. This leader is named Mobius.”

His sibling frowns, but shrugs non committedly, “A new face, then.”

It’s not very often Thor sees Loki in this state, confusion, if ever. His younger sibling’s always been one step ahead of them, two, even, himself struggling to keep up. That’s why he’s always had to watch out for them, before… before the Avengers.

“He seems very interested in you,” he chuckles, and when Loki only frowns deeper, he has to explain his ongoing suspicion, “He’s asked me a great many questions about you. I believe he admires you very much. Even more than myself.”

“So he’s a fan,” Loki says - ignoring the last statement of his, of course, but Thor knows she heard it.

“I’d say more than a fan,” he decides to be honest, and Loki’s brows furrow. Thor pats his sibling’s shoulder once more, “He holds, it seems, similar feelings to when I was courting Lady Jane.”

Loki looks like a giant question mark. “I beg your pardon?”

But they’re interrupted, as per usual. The answer Thor wants out doesn’t get out before Mobius steps out of the time portal, and grins at them both. He seems to hold his gaze at his sibling a little bit longer. His demeanor’s calm, as if… recognition. Coming back home.

And Loki stares back at their brother, eyes wide and brows raised, tilting her head, “This is the Mobius who wants to… court me?”

Thor nods. Loki’s mouth turns upwards to a grin, mischief absent from his face. And even if they’ll deny it if Thor mentions it, his younger sibling’s eyes hold a certain warmth when they look back at the stranger. “I see.”

Many great strange things have happened in what seems a short amount of time, but Thor’s put out of work at the TVA, and his sibling’s put to work instead, and Mobius tells him they’ll reset him.

“Don’t worry, big guy, it doesn’t hurt,” he chuckles, adjusting his tie, “Your friend Steve had the same deal. Wouldn’t call it punishment, but it’s subjective. You did good work, ya know.”

Loki’s sat at Mobius’ now abandoned desk, one hand on a stack of case files, her eyes meeting with Thor’s own. They’re used to goodbyes, as you can tell. And emotions aren’t exactly their strongest suit.

But his sibling nods to him. The smile has no hints of sarcasm, so he counts it as a win. As progress.

Thor doesn’t know if he can stop worrying, after all. He’ll always do it, and what if he, another version of himself, tries to go back in time again?

Loki’s the only family he has left. But at the same time, his younger sibling is right.

The sun will shine on us again. In another timeline, another universe, he figures. For now, Thor will have to let go, but they’ll always be connected after all. Thor and Loki couldn't be more different, but somehow the same.

“She’ll be safe here?” he asks, because he has to, “You’re certain?”

Mobius smiles, like he’s heard it a million times before, “I promised you. I keep my promises, Thor.”

Of course. Of course. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

“You ready?” his suited friend then asks, and he hesitantly nods.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The man nods back, and the device in his hand lights up. The seconds seem excruciatingly long, but he’s got to get back, get moving, even without his younger sibling beside him. It’s a comforting thought, knowing there’s many more of them out there, in other timelines, following each other over and over again, as they’re meant to.

“Thank you, by the way,” Mobius then says, strangely enough, as the beams become stronger and the seconds count down. He winks before holding it out to Thor, a gesture for the reset to be complete, “For bringing them back to me.”

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years

Text

Run Away With Me

Synopsis: Every moment shared with Charlie Weasley is an adventure all it’s own. How you wish to spend every moment together and all it takes is to run away.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 6.3k+

A/N - Every year I post a story on my birthday and today’s the day I turn a year older. Usually these stories are pretty sad but this year I wrote something a little softer so here is my birthday present for you guys, I hope you enjoy it.

1. A Stolen Kiss

A bright-eyed and clueless young student, excited to be attending a school of magic. Nobody else in your family had magic so it was a big surprise when you received a letter alongside a weird lady who looked like she just stepped out of the early 1920s. Sat between your parents, the older woman explained the entire situation much to your excitement and your parents' confusion.

Diagon alley had been your first experience of all things magical; it had been like stepping into another world instead of just any old street in London. There were book shops lined with all kinds of books, some were bigger than your head while others were tiny. A shop that sold weird and kinda gross jars full of who knows what. There was a place that only sold brooms but according to the list you had read like a hundred times, first years weren't allowed their own brooms. You spent what felt like a lifetime at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions getting fitted for robes. Your parents were utterly fascinated by all the different styles and kept asking questions that made the experience so much longer than it really needed to be. You'd never had a pet before, but after a lot of begging they let you pick out a cat; he was a small Persian cat. Not quite a kitten but not quite fully grown. Checking off each item as you went along, you were exhausted by the end of it. There was even enough time for a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour where you had enjoyed a cone of strawberries and cream with sprinkles on top. All that was left on your list was a wand. Peeling gold letters rested over the door of a shop that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Stepping inside it was a tiny little store with no costumers. Thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling. It didn't take long for the weird old man to give you a wand that felt warm in your hand. Unlike the other disasters that came at the result of you waving various wands, a stream of red and gold sparks shoot out the end of this one like a mini firework. The wand chooses the wizard whatever the hell that meant. All ready and packed for Hogwarts, you were really giddy to go. Your mother cried as she waved you off to boarding school but you couldn't sit still. The train ride took hours and it was a little lonely considering you didn't know anyone but as soon as you entered the castle you knew it was exactly where you were meant to be. The building was massive and practically oozed magic and mystery through each brick. The pictures, much to your surprise, were moving on their own. Hogwarts had four houses and each student had to sit on a tall stool, put on a funny talking hat which would decide ultimately where they belong.

The very first friend you made was Nymphadora Tonks but only because she was in all of your classes and by some twist of fate you always ended up seated together. She was a sweet girl with pink hair and a talent for mischief. There was never a dull moment with you two. Then there was Charlie Weasley. Ever since that brisk day in October when he had ridden in clumsily on his white horse to save the day, the two of you had been the best of friends. You were still getting used to all your different classes. Potions class, however, was proving the most difficult. Too many ingredients and types to get used to. Not to mention Snape was just... mean. The task had been to prepare a simple Wiggenweld Potion; a powerful healing potion that can be used to heal injuries, or reverse the effects of a Sleeping Draught. The book was open on the desk as you carefully followed the instructions until.... poof. All the confidence you'd gained since arriving disappeared as Snape scolded you in front of everyone for messing up. Charlie had swooped in to take the blame landing himself in late-night detention. On the other hand, you got to leave with your tail between your legs and a few house points shaved off the total. And yet even his small act of kindness wasn't enough to capture your affection at least not at first. For the little version of yourself was infatuated with another Weasley. An older Weasley.

The nerves of a handful of students could be felt by anyone sat in the great hall for breakfast. Tonks is sat beside you running butter over a piece of toast. Stifling a yawn, Charlie takes a seat across from the two of you sporting a jumper of Gryffindor red and gold.

"Good morning," You flash your cheeriest, half-asleep smile bringing your spoon of Cheeri Owls to your lips. "Nervous?"

"A little," He was looking especially pale today suggesting he was more than just a little.

"You should be," Tonks perks up. "It's only the last game of the season and all hope rides on the seeker,"

"No pressure then," Charlie huffs out a dull laugh. The boy excelled in his position as the Gryffindor seeker but there was no way to determine how he'd play today when he was carrying the hopes and dreams of his teammates and entire house.

"You should eat something," You suggest, pushing a bowl of assorted fruit forward. There was little you could to make him feel better except take his spot but that wasn't allowed. You also probably wouldn't be that good. "Might make you feel better?"

"I'm too nervous to eat," He insisted but he still took an apple; rolling the red fruit between his palms.

"Win or lose you're still number one in our heart, right Tonks?" Elbowing her gently, you shovel another spoonful of 'O' shapes into your mouth.

"Sure," she shrugs. "If you want we can jinx the other team's seeker? I've been practising."

"Or... how much time do we have? I can get one of the older students to brew some Felix Felicis." You play along. "Nothing like a little liquid luck to win a game."

"You both know that's not allowed," Charlie took a large bite of his apple.

"When has Tonks ever cared about rules," Sometimes you wish she did care, you probably wouldn't have ended up in detention so many times alongside her.

"Thanks but no," he took another bite. "We have to win fair and square."

The conversation drifted from nerves to lost spells and planned practical jokes. Charlie seemed to relax a little the more he spoke. Maybe all he needed was a distraction to cheer him up.

"We need to take a trip to Hogsmeade" Tonk announces. "I'm out of dungbombs."

"Urgh- you and that silly joke shop." You can't help but roll your eyes but it was all good-natured. Despite hardly ever buying anything yourself, you spent an awful lot of time at Zonko's infamous little joke shop. "I could do with a trip outside the castle though. You should come too Charlie and maybe... you could ask Bill if he wants to come?"

"You're still gushing over Bill," Now it was Tonks turn to elbow you playfully, her lips curling up into a tantalising smirk.

"I do not gush over him," you state firmly, brows knitting together in a frown. You didn't appreciate being made fun. Bill was older, wiser and always made time to show you kindness. He made your little heart flutter whenever you saw him and Tonks took every opportunity to tease you about it. "I just thought It'd be nice is all. Wouldn't you agree, Charlie?"

"If you want him to come, ask him yourself." He responds, taking a large gulp of his juice.

"She won't because she has a crush."

"I don't have a crush Nymphadora- stop it," It was infinitely more embarrassing talking about this with Charlie sat at the table. "Don't ask him then, I don't care."

"Yes you do," Placing her arm around your shoulder, she pulls you into her side. "Because you're in love-"

"I am not!" You snap, pushing out of her grip.

"I'll see you guys later." The two of you share a look as Charlie disappears without another word. It was probably just pregame nerves.

"You know what? I think I'll get some frogspawn soap too and put it in the prefects' bathroom." Typical Tonks.

You'd come to learn through your time at Hogwarts that Quidditch was the most popular sport among wizards. And each house had their own team who compete for a trophy and bragging rights. Today was the final game thankfully. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Apparently, it came down to these two a lot. As the Gryffindor team filter out of the changing rooms, you slip inside to find Charlie sitting on a little bench.

"Guess who?" You sing-song, slapping your hands over his eyes but only briefly. He turns to look at you with an almost sour expression.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to support you," you reply soft, offering a smile he couldn't even see as he turned away.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Had you done something to upset him? Surely not. This was the first time you were seeing him since breakfast so there hadn't been a moment for you to mess things up and yet, his voice held an icy chill.

"Guess Tonks is rubbing off on me?" You jest, looking around the room. It was empty apart from you two. Bags and clothes scattered across benches or half shoved into lockers. A chalkboard stood in the corner with drawings you couldn't understand. "I just wanted to see how you were doing before the big game, is all. We were worried about you."

"You were worried about me," He repeats slowly, looking up at you. "I thought you hated quidditch."

"I still do," Your shoulders rise in a little shrug. "It's silly. Doesn't matter how hard the team works or how many goals it's pretty much all decided by how good the seeker is so why even have goals?"

"Score enough goals before the snitch is caught and anyone could win," He perks up. "You just don't understand how good and exciting it is."

Your lips curl up in appreciation for Charlie Weasley and his love for quidditch. It didn't possess the sparkle that came along when he talks about dragons but it was still nice to see him liven up. "Then go out there and show me how exciting it is,"

You stand under the spotlight of his gaze as he seemingly takes in your choice of attire; wearing the Gryffindor colours with pride to show your support. You even let Tonks paint your face after she promised not to draw genitalia. "Do you really think we're gonna win? What if I mess up and everyone hates me?"

"Then you mess up and everyone hates you," You shrug a little. "But that's not gonna happen and you know why?" His head shakes slowly. "It's because you're the best seeker at this school Charles Weasley." You place your hands on either side of his shoulders. "And I believe in you."

"How does that help me?" With your index finger under his chin, you force him to meet your eyes.

"Because I'm never wrong."

"That doesn't sound right." He tries to look away but you stop him.

"But it is," You offer a reassuring smile; one full of determination. "You've got this Charlie. So come on before you miss the game entirely."

The cheers outside were seemingly growing louder by the second. With a deep breath, Charlie stands up, grabbing his broom. "You're staying to watch, right?"

"Of course. Tonks is up in the stands too." Taking his hand, you lead the way out of the tent. "Consider us your good luck charms." Charlie brings the both of you to an abrupt stop before you even reach the opening of the tent, pulling you back to him. "What's up?"

The peppering of freckles that covered Charlie's face was even more vibrant against the rose pink blush. You squeeze his hand a little hoping it makes him feel better. And then it happens. The crowd grows silent in your ear but only for a moment as Charlie's surprisingly soft lips crash clumsily against yours. "For good luck," his whispers; his hand slipping from yours as he leaves you dumbfounded.

"He okay?" Tonks asks as you return from your trip.

"Yeah... still nervous," You reply, sitting down beside her. "It's his first big game after all."

"Are you okay?" The crowd erupts into cheers as the Gryffindor team flys in first. You're almost too embarrassed to look for Charlie; worried about what you might find so you keep your head down. "You look like you've just seen a troll or something?"

"Mhmm," you hum, forcing yourself to watch the Slytherin team as they enter. Why had Charlie kissed you? Did it mean he liked you or was he just messing around? Your head swirled with possibilities.

"You want a sweet?" Your friend offers as the game finally starts. It takes you a second to register but you smile, reaching into the little bag she was holding only to come to a stop.

"They're not gonna burn my tongue off or something are they?"

"No," Her chuckle sounded a little too innocent but you trust her for some reason. Taking a piece of confectionery out of the paper bag.

"Charlie... kissed me." You announce, throwing the sweet into you mouth; face scrunching up when they turn out to be sour. Ten points to Slytherin as they take the lead.

"He what?"

"He... kissed me."

2. Together

Who was Bill Weasley but a distant playground crush after that day. And your time of classrooms and magic lessons came swiftly to an end; how bittersweet it felt to leave a place you loved dearly. A once naive little girl stepping into the unknown now called the Wizarding World Home. Now you would go on to be a healer which was simply a magical doctor although your parents strongly disagreed with the comparison. However proud they were of you there would always be some part of them that wished you had chosen to become a lawyer or 'real' doctor.

Bathed in the warm embrace of the setting sun, you ponder the tranquility in a bed of green grass. The youngest Weasley lay beside you, struggling to keep still as often children do. She was similar to her brother in that way who now paced back and forth a mere few steps away. The invitation had been for dinner but you arrived a little early. The burrow was always such a welcoming place like stepping into a home you used to live in many moons ago; it was cosy and warm and there was no doubt that many lived there. You found your house to be almost the opposite, it always looked like nobody lived there. Immaculate. Polished. Cold.

"Will you stop pacing, you're making me nervous." You call out to your boyfriend, opening your eyes only to squint at the bright light. "What's wrong with you?"

Charlie comes to a stop as you sit up; Ginny mimics you in sitting up but the boy's eyes stay on you. The longer he stared, the more the pit in your stomach grew; what exactly hid behind his blank expression. He normally possessed such a playful warmth but it seemed to have vanished as of late. Plucking a stray purple flower, you enclose it in the palm of your hands. "You know I love dragons right?"

"Of course," Since meeting him, he had probably managed to slip dragons into every conversation you had ever had. It was at a point where you knew far more about dragons than you ever really cared to know. Many found his obsession annoying because that's what he so obviously was, obsessed but you found it enticing. Charming, even. Opening up your hand, a small butterfly with deep plum-purple wings flutters into the air and onto a giggly Ginny's nose. The innocent glee of a child; how those days were gone for you. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Promise you won't be mad?" It would be foolish to make such a promise when there was no way to guarantee your reaction. Whatever it was must be bad, if he was this worried. Your shoulders rise a little then fall.

"I make no such promises- just tell me."

Charlie took a breath that travelled on the wind to your ears before he blurted out. "I'm moving to Romania."

"Okay," Is your first reaction while your brain tries to make sense of something it didn't want to hear. "Wait- what?"

"Charlie is moving away to work with big scary dragons," Ginny announces playfully, baring her little hands like claws.

The once small pit grew into a mighty black hole of uncertainty and sadness that threatened to swallow you whole. There had been conversations shared between friends of Charlie wanting to move away to a foreign land, just to finally see a dragon but you had never taken it at face value. Always so convinced it was but a dream rather like those of when you were little and you wished to be a vampire. Technically back then you didn't know they actually existed but still, even now it was never going to come true. Eyes cast upon the second eldest Weasley, he kicks up the grass with his hands buried in the pockets of his pants. "It's the nearest Dragon reserve."

That was something you already knew but it didn't make the decision, at least in your eyes, any less confusing. Instead, it prompted water to well up in your eyes for this was something that affected not only him and his family but your life too. "I... I don't know what to say,"

"Hey Ginny, can you go check if dinner's ready yet?"

"No- why can't you do it?" The bark behind her words was very in character for the fiesty young Weasley. Blinking away the tears, you plaster on the best smile you can muster.

"If you go check on dinner I promise we can play a game later, okay? Exploding snap maybe?"

"Really?" She eyes you suspicious probably because it was a promise you had broken before. Not always for the right reasons but this time it was genuine. Charlie clearly wanted this to be a private conversation or perhaps he was just saving you for the inevitable moment where she asks why you're crying. Ginny scrambles to feet when you nod and skips off towards the gravity-defying house. It still amazed you that the building hadn't fallen yet. Rising to your feet you brush yourself off.

"You know I want nothing more than to work with Dragons and this is the only way I can do that," There was no mistaking the serious tone that came along with his words. It didn't matter what you said there was no changing his mind but you wouldn't do that anyway. It seemed cruel to even try to get him to give up on something so precious and you would never want to do that to him. "I have an opportunity to do something I love and I won't waste it to get some boring job at the ministry."

"I don't expect you too..." You wanted nothing more than to tell him to stay; beg him even. You were fighting against the selfish little devil that was stabbing you in the heart. It was a dull, deep pain in your chest. You wanted Charlie to follow his dreams, you just never expected them to not include you. "It's just a lot to take in."

"I know," The red-headed boy walks ever so slowly over to you, taking both hands in his. His hands had always felt a little rough ever since Hogwarts. You used to complain back then and insist he needed to moisturise but over time you had grown fond of the familiarity. How you wished this tender moment could last forever because it very well might be your last. You're caught off guard when he yanks you forward. You stumble into his chest where he wraps his arms around you like the big teddy bear he was. You breathe in every inch of him like it was the last time. The intoxicating aroma of an early walk in the woods; that fresh earthy smell that really makes you appreciate where you are. You could almost picture the pine trees.

"I feel like I'm losing you," Your words but a whisper, lost on the breeze.

"You're not," His grip around you tightens and suddenly your in the air, spinning around. "You could never get rid of me that easily.

"Charlie," You fight back a smile as you return to the ground; burying your face in the nook of his neck. "What's gonna happen to us?"

"About that-"

"Because I don't know if I can do the whole long-distance thing? So do we break up?" The tears threaten to fall once again as you pull back to get a good look at him. You never wanted to forget the emerald of his eyes or each and every freckle that called his body home. The unusual scare that adorned his eyebrow that was always amusing to look at. If that was his true purpose to break up with you then there would be no stopping the tears when they finally burst through the damn.

"No, I-"

"Because that's a little mean Charlie, you could have at least waited until after dinner. Should have done it first actua-"

You words become mumbled by the palm of his hand which he's placed over your mouth like a seal of protection. "Shush for a minute."

It's hard to resist so you simply don't; sticking your tongue you deliberately lick the palm of his hand but it seems to not phase him whatsoever.

"I'm not breaking up with you, silly," You meet his gaze. "I was kind of thinking you could come with me?"

Reaching up, you yank his hand away. "To Romania? You've got to be joking."

"Why not?"

Did you even know how to answer that? There were so many reasons why one should not just up and leave to go live in a completely different country with the boy they dated through high school. "I can't just up and leave my family- my mum will be devastated."

"I'll talk to her about it," Charlie hums softly, placing a delicate kiss upon your forehead. "Your mum loves me and she wants you to be happy."

"Dinner's Ready," For such a small girl, Ginny had one big mouth. There was no mistaking her call. However, this whole situation now felt a little... off. Could you even sit through dinner without it all becoming weird?

"We're coming," Charlie yells back; offering up his hand which you reluctantly take and he leads the way back to the house. "You want to be a healer right? You could do that in Romania."

"I guess," You weren't exactly worried about not finding a job.

"You don't have to decide right now," He tells you before you have a chance to speak up again. "Just think about it. I mean the invitation is there and for what it's worth, I'd really like you to come."

3. Creeping doubts

It took a lot of convincing but despite everything you decided to follow Charlie into the Unknown. Your parents weren't thrilled with the decision but they respected it; they were just worried about what would happen if something went wrong. And as their only child, they would obviously miss you. A lot of time was spent at the burrow that summer before moving to Romania; you were beginning to feel like an honorary Weasley only with the experience of having been a muggle for the first eleven years of your life. It was but a three-hour flight to Romania and your mother had sobbed at the airport. It made you think back to your first time stepping onto the Hogwarts express, leaving your parents behind to go to a magical boarding school in Scotland. It was a peculiar thought but a nice one. One you wished to cherish. Now in a foreign land with no support system behind you other than a boy you had been dating for years, you were ready for a new adventure. And there was officially no doubt in your mind that you would do just about anything for Charlie Weasley.

"It's not much," Charlie sets his suitcase down on the table. "Best I could do, for now, I'm afraid."

"It's fine," It was an old apartment in a building full of what you assumed were muggles. There was a small living room area with an ugly pea-coloured couch nestled against one wall. Beside it was a small coffee table and on the other side of the room was a TV, you weren't convinced actually worked. Then there was the kitchen which was attached to the living room. It had a fridge, a cooker and some cupboards. The only other room was a bedroom that literally only housed a bed in at the moment, then there was a door that leads on to the bathroom. It definitely wasn't much but a crappy apartment was just part of the experience, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself. "it'll feel like home soon enough," You had everything you needed to make this place feel like home right in your suitcase; oh the joys of magic. Patting yourself down, you search for the key to easy unpacking. "Uh... have you seen my wand?"

His head shakes and wears an amused grin. "You remembered to bring it right?"

"Yes," you huff. "I was gonna unpack," Falling back against the wall, you slide down onto the floor which you imagine hasn't been cleaned in a while considering the dust. "It's gonna take so long without my wand- which may actually be in the suitcase now that I think about it."

"Did you forget I'm a wizard too?"

"You do it then," You drop your head back against the wall. "I'm starving."

"actually have you seen my wand?"

You giggle to yourself "You're an idiot,"

"Hey- you lost your wand too." His shadow lingers over you as he comes to join you against the wall. Taking up a seat beside you, your head falls to rest against his shoulder.

"Can we get pizza? I saw some of those leaflets when we came in so we could order some?"

"Whatever you want, my love."

As time ticks on the pizza box is left discarded in the kitchen as the two of you retire for the night. Who knew not actually unpacking but simply thinking about it while eating pizza on the dirty ground could be so much work. You struggle to hold back a yawn as you snuggle up to him trying to absorb as much of his body heat as you can. All that lay across the two of you were a blanket and this building was next exactly the warmest. "Do you think we'll be okay? "You ponder aloud; it was a question that had been on your mind since agreeing to follow him to Romania. For not many people stay together with their high school loves. What if things fall apart now that you're in the 'real' world? What if this was all just a huge mistake?

"What do you mean?" Always such a simple boy; you wonder how he deals with his anxieties. Did he actually not know what you meant or was he merely putting on a brave face? A once proud Gryffindor suggested that he always looked to be brave above anything else.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" You repeat as if that somehow answers his question but it must have done something because even in the darkness you can just tell he's smiling.

"You worry way too much." Charlie laughs.

"You don't worry enough,"

He lays a kiss upon the top of your head, his hand moving up and down your arm. "It used to be the other way around."

"I was young and reckless back then. "How you missed the days where you ran around the halls of Hogwarts with reckless abandon. Well, not entirely reckless that was more Tonks but things had definitely felt simpler back then.

"You're still young and reckless now, I just have to hear you stress about it afterwards." Charlie taunts, pinching your arm. You recoil at the sharp pain.

"Shush."

"Being in Romania doesn't change anything," He expresses; his voice sounding louder in the quiet darkness. "I loved you back home and I still love you now. I'm really glad you decided to come with me."

Hoping to distract yourself from every worrying thought that clouded your brain you decide it's time to change the subject. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Getting to work with Dragons all day every day? that's like dream come true."

"A dangerous one," Dragons were perhaps the most vicious creatures around other than humans. As captivating as they were and as much as charlie adored them, you couldn't help but worry about his safety. It seemed no matter the topic this evening you'd find a way to stress yourself out.

"I'll be fine, I'll have you there to patch me up," That he will for you had taken on the role as a healer willing to help out with all the injuries that inevitably come from dealing with dragons. You wouldn't admit it but you weren't quite convinced you were up to the task; you had never actually dealt with dragon-related injuries so this was like diving headfirst into the ocean when you only just learned how to swim in a training pool. "and if not- well, we had a good run."

"Don't joke about that," Nuzzling against his chest, you finally let your eyes close. Today was the start of forever with the one and only Charles Weasley and here he was joking about his ultimate demise.

4. The perfect day

It's peculiar how life can just fall into place. Your odd little world of dragons and leaky apartment buildings just became the norm. You had come to love your work at the reserve, Dragons were actually incredibly cool up close. Not to mention getting to see Charlie work with them after years of never shutting up about them was truly a sight to behold. Every day, it was like taking an excited little boy to his first day of school. His eyes simply lit up whenever he was at work although it was hard explaining his injuries to the neighbours when they were being nosey. You also had to be careful when using magic since you were basically living with muggles and it would be a headache if they ever found out.

With your site blocked by a thin piece of fabric, Charlie guides you carefully forward with his hands skillfully placed upon your arms to steer. This was the first day off the two of you have shared in a long time. Little information was given about your destination other than it being a surprise. With Charlie that could mean just about anything which wasn't always a good thing but you trusted him enough to believe he wasn't leading you into a dragon's den or something. A gentle breeze nipped at the skin of your neck and the ground felt soft under your feet. The gentle singing of a symphony of birds filled the air and the sun beamed down with remarkable easy. All this suggested you were somewhere withdrawn in nature. Charlie had always been one for the great outdoors. There were countless times you had found him sneaking in or out of the forbidden forest back at school.

"Am I going to like this surprise?" You inquire; your anxiety building with each step. You would much prefer to simply know what was going on rather than experience some dramatic reveal especially today of all days. Every year the boy seems to forget that he agreed not to make a big deal.

"I sure hope so," You practically slam into him as she comes to an unexpected standstill. "Because I don't think I can return it."

"Return what? Oh god- can I take my blindfold off?"

As the flimsy fabric skims the length of your face to settle loosely around your neck, your eyes take a minute to adapt. You don't know quite what you were expecting but this was not it. Before you stands a small cottage surrounded by nothing but a wide-open field full of a rainbow of wildflowers. It was a beautiful little house with as much charm and beauty you'd expect from a place out in what seems like the middle of nowhere. It could be described as the perfect place to settle down.

"Surprise!" He was redder than a cherry tomato when he stepped into view. Both arms in the air as a sign of celebration but you were just rather... confused? Whose house was this and why had he brought you all the way out here?

"I don't get it?"

"We've been here for a while now so I thought we should get our own place or like, a better place. One where we don't have to worry about anyone else." His confidence appeared to develop with each word but his face was still powdered in a deep shade of pink. S this was your house? He'd decided to up and move without even consulting you? "So I got us a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. It kinda reminds me of the burrow only, y'know, smaller."

"It's ours?" His excitement is clear on his face and he quickly takes your hand. Pulling you along with him. "And that's not all."

"There's more?" Surely a whole house was enough. You were quite proud of Charlie for picking such a beautiful little place. Come summertime, you could already see yourself sitting among the flowers painting little pictures. You also wouldn't have to worry about muggles. Coming up on the front door, your boyfriend delivers you a little golden key. And with just a tiny degree of fear about what could be on the other side you unlock it. Much to your astonishment and disappointment, nothing is behind the door except the hallway leading inside. Charlie enters first and even as you follow, you half expect someone to jump out.

"I know I agreed not to make a big deal but how could I not?" He opens a door at the end of the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It's not a massive space but it's assuredly not small either, the whole place was already furnished but you recognise the surprise was truly what sat on the table. It was a two-tier cake covered in blue frosting including the words Happy Birthday scrawled across the top followed by your name.

"You... baked?"

"Mum sent it actually," Charlie chortled lightly as he wanders up behind you. Tossing a package of red with multicoloured polka-dots onto the table. "Sent this along too. Reckon it's a jumper or something."

"That was nice of her," You weren't sure of how to react to it all. Birthdays had never really been your thing but you appreciated that Mrs. Weasley had gone out of her way to make you something special.

"And from me..." He trails off and the sound of tiny tracks echo off the walls attended by an adorable yelp. Up to your feet slides an ash grey puppy who was more legs than anything else. It had bright blue eyes and floppy ears.

"You got me a dog?"

"I got us a dog- thought we needed a pet around here. I debated getting a crup but that'd be a disaster if your parents ever decide to visit." Crups were notorious for their dislike of muggles. You never understood why but he was right in his decision. The gesture was sweet but rather odd all things considered but still you smile. It was hard to be mad at something so cute and you weren't just talking about the dog. The puppy sits at your feet, wagging its little tail a mile a minute. There was no denying how adorable it was and at least it wasn't a dragon. Or a murtlap for that matter, those things were ugly. "You don't seem happy... do you not like him? I can take him back?" Kneeling, your hand drifts over the soft fur of the puppy's head. In response, the dog jumps up in an attempt to lick at your face. Your smile grows as you try to get away. "I think he likes you."

"What's his name?"

"Whatever you want? He's a Great Dane by the way." The puppy had calmed down a little and you stare as you ponder the perfect name for an ash grey Great Dane. "How about... Arlo?"

"Arlo?"

"Mhmm," You hum standing up straight. "And I'm plenty happy if not a little overwhelmed. You know how I feel when it comes to my birthday."

"I do," He nods casually. His palms snake around your waist drawing you flush against him "But I never want you to forget that someone cares about you- that I care about you so bloody much."

"I know you do," You give him a quick peck on the lips. "And I'm thankful for that and for all of this."

"Arlo is the perfect name, Happy Birthday" Your lips connect in a beautifully slow embrace that fills your body with warmth and as he pulls away, his forehead comes to rest against yours. The dog barking as it explores the kitchen. "I'm just so grateful that you decided to run away with me."

#Charlie Weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley #charlie weasley imagine #hogwarts mystery #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

178 notes · View notes

appanako · 4 years

Note

Hanako and Tsukasa (separately) with a restless, hyperactive s/o who can't stay still for long. They struggle to hold conversations because they can't stay focused on the other person's words, but they appreciate anyone who talks to them despite this. Whenever the lads hug/cuddle/kiss the s/o, they start fidgeting and trying to slip away after a few seconds because they constantly feel the need to move but will try to restrain these impulses if the lads seem like they need the affection.

I was nervous about writing for Tsukasa but ended up enjoying it a lot… too much, even. Anyways! Your comments when you reblog my posts might as well breathe life into me andjdn 💖 I’ll have you know that I see you, and I love you. Hope you enjoy these!

hanako & tsukasa | with a hyperactive s/o

word count: 1395 words

warnings: tsukasa none

Hanako:

This lovely boy ALWAYS has his s/o’s best interest in mind. He knows they struggle sometimes, and he understands!

His s/o would be bouncing from wall to wall one minute, and he’d be right next to them, laughing with them about whatever they’re ranting one minute—

Or he’ll be floating at a distance when his s/o is feeling down.

Because, however endearing he may find them when they lose focus for a second but snap back to attention, or when they are fiddling with Hakujoudai in a moment of absent-mindedness, he sees how sullen his s/o can get when people make bad comments about them! :(

Luckily for his s/o, he knows exactly how to make their mood skyrocket in a second flat!

Perks of dating a hyperactive s/o like that is that he can get them outta the dumps real easy.

He’s… not great at heart-to-hearts.

But he is great at f u n!

Boundaries are one snap of his fingers away!

Fair in a boundary? Park? He’s got it covered.

Let’s not even go that far— they can do just about anything IN the school! Play cards with the Mokke if they can sit still long enough to finish the game, mess around in the kitchen, you name it!

So he basically just distracts them lmfao.

But the method’s worked thus far so??? No moping, no problem, right?

It’s all smiles when they’re together!

Hanako, the wholesome apparition, adjusts to his s/o’s pace perfectly.

“And then I bought my doll at—”

Oh, his s/o twitched a little. Of course he’d notice— is he talking too slow? Is that what’s giving them trouble engaging?

“—ThisOneBoundaryFullOfSexyItemsAnd—!”

Yeah, talking faster won’t help, Hanako. Bonus points for effort, though! They did not comprehend a single word lol— got distracted, oops!

He tries 😫👊

Given that his s/o is somehow able to touch him he’d be all over them.

He loves his s/o and giving them affection! When he sees them, his first instinct is to cheer and glomp them with a “Yay!”

He’d cuddle the rest of his ghostly life if he could. But his s/o just. Won’t. Sit. Still.

When they start whining that they want to be let go, he will— reluctantly.

He lets them go with a slight pout and watches as they give in to the urge to just move.

He gets it, but also he just wants some cuddles you know? :(

His s/o notices how Hanako is the actual embodiment of (｡í _ ì｡) and they feel bad cuz!! They also wanna show him some love! It’s just not easy!

It’s not like they can just be a statue and kiss him forever… so maybe a quick, small peck will do?

Hanako is ALL about that! He loves those!

One teeny tiny peck and after a moment of processing it he lights up and gets a blush and it’s cute af.

You know the big, close-eyed smile? That’s the one he makes.

After the first time, it’s over for his s/o.

He doesn’t mean to embarrass them, but every time he sees them in the hallways? Peck. When they’re on lunch break? Peck. Trying to focus in class? Peck.

They quickly react and to the folks that don’t see supernaturals it looks like they’re just laughing and talking to themselves.

“What’s up with them this time? Geez”

Hanako may or may not give them quite the fright because no one talks of his s/o like that.

But that’s another thing! If they can’t focus on the lesson, Hanako might just swoop in and have them play hang-man or tic-tac-toe with him instead of taking notes. Perhaps it doesn’t help them in the long run, but it certainly provides the relief they need at the time when they’re feeling jittery and restless in class!

He totally gets Tsuchigomori to tutor them later anyway.

On particularly good days, or when his s/o is just super tired, he gets to cuddle the daylights out of them!

While he adores to see them jumping around and laughing and talking of their most recent hyper fixation…

Sometimes he just wants to hold them, man.

He feels so lucky and incredibly thankful to have the bundle of joy that is his s/o.

And he doesn’t have it in him to see how his s/o is just as thankful and whipped for him for giving them a chance :”)

Tsukasa:

With any other partner, the matter of concern would be whether or not they can keep up with his s/o.

But, guys, this is Tsukasa.

It’s his s/o that has to match pace with him asdfg.

Like, not just physically. Emotionally he is ALL over the place. One moment he’d be much too clingy and all to sweet—

And then? He’d be acting upon his sociopathic tendencies and about to cut open a helpless Mokke and “(N/N)-Chan! Don’t you want to know what they look like from the inside, too?”

Yeah. Kid’s a lot to handle, alright.

It’s awfully convenient, he guesses, that his s/o gets distracted to easily.

They wouldn’t be particularly fond of watching how the human skull would look like if the others limbs solidified in the orifices where eyeballs and nostrils would be otherwise.

Or something.

So if they were to run off, attempting to catch a rapidly drifting paper crane while he has his fun, then he didn’t have anything to do with it.

How opportune, though!

When his switch is flipped, on the other hand:

Indeed, all too sweet. As in, so sweet it gives you cavities. And diabetes. And like, chronic pain or anything along those lines.

May not seem like it but I love Tsukasa I swear.

He’ll squish his s/o since they’re so cute and if they squirm around, wanting to be let go, he’ll tighten his hold on them and flash them a dangerous smile because they’re wrong if they think they can rid themselves of him.

They just want to move around. It’s not that deep, rat.

But when they do manage to escape his grip then he’ll whine and whine like a child wanting his guardian’s attention.

Way to make his s/o feel guilty.

The smug bastard will love it when his s/o kisses him, but he’s more of the boa-constrictor-hugger than the kissing type, really.

He pulls at their heartstrings when he starts with the puppy dog eyes. How can they say no when he looks at them like that?

He’s too cute, it’s unbearable.

So he makes them make an effort to sit still while he plays with their fingers or hair despite how much they may struggle with it.

If someone so much as scoffs in the direction of his s/o, they’re g o n e.

Because of his work in the shadows, no one will bother his s/o (and they’ll be none the wiser the entire time!).

His love may be twisted and it might be wrong, but love is love and he’s not afraid to literally cut open anyone that dares hurt the object of his corrupt affections.

Were his s/o to feel down any day for whatever reason, he’d ask and pester them and the moment he’s given a clue on who the one responsible is, anyone that vaguely matches the given description is gone— no questions asked.

But he makes sure his s/o doesn’t know. He’d hate for them to look sad because of him!

When they look so pleasantly broken, he’s the one to pick them up and show them all sorts of wonders to take their mind off the things that made them sad.

He’s their hero, and he intends to uphold that image.

When they’re having trouble expressing themselves, Tsukasa will gladly throw random guesses of what they mean to say that often have nothing to do with the topic at hand but it’ll make them laugh so what does it matter?

When they’re getting a far away look to them in the middle of a conversation, he’ll just switch to something else— easy peasy.

They’re a bit of handful, but it takes one to know one, so he knows just what to do to engage with his s/o.

Mans is nothing if not devoted. If he loves his s/o, then they’ll get all of his attention. Always.

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amariaamaris · 3 years

Text

Of Changes and Revelations

I got this idea from the other Marvel and TVD crossover that I did, it is going to be (hopefully) very different. I hope it comes out well and that I do it justice... I’m already working on a second part, I felt that this was getting a little to long! Please let me know what you think and if there are any grammar/spelling/punctuation things that need fixing. Constructive criticism is always welcome. This took me forever, there were so many roadblocks and questioning myself on if I actually wanted to write this. Thanks to my sister pushing me and my imagination running wild with promises of what I can do in the future with this... I decided to go through with it... so enjoy!

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

After it’s all said it done; after Esther failing in killing her children, Bonnie’s mother being turned to break the link, Abby bailing (again), Klaus forcing Bonnie to break the spell Esther did... The expulsion of magic that resulted inadvertently saved Finn’s life, knocking out the scooby gang in the process (including most everyone in the town). While also setting fire to anything flammable within the radius of the town (leaving only a select few homes and buildings untouched). It’s safe to say all the white oak is gone... along with multiple buildings.... (oops?) The poor trees are all fried, though luckily they have strong bark, so they’ll survive (it also helps that Bonnie helped to heal them).

All of it coalesces and brings Bonnie to locking herself up in her grams house for as long as she pleases with no acknowledgement of the outside world. She had methodically gone through the house and unplugged the internet, tv’s, shut down her phone, and all other electronics. She just wants to be left alone, Bonnie is exhausted; she’s tired of being used, abused, and taken for granted.

She had found a boundary spell in one of the grimoires to keep those with ill or selfish intent off her property and the fu- away from her (especially certain vampires). In the middle of the week Bonnie left her grams house and went to the school. At the beginning of the week she set up this time to test out of high school.

Bonnie made sure to blend in with the crowd to not be spotted by her “friends”; they may have not seen her, but she definitely saw them. She took the test within three and a half class periods and got the hell out of there. Bonnie drove away like a bat out of hell and made it back to her grams house as fast as she possibly could. She had completely moved into her grams house throughout the one after another of the supernatural shit show that she now calls her life (or rather did call her life). Not like her father was ever around for her to bother staying in his house.

The plus side of testing out of high school is that she can go and get whatever she needs without being worried about being ambushed by her “friends” or the Mikaelson's. Bonnie has also decided that she is going to take all the time that she needs to spend on self-love, working with her magic to learn, and embrace it joyfully. She also has been spending time in meditation and speaking with all of her ancestors. For once in her life, Bonnie Shelia Bennett has finally decided to be selfish and damn the consequences.

Little did she know that her new change would go right along with a huge change that will flip her world on its axis and bring up deeply buried memories.

————

Rudy Bennett knew that this day would come, he knew that eventually they would hunt him down. After all, he did abandon his post, he cut off all contact and went rogue. In doing so, also kept his child away from her culture and her people. He knows that if they find out about her and his lack of parenting, that would sign his fate.

Rudy couldn’t hide his shaking hands as he poured himself a drink and promptly chugged what was in his glass. He did decide that he wouldn’t run or hide, he was going to wait for them to come. He just got done pouring his second one when the lights flickered off; causing a shiver of fear to run down his spine, he could also feel sweat on the back of his neck.

When the lights flickered on, there were two Dora Milaje standing on the other side of his desk. Still as stone holding their vibranium spears, with the king and his cousin standing in between them. Both in different black panther suits (armor?), causing Rudy to gulp. Rudy could feel more sweat break out on his skin as he warily stared at his king.

“D’Kadi Dzube, you’ve been missing a long time.” Rudy or rather D’Kadi watched as both the men tapped on their collars and watched as the mask melted away and showed their faces. Rudy could hear his blood rushing to his ears as he felt himself pale a little. “You were once my father’s most trusted war dog. Then one day, you disappeared without a trace. Just a few months ago we found you... we also found some very interesting information. D’Kadi Dzube you have a daughter that you hid from your people. From my understanding you have been neglecting her as well.”

Rudy could hear ringing in his ears and the blood rushing through his body, he could imagine that he looked white as a sheet. Everything was blurring and before he knew it his eyes were rolling and he fell into darkness.

————

Bonnie could feel something coming to the depths of her bones, it would cause her to pause as her hair would stand up on its ends. Which would lead her to looking out the windows, but there was nothing there. It got to the point where Bonnie decided to add an extra warding to the house rather than the property. Evidently to keep anyone away from the structure of the home, while still being able to enter the yard (only if they pass the wards on the property that is).

Bonnie had started a cute little herbal and vegetable/fruit garden in her backyard, along with some landscaping spanning around the whole house. Along with flowers on both sides of the pathway walking up to the house. Bonnie has never before felt this free and happy. That doesn’t change the fact that she still feels a phantom twinge of pain when she thinks of how her friends haven’t even tried to come visit her. Not. A. Single. One.

Hell! Even Klaus showed up! Not that he could get on the property and it’s not like he was checking up on her... but still! Bonnie lets out an annoyed huff and shakes her head as she focuses back on her plants at the front of the house. She tries to work through her agitation; at her friends, the Mikaelson’s, the Salvatore’s, her parents, her grams for not teaching her from the beginning, at herself for not being smarter and wiser, and Bonnie might as well add the world to the list to.

She very quickly finds herself falling into a flow of taking care of the plants as everything washes away. Bonnie has found that in many instances doing something like this puts her in a meditative trance that helps to center her. Two hours pass with Bonnie working on her plants, when she hears a car drive up and park on the curb.

Bonnie allows herself to slow down in her landscaping work, but doesn’t turn around - even as she hears the car doors open and shut. She can also hear strangely accented voices talking, both male... but she can sense more people with them. Hearing them coming closer makes Bonnie glad that she chose to wear a wide brimmed straw hat that belonged to her grams (she’s rather not have people recognize her before she can tell whether or not they are threats).

“Excuse me? Are you the daughter of Rudy Bennett and Abby Bennett....” She freezes, but gives no answer. Bonnie can already feel her magic gathering, ready to motus the hell out of all of the people behind her. Receiving no answer, the people behind her exchange looks, “Granddaughter to Shelia Bennett?” Bonnie feels her agitation spike, causing her to rip off her dirty gardening gloves and throw them to the ground.

Bonnie turns around to look at them, noticing two men that look like cousins, two bald women that have what look to be tribal tattoos on their heads, and a random white man wearing clothing far heavy for how warm it is. Bonnie can practically feel her magic crackling at her fingertips and through her hair. “That depends on who is asking and why...?”

One of the cousins move to step forward, but upon seeing the look on her face, thinks better of it. Though, that didn’t stop him from kindly smiling at her, “My name is T’Challa, this is my cousin N’Jadaka, these two women are Okoye and Ayo, and this is James Barnes. I would like to speak to you about your father.”

Bonnie studies all of them and then flicks her eyes back to T’Challa, before she can respond with something biting, she hears whispers upon the wind. She allows herself to slightly tilt her head to listen better. After a few seconds Bonnie focuses back on T’Challa and the people he brought with him. “I’m not interested in talking about the sperm donor that calls himself my father. I could care less what type of underground cultish mafia he got himself into. If he owes you anything make Rudy deal with it, his problem’s aren’t mine to deal with.”

Bonnie quickly makes her way onto the porch of the house - without turning her back on them (she doesn’t have a death wish) - already knowing that whoever these people are, they aren’t going to let her off easily. N’Jadaka, the man with weird bumps all over his extremely musc- no! Bonnie quickly mentally shakes herself as he snickers with a smirk on his face. “I don’t think I have ever heard someone call people from Wakanda a cult or mafia. The little kitten does have a point cousin.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, “She should be wary, she knows nothing about her father’s history. “

“N’Jadaka...” T’Challa gives him a sharp warning look, not noticing Bonnie moving to open the front door to slip inside. “Where do you think you’re going kitten? We said we wanted to talk that’s what you’re going to let us do!” He moves to go onto the porch, but feels like he hit a brick wall, N’Jadaka also gets a nasty zap throughout his entire body. Causing him to hiss slightly in pain as the group takes notice of the wind picking up and hissing whispers upon the wind (not that they could make out what they were saying). They do notice how Bonnie seems to understand exactly what is being said upon her head whipping around to face the road. All of them watched as she ripped off her hat and lightly tossed it onto the porch swing, they heard the sharp angry hiss escape from her as her green eyes darkened.

The group from Wakanda evenly spaced themselves out as they turned upon hearing a car door slam, they all watch as a long blonde haired young woman walked around the car and onto the property. “Bonnie! Where have you been? We have all been trying to get a hold of you, you haven’t been at school, you haven’t been answering your phone or showing up to practice! We’ve been worried! Honestly Bonnie Bennett you better have a good reason for completely cutting all of us out of your life... who are these people?!” Bonnie stares at Caroline for a few seconds realizing that her chest no longer hurts when thinking of her ex-friends. In fact Bonnie realizes with sudden clarity that there isn’t pain when she thinks of her friends, only white hot fiery fury and looking at Caroline only makes her annoyance and fury rise at the audacity that she had to show up to her grams house unannounced at her house, at her sanctuary.

“Who they are is none of your business Caroline, in fact they were just leaving, like you will be. I’m not particularly in the mood to talk to people that ruined my perfectly peaceful day by arriving unannounced.” Turning her attention to the curious onlookers Bonnie continues “I don’t care to talk about Rudy and whatever shit show he’s gotten himself into,” looking to Caroline “and I don’t want to be forced to listen to lies! I’m well aware that none of you have noticed my absence up until a couple days ago. I’m also aware that none of you actually care for me, all of you just see me as some weapon to be used. Well I’m done being your sword and shield. I want all of you the hell off of my grams property. Do whatever you want with Rudy, it’s not my problem and I want nothing to do with it. Caroline you and the rest of those assholes can shove your lies and demands up your asses. I’m not going to be your quick fix to problems you brought on yourselves. Grow the fuck up and deal with them yourself! Now get the fuck off of my property!”

The front door slams viciously behind Bonnie, whose screaming voice still echoed in the air with whispers following it, the group from Wakanda all had their eyebrows almost to their hairlines. While Caroline’s jaw was dropped almost to the ground in shock and hurt. “You should leave Care-o-line, you’re no friend of hers.” N’Jadaka’s voice quickly pulls her out of it and brings up her misplaced righteous fury. “Oh, really, I am her friend. Who the hell are you? From the way it was looking none of you are friends of Bonnie’s! I’m her best friend!! You had to have done something to upset her, she would have never said something like that or treated me that way! All of you are the ones who should leave!”

N’Jadaka moves to step forward, but James puts his hidden vibranium arm in front of him and says only one thing in a harsh warning tone. “Erik...” Causing Erik to suck on his teeth for a second then back down. While T’Challa steps forward with his hands up in the universal sign of peace. “Miss...” Caroline huffs out her answer to his silent question, “Caroline Forbes!” He immediately gives a soft smile, “Miss Forbes, I believe all of us need to leave Bonnie alone for the time being. If it makes you feel better we will get into our car first, but we will only be leaving after you drive away. She is important to our people and I will not risk something happening.” Caroline works her jaw as the gogs in her brain slowly turn, her eyes sharpen for a few seconds, but she quickly gives in and slowly, dejectedly nods.

None of them notice the whispers on the wind that one small young Bennett witch listens too as they all drive away, with a contemplating look in her eyes.

————

The next day has Bonnie working in the backyard harvesting the herbs, vegetables, and fruits that she needs. Bonnie gives absolutely no reaction to N’Jadaka’s presence as he walks around the back of the house. “You know it’s seen as extremely rude to not only invite yourself to someone’s house, especially not knocking on the front door.” She has to hide her slight smile upon hearing him huff out a laugh, “I’d love to knock on your front door kitten, the only problem is... I couldn’t seem to get on the first step.” Bonnie can sense the question in his words, but chooses to ignore it and continue her work. She can feel him watching her and gets quickly fed up witch a harsh huff Bonnie stops what she is doing, stands up, and turns to face him.

She has to give herself a few seconds to get accustomed to the height difference between the two of them, to put it simply... he dwarfs her. Not only in height, but in sheer muscle mass, she averts her eyes to try and hide the affect he’s having on her. Bonnie decides to chalk it up to the fact that she hasn’t had any direct human contact for a while. “Look N’Jadaka...” “Erik” His interruption causes her to blink, “What?” Erik let’s out a quiet huff while a smirk plays along his lips. “My colonizer name kitten, is Erik. I’d rather go by it than N’Jadaka... has a lot more pride in it than my other name does.”

Bonnie quietly mouths colonizer with a confused look, but decides that they can come back to that later. “Fine! Erik... just...” Bonnie let’s out breath and frowns as her eyes play across the plains of his face and the outdoors. “I don’t know why... but my ancestors like you and they say that I can trust you. Now I’m going to do something that I never do... I’m going to trust my ancestors.” She allows herself to walk up to him and look him directly in the eyes “and if you ever... and I mean ever break that trust. I will personally find a way to kill you, slowly, painfully, and only when your begging for mercy will I kill you... got it?” While she was talking her finger was poking him in the chest to help emphasize her words with a sickly sweet smile upon her face.

Erik gives a slow smile knowing that he shouldn’t find himself turned on by her threat, but he is. He allows himself to carefully grab the hand she was poking him with and holds onto it. Erik chooses to ignore the quiet gasp that escapes her lips... for the moment “You got it kitten, would you like me to explain what you were very unwilling to talk about yesterday with my cousin?” He watches completely fascinated as her eyelashes shadow her eyes while she thinks it over, when she looks up and focuses back on him, she gives a hesitant nod. “Okay, but your helping me with my garden... if we have to talk about something that I would rather never have to think about again, your going to be useful and help.” Her words pull a sharp laugh out of Erik, as he grins and gives a nod in acceptance.

Once she quickly shows him what do to and what to look for, they start working. As they work he explains everything to her, everything hidden from her, everything that her father has done... everything. It completely shatters her, it obliterates everything she thought she knew about her father and his side of the family, everything she thought she knew and understood about herself; it sends her completely into orbit. She doesn’t even realize that she is crying, nor does she realize that she is raging at Erik and upon his body. Her fists swinging to hit his chest as her magic angrily swirls around them. Bonnie feels as though she is shattered into a trillion shimmering atoms being carried away upon the wind. She can’t tell if she will ever find herself... how can she? Bonnie doesn’t think that she can gather the exploded pieces... how can she find them? They have scattered to the wind getting caught in the trees, falling to the streams of water to be carried and caught elsewhere. Bonnie can’t even feel Erik tightly holding her as he somehow carries her inside of her grans house. And eventually, much later into the night, he helps to pull her back together, but for now. He try’s to help hold together what little is left of Bonnie Shelia Bennett.

As her true name echoes through her entire being...

Ahnika...

————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think. The second part is on its way! Peace, love, and joy!

#thevampirediares #black panther #bonnie bennett #rudy bennett #t'challa #n'jadaka #dora milaje #crossover #james buchanan barnes #white wolf #non canon

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ittybittycommitty · 3 years

Text

Next chapter of my g/t rewrite of BBC Merlin!

Part 1-Part 2-Part 3

Chapter 2

Merlin had been staying at the Physicians chambers for a month now. He had finally settled on a routine that allowed him to study as he pleased but also help Gaius with keeping the place clean as well as making potions. He had almost been spotted a couple times in the first couple weeks, but now he had gotten used to the times that patients usually came in.

It was the middle of the night, and Merlin was awoken by Gaius rummaging through his supplies.

“Gaius? What’s going on?” Gaius looked up at Merlin.

“There’s a small town to the East that desperately needs medical assistance, I’m going to ask Gwen to take care of this place and the patients, you’ll have to be extra careful when you come out… I’m leaving some food in the emergency cupboard, and if I don’t come back in two weeks use the escape route to the kitchens and the forest as we planned alright?” Gaius drabbled on, obviously worried about leaving Merlin.

“Don’t worry, I left town all the time before you came here,” Gaius said, walking up to Merlin.

“Gaius, I’m not worried, I’m sure I can handle on my own,” Merlin said reassuringly. Gaius sighed and smiled.

“I’m sure you can my boy,” Gaius grabbed his satchel and headed for the door. “I’ll see you in two weeks, hopefully less,”

“Good luck,” Merlin called out as Gaius left.

Merlin wanted to get ready before Gwen came by, grabbing food and water and storing it on his little ledge. He also piled a couple extra books in front just in case.

He had seen Gwen many times before, she seemed nice, and always came to check up on Gaius even when there were no patients around. Even though it was a nice gesture, it had made it difficult for Merlin to get some time off his ledge. Sometimes he wondered why someone that nice would want to kill him, it felt wrong. But even with the fear of death he still liked her, and was excited to see more of her these next two weeks.

Sure enough, when morning came the girl came in, humming to herself. Merlin watched as she started cleaning up the mess Gaius had left in his rush the night before.

In the days following she would come by every now again, leading a patient into the chambers, and treating them promptly. She probably had to keep doing her everyday duties and let people know to come find her if they needed help. And even though she kept a smile while around patients, Merlin saw her collapse in exhaustion as soon as they leave. He felt bad, he wanted to help her but he knew he couldn’t. Hopefully she could handle it on her own.

But it only got worse. There was an outbreak of a rather common sickness, but it was extremely contagious and required medicine. Gwen was given permission to stop her duties as a servant and started sleeping in the physicians chambers in order to save time and spend more time making medicine. Merlin had no chance to leave his ledge in this time except in the night. He decided he would start doing a little to help with the medicine at night and hope she didn’t notice. Slowly he upped his help each night. Gwen was none the wiser, she was too exhausted to notice any changes and was relieved that she had made more medicine than she realized.

All was well until they ran out of one the key ingredients for the medicine. Gaius had assured her that what he had left her would be enough, and the letter he had sent her recently made it apparent he could not leave his post anytime soon.

“Oh god, this is awful, I have no idea where to find this herb,” Merlin bit his lip. He knew where to find it, but how could he tell her? He had to make a choice. Stay hidden and let more people fall sick as Gwen watches unable to help or help out and get caught, most likely leading to his death. It was an easy choice. He climbed down from his ledge and stood on a table behind Gwen.

“I know where it grows,” Merlin said quietly, Gwen snapped around. She didn’t see him at first and looked around frantically.

“Who said that?”

“I did,” She looked down and saw the small boy standing tall in front of her. She bent down slowly and got a closer look.

“You’re…” She started, a conflicted expression spread across her face.

“I know, but you need my help, I can lead you to where those herbs grow,” She backed up and sat down, holding her head.

“How would you know?” She asked, looking at the ground.

“Gaius showed me, he takes me on his herb collecting errands often,” She looks up at that.

“You are friends of Gaius?”

“Yes, I’m here under his care,” Gwen laughed nervously and ran her fingers through her hair.

“What a crazy old man… Who else would-” Merlin crossed his arms.

“Okay, get over your shock, we need to get those herbs to stop the spread,” She straightened herself and looked back at the sprite.

“Alright, sorry,” Merlin nodded. He looked confident on the outside, but on the inside, his heart was racing faster than it ever had.

“So… How should I carry you? We could use this bag or I have a pocket…”

“You’ll need all the space in that bag for the herbs, you can put me in your pocket,” As much as he hated the idea, it was only logical. She nodded and put out her hand to him. Merlin gulped and jumped onto it. Her hand fell a little at the impact and she gasped softly.

“You’re heavier than I expected,” Merlin breathed and focused on his balance, trying not to grab onto her hand to steady himself. She lifted him over to her middle and slipped him in her pocket located just below her waist. Merlin plopped down onto something crunchy. He reached below him and picked it up. It was a dried flower, probably forgotten by Gwen a while ago. He poked his head out and presented the flower.

“Forget something?” He said with a small smirk. She blushed and grabbed it from him.

“Heh… Sorry,” He retreated back inside and stayed still as she quickly fled outside.

“Gwen!” Merlin heard an unfamiliar voice call out to her as they were heading across the courtyard.

“Oh, hello Arthur,” She said, a hint of unease in her voice.

“I just wanted to ask how you were doing… You’ve been in the physicians chambers for days,”

“Oh I’m fine, I’m heading to the forest to collect herbs for more medicine,”

“Oh! I’ll come with you!” Merlin bit his lip, hoping Gwen can come up with an excuse to keep him away.

“Oh… I don’t think you need to-”

“Nonsense Gwen, this is to help the kingdom!”

“Don’t you think there’s something else more important you should be doing? More princely duties?” Merlin squinted his eyes. Wait… Princely? Was this Prince Arthur she was talking to??

“I would say this is a high priority, seeing as half the kingdom is infected by this sickness,” Gwen didn’t know how to talk herself out of this, so she nervously nodded.

“Alright, you can come… But you should bring a bag of your own to collect herbs,” Arthur nodded and ran off. Gwen quickly hid in a dark alley and pulled Merlin out.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me how to get to the herbs now can you?” Merlin rubbed his neck.

“Well I was relying on this information a leverage so you wouldn’t kill me…”

“I won’t! I promise… Anyone who is Gaius’s friend is my friend too,” She assured the boy, who looked rather scared at this point. Merlin sighed.

“Okay, here’s how you get there…” Merlin gave her instructions vaguely and quickly.

“Gwen?” Arthur came running back into the courtyard and saw Gwen gone.

“Here!” Gwen said rushing out of her hiding spot to join the Prince.

“What were you doing back there?” He said, looking at her suspiciously. She smiled nervously.

“Oh nothing just… Talking to a friend,” He seemed satisfied with that answer and they walked out of town together. Merlin listened silently as the two talked. Though it was mostly Arthur complaining about his duties and his knights. Merlin rolled his eyes multiple times, wanted to make a snappy remark. He at least wished Gwen would say something, but she just listened politely.

Luckily Gwen was able to find the herbs from Merlin’s instructions and she and Arthur were able to gather enough to stuff both their bags to the brim. She rested a thankful hand on her pocket as they headed back. Merlin blushed in embarrassment at the gesture.

As they entered Camelot, a couple of knights came rushing up to them.

“Sire!” Arthur turned to Gwen.

“I’ll see you later Gwen,” He said and ushered the guards elsewhere to converse. She gave a sigh of relief and hurried to the physicians chambers.

As soon as she closed the door she reached into her pocket and pulled Merlin out. He breathed heavily.

“Are you okay?” She said, setting him down on the table. He bent over and took a few more big breaths.

“Yeah, it was just stuffy in there,” She blushed nervously.

“Sorry… But thank you so much for helping me, you risked a lot,” He straightened up and looked up at her. He flushed and smiled.

“Now, time to make some more medicine! Do you think you could help me?” She asked nervously.

“Oh you have no idea how long I waited for you to ask that,” Merlin smiled and jumped over to the beakers. She looked at him, confused. He laughed.

“I’ve been wanting to help you, but until now I could only make a few extra in the night,” She stared in disbelief down at him.

“Really? That was you?” They both got to work and Merlin nodded up at her.

“Thank you… I’m so glad you’ve been here to help me,” They both smiled at each other.

#gt #giantess #giant #tiny #g/t #wholesome giantess #bbc Merlin #Merlin #arthur #Gwen #Morgana #sprite #giant/tiny #gt writing #gt story #fanfiction

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virgil-writes · 3 years

Photo

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 12 - cabin fever

SFW, around 5K words.

chapter 13 - liebchen (ao3 only, smut)

The sheets underneath him were worn but comfortable, ancient-looking in design but well taken care of. The bed frame is barely there, mattress a well-placed lattice away from being on the floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been on a bed, the last time he’d laid his body down at all, for any reason. His back complains every other second, not because of the comfort of the bedding, but because it had gone without for so long. A wonderfully comfortable blanket covers him up to the hips, the soft mattress almost makes him feel like he is floating. Fuck, he really missed having a proper bed now.

He inspects himself carefully, still not fully convinced this is not a fever-induced hallucination. His hand is where it should be, and so is his leg, and every other part of his body that he recalled having before. There are half a dozen new scars that he can count, all healed over perfectly like they’d opened years ago instead of hours, forming a map of stories he would rather not tell. He is shirtless but is wearing pants now, his trench coat and hat nowhere to be found. He pushes the blanket aside to find the damn woolen slippers waiting for him on a woven rug. It doesn’t take him long to realize where he is, but nothing resembles her, no personal belongings on the nightstand, no desk or mirror or even a dresser. It looked as if the room was rarely visited, kept clean but empty, and he wondered if sleep was a foreign concept to her, too.

Hesitant, tentative movements take him down the ladder and into the living room, and he expects to find her hard at work at something or another, humming a tune while she cooks, petting the goat and telling it asinine, cutesy things in a soft voice. But the house is silent and she is nowhere to be found, the dog sits in front of the closed front door and watches his every move. It is not aggressive but watchful, like it had been given the task of keeping an eye on the ailing man and alerting his owner in case anything was amiss.

“I’m fine, fleabag.” He laughs at the dog and gets a huff in response, an acknowledgment, and the shepherd moves from its post at the door to give him passage if he so desires. Heisenberg gives it a well deserved pat on the head as it passes by, tail wagging hesitantly as it tried to make friends with him. He is glad to be alone - if anyone ever used this against him, he would deny it.

A plate awaits him at the dinner table, and despite his intentions of running out of there before she could see him again, breakfast is an offer he cannot bring himself to refuse. Bread and jam, a robust omelet served with sprinkles of cheese and herbs. He can almost see the aroma the coffee has left behind, and finds the pot on the side of the wood stove, cup and saucer set for him nearby.

He eats slowly and in silence, chews thoroughly before swallowing, as if he fears some abrupt movement would rip reality apart and throw him back into the pit of suffering he found himself in the night before. There is no blood, no pain; no sign of the madness he had come so close to drowning in. He is safe and comfortable, there is good food in his belly and a warm hearth to keep the cold at bay. His problems are far and cannot catch him, and maybe if he keeps stalling to finish breakfast he can stay in this bliss forever. The world is quiet outside, and so are his thoughts, for once in his life.

A shirt and sweater are neatly folded and arranged as to call attention on the couch, no doubt to replace his blood-stained, ragged trench coat. He feels naked without it, he muses as he pulls the moss-colored shirt over his head, and it feels awkward not to wear the hat and the glasses. It would be unpleasant if she were to catch him now, free of his usual regalia; he felt that she would see right through him, stare deep into his eyes and find out all he had worked so hard to hide.

He did not feel like Karl Heisenberg, Lord of the Village, powerful mutant capable of unspeakable acts of violence. He was… Karl, middle-aged immortal man who enjoyed tinkering, was a big fan of meat an potatoes and didn’t know what to do when he had time to waste in his hands. Karl, of German origin but Romanian by birth, come from a long line of miners and steel workers. People of few words and fewer luxuries, hardy of constitution and blunt to a fault. He had been content to be those things and nothing more, to carry on what the Heisenbergs had done for centuries, until life dumped him on his head and led him to where he is today.

But not today, because maybe just today he can forget, and let his gracious host distract him with her mystery and the delicate curves of her buttocks. Perhaps tomorrow he would go back to treating her like a tool he would use and discard, but today she would be none the wiser, and neither would he. The fresh air of the mountain and distance from the cramped confines of the factory would do him good, he decided, help reinvigorate his spirit and refresh his ideas, spark some inspiration. And if not, well, the food was excellent and she was easy on the eyes.

A pair of boots that didn’t belong to him were by the door, just the right size to fit him. He had walked all the way up barefoot, he remembers, but he would very much like to know how she seemed to have everything that he needed readily available. Was she clairvoyant alongside being a healer? Did she bleed money that she could buy information on him from the Duke and the apparel to go with it? He opened the door to find her outside, looking like the cat that ate the canary, a couple meters away from the gate that separated her plot of land from the heart of the forest. She had just emerged from amongst the trees, heavy coat over her shoulders and leather boots to keep the ice off her feet. Her hands were free, no basket for foraging or firewood in her arms. No sign of a knife or any other kind of weapon, but judging by the look on her face, he could swear she had just committed murder. Her eyes told him she would not speak of it.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” he began, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, at least trying to fish an explanation out of her. Instead she pretended to forget the suspicious circumstances and focused on him instead, her face lighting up at the sight of him up and about, like she didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. Had it been that bad?

“Good morning, my lord. Are you well?” Shame and madness aside, he thought, things were going swimmingly. “I hope the accommodations were to your liking.” Once again with the pleasantries, with the caring for what he thought of her hospitality. Did she get a kick out of being so kind? That was the most foolish thing he had ever heard. He tried to come up with a witty response that would catch her off guard, but the night had been long and there was too much tiredness swamping his mind, and all he got was honesty:

“Quite. Hadn’t slept in a bed in decades.” As if to validate his words, he stretched and grunted in approval, pains he did not even realize he’d had gone like magic.

“Well, it remains at your disposal,” was her response as she chuckled, wiping her hands on the embroidered apron before gesturing an invitation. There was dirt on her palms. “It may not be much, but it’ll give you a good night’s rest.” She motioned for him to follow, something he would grow accustomed to.

“You know,” he began, following her into the shed, accepting the shallow basket she handed him. “I bet it’d be even better if you were there with me.” She hummed in approval, a smile as devious as his on her face. The damn woman would always catch him off guard; Heisenberg was not used to being flirted with, words thrown about only half-seriously, only to make the villagers blush and Alcina mad. He had never followed up on any of it, because it was always meant to annoy, and the fact that she not only took him seriously but fired back pulled the rug right from under him. And boy did he like it.

They laughed but spoke no more of it, tension like static in the air, both fully aware the joke had more than a few nuggets of truth to it. A dozen different scenarios ran through his mind, on ways he could take her, mark her, ruin her. Inside the shed, behind the stables, propped on the porch railing. Standing, face pressed against the floor, legs tightly wrapped around his waist. She smirked as she passed by him, smirked like she could tell every image that went through his mind. Smirked like she knew he would not do any of it, that his flirting was just a front and he had never found the courage to take the plunge, not even once. Her wink was the cherry on the cake, the challenge that made his cheeks flush at just the right moment so that she wouldn’t see it.

The morning was spent tending to the animals and the garden, and she instructed him on how to feed the chickens and keep the tiny goat happy. Its name was Prince and it demanded to be treated like royalty, lest the puny humans faced his wrath and for now adorable headbutts. The thing followed him around the whole time, demanded his attention when he collected the eggs from the coop, when he let the horse out of the stable to let it stretch its legs. Only when the weather took a turn for the worse did it scurry off to hide in the pens with its mom, settling down on a nice and dry bundle of hay.

He was put in charge of firewood while she tended the garden. The innuendos were kept to a minimum, but the static never left, and he felt her eyes heavy on him as he brought the axe down, muscles flexing and veins showing on his forearms with the effort. Maybe he ought to do more housework around her, and she’d come around and do his bidding without hesitation.

When the wind blew away his hat, Heisenberg realized there would be no going back to the factory unless he hurried. The storm had been mounting for days now, but he had never been one to pay much attention to the tells of weather; he rarely left his hideout, and with the factory being mostly underground, he would be trapped inside for a few days at best. He had perhaps half an hour for a journey that would take him one or two under such bad weather, and he would have to be lucky for the bridge to hold if it got too bad. She wasted little time paying attention to his inner turmoil, and went about securing the animals instead, making sure they had food, water and a warm place to spend the night. Snow was falling fast by the time she was done, and she ushered him in when he’d stood there too long, snow coming up to his shins already. They brushed off as much as they could on the porch before heading inside, water dripping down their shoulders. There was a long pause as they both watched the storm come down through the living room window, a knowing silence that the day would be long, and the night longer, and neither would be leaving that cabin for at least the next day.

“Well, it seems the bed is yours for the night again, my lord,” were her words as she bolted the door, a hint of joy in her voice. He imagined it was a lonely existence, secluded in the mountains and feared by all, not part of any community and especially not theirs. She always seemed so happy to see him, to see another human whose first instinct wasn’t to attack her. He would pity her if he cared, if his existence wasn’t equally as lonesome, if he hadn’t fashioned it to be exactly what he wished. He’d never needed anyone yapping about everything and nothing in his ears, interrupting his work and diverting his attention from what really mattered. Alcina was insane to have taken in the girls, really; children sounded like an exhausting chore that never ended. He never understood why she always looked so content in spite of it all. His mother always told him one day he would understand, he would want to keep someone close, and then he would want someone else just like them to cherish and love, to teach and share the good and bad moments. He would turn a hundred soon and never quite felt like it; maybe in another hundred years?

His only answer was a lopsided smile, tired and sad, and he tried to brace for the barrage of questions and comments that were certain to come. She was trapped inside her living space with the stranger who emerged from the guts of the forest, come from a village rife with death, where he was sovereign save for Mother dearest. He was the favorite son and the most powerful, gifted with strength and wits and influence and power. Those he could not talk down he could easily buy out, and those he could not buy out he could easily destroy. He was a fabled recluse and rumors ran rampant of the work he’d conduct in his factory, of treasures he kept deep underground. It would be a long day, the first in forever that he would spend so close to another breathing, talking human, and he did not know what to expect aside from a lot of chit-chat and a mounting headache. Surely she would like to know all about him, now that he couldn’t run away from her. Surely she would pry into his motives, pepper in questions about his siblings and the village. A thousand smug answers he conjured in his mind, each snappier than the other, every retort a question thrown back at her. It was only fair, of course; she had thrown much at him, bits and pieces of improbabilities that he couldn’t put together, and if she intended on digging deep, he would do the same.

To his surprise, all she did was leave her boots behind next to him and proceed to ignore him, going about her daily life like he was of no consequence. He found himself stunned, rooted in front of the door with a puzzled expression on his face. She looked at him as if to say well, this is it, make yourself at home and enjoy the day, and once again the domesticity of it all broke him more than words could ever have. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly.

First, she dusted the shelves, reorganized her herb cabinet and found a place for his hat. The curtains were drawn and she took a peek outside, checking on the pens and the stable to make sure the animals would have a comfortable enough day. Then she bound off to a corner of the living room, producing a basket with threads and fabric, yarn and needles that she brought over to the couch. She sat cross-legged, close to the fire, and only spared him a brief glance before tending to her needlework. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly. The first few minutes were nerve-racking, his paranoia telling him he would look away and find her peering curiously over his shoulder, trying to steal away his secrets to use against him as leverage. He read the same words again and again only to realize he hadn’t understood them, eyes turning to her every minute to make sure she still hadn’t moved. She caught him eventually, eyebrow raised in his direction as she tried to make sense of the situation, mouth turning into an “oh” as she jumped off the couch and stood on the tips of her toes to reach the very top of the bookshelf. A minute later and she had brought him a candle and holder, a half-empty box of matches in her other hand. She stood at the other end of the table and pushed it in his direction, still not curious regarding his work, but figuring that, even in daylight, the cabin was dark and he likely was not used to doing things by candlelight. It took him a moment to process and bring the light closer, shocked as he was to see that she intended to leave him to his own devices but cared about his comfort.

The hours were a blur then, when he convinced himself she would not surprise him, and his suspicions were correct; a change of environment had done wonders for his creativity, solutions jumping at him paper after paper, a multitude of new projects and ideas for him to try once he was back at the factory. He can’t remember the last time he had been so productive, the last time he had folded everything in and told himself he was done for the day, because he had done more than enough. She had brought him tea and bread at some point and he had eaten absentmindedly, crumbs and drops of jam staining the papers, but he could not bring himself to care. After tea she had brought him coffee, and then a jug of water, and while he felt a bit like a caged animal being fed periodically, it did wonders to keep his work flowing.

Night had already fallen when he finally took a break, got up to stretch his legs and look around to see just what she had been doing this whole time. Her crafts basket was back in its place, a sock taking shape on the needles. A book abandoned where she was sitting instead, the little witch nowhere near it. Instead she was busy preparing dinner, swaying her hips to a tune but quiet as a mouse, like she was going out of her way to give him peace and quiet. He appreciated it, try as he might to deny it, how she cared without meddling, made herself present but not intruding.

Maybe he should hire her to be his assistant, help him organize the half-done office he had begun building on the upper floors of the factory. She certainly would be great at helping him keep his affairs in order - and by that he meant she would keep him fed, mostly, the one thing he kept forgetting to do and that always set him back. He could provide her with something better than this, surely, her very own quarters with modern wonders such as electricity and proper plumbing, a bathroom of her own, maybe even a fridge. Had she ever seen a fridge before? He imagined she would decorate the place with all manner of silly things that would only serve to gather dust, knickknacks and wreaths and woven things, and that it would smell of flowers and fresh-baked bread. Her responsibilities would include housekeeping and Heisenkeeping - organizing his papers so he wouldn’t lose them, keeping track of all of the family meetings he had to attend, dealing with the Duke for supplies so he wouldn’t have to. He’d reward her handsomely, give her days off, be a good employer unlike his parents had been. Not a bad plan, if he did say so himself.

He had only forgotten to factor in that she was, still, a powerful, self-described blood witch. He had been entertaining himself with the thoughts of having her around as he watched her prepare dinner; she’d gone hunting in the morning, he realized, two hares hanging upside down from an iron ring. She took one down to place it at the cutting board, its insides clean but pelt still intact. He had no doubt she would be skilled at skinning it; when one lives as long as she has with no contact with the outside world, such skills are necessary for survival. What he did not expect was the way she’d go about it: a firm hand grabbed a handful of fur, gave it a gentle twist and pulled, effortlessly, the entire thing coming off in her hand, no cuts and no tears, neck and head and all. He could see the knife from where he was sitting, placed blade down into the ceramic jug.

Heisenberg bent forward to see better when she did it the second time around, and it was as unexplainable and horrifying as the first. Gross but humane, like she simply coaxed the skin to slide right off the flesh. If the thing had been alive, he imagined it would have been quite painful, a whole human suit in her hand and living flesh left behind. The thought almost makes him gag, a disgusted sound escaping his lips and making her realize she’s not alone. She slowly turns to face him with a sheepish smile, like a child caught red-handed. “Pretend you didn’t see that?” She offers, but he shakes his head no. Not in a million years he would forget the sheer brutality of it. He waits but she doesn’t explain it, goes back to making dinner like nothing had happened.

“Could you do that to something… Bigger, darling?” He approaches her slowly, like a predator carefully stalking its prey, though he feels far from a position of power at the moment. She nods her head yes. “Like, say, a good ole’ human?” He whispers in her ear, a shiver running down her spine at the sudden intrusion and hot breath against her skin, flirting his go-to attempt at getting back the reigns of any situation.

“Want me to test it on you, my lord?” She quips in the same whisper tone, and he is wise enough to back off for now.

“Think I’ll pass.” Before he can run back to his seat, she hands him the smaller, bone-bladed knife and pushes a bowl of potatoes towards him, the sudden motion startling him and eliciting a chuckle out of her. Looks like he’ll have to earn his keep. For a while they work shoulder to shoulder in peaceful silence, save for his grunts of frustration at not being able to peel a potato successfully. It’s been a long time. “You ought to show me what you can do one of these days. I’m awful curious.” She considers it for a second, head moving left and right, knife following the movement.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” and she doesn’t mean metal bending and knife juggling, he knows. He can’t think of a reason why she would want to see him, truly see him, monstrous appearance and all, but if that’s the price to pay, he’ll gladly do it. It would be good for his ego, too, that priceless look on her face as he shifts into the stuff of nightmares.

There are no more gruesome sneak peeks for the night and soon the stew is ready, he helps set the table and she finds a bottle of wine she’d stashed away for a rainy day. She explains over dinner that he was quite feverish when he arrived, and it’s a wonder he made it through the night. He truly was sturdy, no ifs or buts about it, she said in appreciation. There were cuts and bruises all over him, all shapes and sizes, like he’d fallen through glass. Did he have an accident at the factory? There was genuine concern in her voice, though they both knew that she knew better.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he experiments with a few questions, each answer leaving him further in the dark. How old was she? Somewhere around a hundred and thirty. She remembers being old enough to read around 1902, when she saw the date on a newspaper she fished out of the gutter, but beyond that time was either a blur or she’d been too young to remember. Where did she come from? Not a clue, but she’s been around: she’s seen Italian castles, been to centuries old British pubs. She’s seen the Brandenburg Gate and visited Chateau de Versailles. She’s bathed in the beautiful waters of the Greek coast, made a pilgrimage to the volcanic beaches of Iceland. She’s never made it past the ocean to the Americas or down to the warmer climates of Africa, but time has never been an issue, and she figures she’ll get to it eventually. He asks her why all the wandering, is someone after her? Her breath hitches and her eyes lower, shoulders slump, a deep breath before the replies. Something like that, and he understands maybe it’s best if he doesn’t push.

They returned to the topic of his feverish display once dinner was over, with her cautioning that he had been lucky this time around, lucky that she was home, lucky that he even made it across the bridge and found his way home. Home, her use of the word is deliberate and strokes something warm and fuzzy within him. Disgusting. There was the matter of the shard, he took a sit on the couch as she reached into a drawer to pull out a bundle of clean cloth, and he feigns confusion when she unwraps it to reveal a piece of metal shaped similar to an arrowhead. He recognized it, the shavings of a project he had worked on… Maybe a year ago? It’d been sticking out through his ribs when he arrived, she said, and it looked anything but recent; infection had taken around it, skin red and swollen. She could see that it was agonizingly painful - had he not noticed it at all?

“Ah, so that’s what it was.” He blurted without really meaning to, a humorless chuckle that left her confused. “I’d been feeling this weird poke in my ribs for the longest time - thought I’d broken something.” He shrugs and she nods, clearly aware of their peculiar situations, perhaps now beginning to comprehend just how many layers of fucked up he was made of. “You’re a miracle worker, doll.” His fingers instinctively trace over the spot where the shard had been, nothing there but a scar that had healed remarkably well. “How can I ever repay you?”

Money, gems, jewelry? She didn’t strike him as the materialistic kind. No, she was all about the meaningful gestures, the showing of kindness. There were a few ways he could think of showing his appreciation - slamming her body against the wall to press a hard kiss on her lips, a nice, firm tug on her hair as he nibbled on her neck. Or maybe something softer if she was so inclined, more romantic even, like a well-placed, resounding slap on her ass cheek. “I’ll be sure to think of something, my lord.” Was the answer she gave, though he was sure she meant something else entirely judging by the way she let her coat slide off to reveal her bare shoulders as she set about getting ready for bed. Her hands gathered more and more of her skirt until it’d reached the middle of her thighs, delicate lace adorning the band of her stockings, tiny suspenders disappearing from sight but serving to peak his curiosity. She undid the hooks that kept it in place, fingers threatening to roll the garment down agonizingly slow. Instead she turned to look at her enraptured audience, the pose propping her ass up and so close to his hands. He had thought it had all been an act, carefully orchestrated to put him on edge, but the gasp of surprise she let out told him otherwise. “I am so sorry, my lord.” She quickly let go of it all and stood up straight, a flush running across her face. “I am not used to having visitors.”

“You needn’t stop on account of little ole’ me, darling.” He is quick to say, rich laughter that filled the room with mischief. Heisenberg sprawls further onto the couch, legs parting like an invitation. Best seat in the house, in the whole village even. “I did enjoy it.”

When it was time to say goodnight, he kept his composure and even helped her move one of the pillows and blanket down the ladder. If his mother were alive she would chastise him for not being a gentleman, for not refusing vehemently to let her sleep on an uncomfortable couch instead of her own bed. But the day was over and so were the pleasantries, and he would have to take the time to cleanse her off his mind, ease himself back into his usual mindset. She was impossibly alluring, impossibly annoying, impossibly loving. There was no figuring her out and it seemed there would be no delving deeper in. Playtime was over and it was back to work tomorrow as soon as she storm had passed. He needed to shed away her kindness before it managed to ooze under his skin, but she had no intention of making it any easier on him.

“Here you go,” Heisenberg had no time to stand on ceremony, shoved the pillow in her direction and flashed her a smile to keep up appearances, mind wandering somewhere else, somewhere where he did not care about her. It was better this way. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Even though he tried, he never truly reached that fabled place where she was of no importance. Not that he would ever acknowledge it.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes

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wyrd-weaver · 4 years

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"𝔏𝔢𝔱 𝔐𝔢 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫."

Trigger Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Mention of Self-Harm, Mention of Rape (That Resulted in Pregnancy), Mention of Binge Eating, Mention of Weight (By a Disgusting Man), Depression, Anxiety.

⤷ Remember: Every body type is beautiful, and you're legally allowed to maim those who say otherwise! The brief few sentences in this story are not accurate of any decent, sane individual.

Word Count: 1887

～～～～～～～～～～

Depression had you caged, shackled to the memories...the all-consuming sensations of horror and disgust. The very same that were forced upon you, that iced all your muscles twelve hellish months ago. Twelve! And yet, the nightmares refused to cease. Every evening, you battled demons most powerful and foul, acquiring scar after scar after scar. If you stumbled, if you lay down your weapon or lost...could you really be faulted? If this was Heaven's retribution, a cleansing of your contaminated, sinful body, then...was it not misguided? Surely a void replaced the evidence against you?

Blame should never have befallen you! This child, despite his mask of innocence, attested to humanity's ugliest side. Your heart was unravelling - you needed him, as an extension of yourself, as someone to cherish, but...you didn't want him. He wasn't the product of consent. He was loathsome...and a burden. He was so young, so dependent.

Casting him to the mercy of the streets would be more than a mere violation of morality. You already felt criminal - convicted on thoughts and false claims, serving a life sentence in the bowels of Hell. There was an escape, of course. Although...it wasn't accompanied by a light, or the gentle touch of a loved one. No...this escape was advertised as selfish, shameful...weak. And maybe so. Maybe life's greatest demand was the forgoing of happiness. But...to such an extent seemed excessive, and deliberately cruel. You shouldn't have been so dirty, so broken...an embarrassing stain on your family's name.

A single mother. A victim. A failure.

Plagued with flashbacks that favoured spontaneity above calculation, you carved miserable little lines on to your arms. Nobody knew - not your son, nor the Avengers...nor even Loki. They all harboured some form of trauma, however deep-rooted, and so...they had no need for your sob story. Who would care for someone so violated? Someone so...afraid? Your mind, weakened by fatigue and chronic worry, was simply too weak to resist those thoughts, and all hope had been drained from your heart. Why should you be tethered to life, if only for your child? Should you instead seek liberation, peace...joy? Decency discouraged it, but pain stood its ground.

With your dignity in shambles, your disowning, your binging...nothing felt right anymore! Nothing felt...clean. Loki had noticed, observant as he was. Here, sequestered within the walls of the Avengers' Compound, he was the closest to a friend...maybe even more.

No, no, no! I can't think like that! He's a man! A man! I shouldn't even be going near him anymore! Why, oh god...why is he the only one I'm not afraid of? The only one who can comfort me when I break? I can't...! I haven't even told him about...about...Well, I haven't told anyone! They all just think I slept with someone recklessly! And now...now I'm tainted, unlovable! This is...it's all my fault...I should have defended myself. I should have done something! Anything! Why...why did I freeze...? Why? Why?! Why?!!

Loki understood mental anguish and the torture of dissimilarity, as his birth-rights. Perhaps that was reason enough for your breathing to even, in his embrace. It had taken moths to allow such a privilege, and Loki's persistence, how his voice quivered as he begged to help you in any form...

You, whom he held so very dear...

You might have assumed his affections romantic, once upon a time. Yet...no longer. An ailment had struck you - one that rendered both eyes and ears ignorant to his double meanings, his implications...his love. You couldn't process them over the fear and paranoia. Didn't all relationships entail force, and...activities of a sexual nature? You never wanted to experience that again. Never! So, while sleep washed over the Compound, you crept to the kitchen, intent on expanding your waistline evermore. That your size may, to some, be cause for revulsion, had never previously occurred. It was only when the words danced on the tongue of that godforsaken man...

Eat, eat more! Who cares if you're sick? Keep eating! He said...he said that excess was unattractive. So - so maybe he won't...maybe I won't be...again...?

It had been dominance play, a show of superiority.

Loki would never steal something so sacred, unless you willed it.

He was a gentle soul, manipulated into committing an atrocity, and scorned - by the Avengers, especially. He wouldn't find any resonance in your tale (and you hoped he never would), but as a companion, a patient listener...surely there would be no judgement in his heart? He wouldn't be so quick to abandon you...right? Still, a single utterance of that day, of that most fright-inducing event...required courage far surpassing your own. Maybe...just a word? A sign? Something...?

Lonely was the path you wandered, in spite of Loki's presence. Alone, he failed to drown your demons. He held them under the waves, but they always returned.

You appreciated the effort. Plasters may cover your scars, but they could never heal your heart. Could Loki?...In time? If distorted thoughts of him were enough to ground you in the midst of panic...could he aid your recovery?

He also wondered that. Your deception wasn't half as masterful as you had hoped. Or perhaps you were simply the target of Loki's observations, and therefore came under frequent scrutiny. He had, of course, picked up on the subtle changes in your demeanour - particularly post-pregnancy. He idled at your side, throwing neither intrusive question nor accusation. This was at the behest of his conscience, although he longed desperately to ignore it. He wanted to know...what exactly happened last year, when your transformation began?

Your lips were sealed, but his very essence ached - sorrow, curiosity, love, sympathy and compassion all melding together within him. They ran amuck, refusing any whisper of sleep. His concentration had flown alongside it, rendering him unable to enjoy the book that rested in his palm. It had maintained a decent level of interest until now, but duty called. He would pry open your chamber door, glimpse your ethereal, sleeping form...and finally feel content. If you were strolling through dreamland, then his concern could dissipate. At least for a while. If not...he would discover why.

Loki hesitated outside your door, for if you were truly non-the-wiser, asleep...vulnerable, then a mere survey of yourself and the room would leave, on his tongue, a terrible aftertaste.

But, lo and behold, only your young son slept soundly, in his crib.

Loki was grappled now with a sense of alarm - where in Odin's name were you? And, pray tell...why was your child on his lonesome, cleansing himself of the prior day, in such a frigid room? He was wrought with grief upon recalling your distaste for the babe, and again when he realised there was no option to remove him, bring him to a warmer space, rock him and sing soft melodies...

Loki's primary goal was to find you, and perhaps...coerce you into confessing everything. From a true account of the day that always replayed in your mind, to your innermost feelings and thoughts...he needed to know, and to understand.

He had scoured half the building before laying eyes upon you. However...relief proved elusive. There were an endless number of questions, but none dared to grace the air. Why was your beautiful face stained with tears? Why were you eating, despite looking so sickly? What had troubled you so? And...could he kill it? He was unsure of the proper manner in which to approach you. He had always tread lightly, but complete silence and delicacy were more fortes of his mother. He swallowed down the nerves.

"(Y/n), darling...why aren't you sleeping?"

You startled, eyes bloodshot and a biscuit lodged between your lips. "U-Uh..."

He walked forward. "Is there something weighing on your mind?"

"...No?" This was mumbled, as though credence escaped you.

"My dear, you aren't a skilled liar. Talk to me, please." The heartache nearly tore him apart.

You wouldn't meet his gaze. "I...I can't."

"Please?" Both of your voices cracked, in unison.

Oh god, alright. Okay. This if fine...right? It's fine. I'm fine...Am I? What if I'm not?! I can't tell him just yet! But he looks so upset...I did this! I caused this! Oh god...just stay - stay calm! Calm down...calm down...

A tear trickled down your cheek, then another. "I-I've never...I don't want to - to relive it."

He brought you into a protective embrace. "Then you won't. I swear, by all the beings in the Nine Realms, that I will keep you safe. Please, let me share your burden."

Three sentences. Who was so weak-willed, that a mere three sentences shattered all their defences? You cursed his silver tongue. "(S-S/n)...! He - he's...I didn't...I-I don't want him! J-Just because I didn't fight back...I didn't try to run, he...t-that man, he did...things. To me. And now...now I'm so dirty! I'm disgusting...unclean, weak. B-But...sometimes - sometimes I think it's all in my head. But it isn't! I-It happened, and (S/n)! He's...he's the proof! He reminds me...o-of that..."

Loki froze. "What...?"

"But I-I couldn't - I couldn't tell anyone! They wouldn't...believe me, o-or care! People like me, they don't - this...this doesn't happen! Why...why did this happen?? A-And now...there's (S/n). And every...every minute is Hell! I can't take it anymore...I don't w-want to be here. I don't want to be...to be alive anymore..."

Loki could almost see the threads of rationality thinning. Who would...defile you, hurt you? You were so important, so genuine and...lovely. "I will find this man, and personally deliver his comeuppance. He never deserved your voice, let alone your touch."

"No!" You stiffened in his arms. "Then he'll...he'll come back..."

"If he does, I shall slay him." Yet, Loki made no attempt to leave. Instead, he slipped into a mask of composure, enough to continue speaking without seething. "I apologise...if you thought I wouldn't care. I do - more than you could ever imagine. You are the most stunning creature I have had the honour of meeting, in all my lifetime. I was resolved to spend my days at your side, never professing my love, but after hearing that...I..."

You panicked. "Loki...don't. Please-"

"I know it would be impudent to assume that you could accept me right now, but consider that...I can protect you. I will never let him, or anyone, hurt you again." Loki wiped away your crystalline sadness. "But, please...when you can't see worth or joy in this life...please come to me. I will be here to remind you of your victory - you survived such torture, and delivered a child. You are far from weak, (Y/n)."

Loki's fingers darted along your wrist. He yearned to kiss every scar, every inch of your skin.

Though, he would do nothing without permission. "Now, my dear...let's put these treats away. I would suggest that, henceforth, you eat balanced meals and partake in some fun activities. Perhaps I could read to you, one day? And venturing out for a walk - we can do that together. I...um, hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries. I'm simply thinking of ways to occupy your mind...and your time. You can do these things alone, of course..."

You nodded. "But...you'd - you'd do them with me?"

"I would gladly do anything with you, my love." Loki's words were empty of duplicity.

You were angelic - the only one safe from his lies.

#loki x reader #loki x suicidal reader #loki x self-harm reader #loki laufeyson #mcu loki #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #angst #loki x single mother reader #rape

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onthepageoftears · 4 years

Text

What Was Lost — Pt 1 (Jaskier x Reader) || Witcher

A/N: Okay so i started writing this and it was superrrr long, so i decided to split it into two. The second part will come out tomorrow, don’t you worry. Anyway, this is yet another entry for @thewitcherbingo so I hope everyone enjoys! Also, this was based on a post in the witcher tag that is linked below :)

Summary: Y/N, a famous bard, is cursed by a sorceress and loses her voice, leaving her only hope to get it back with the famous Witcher and her rival, Jaskier.

(based on this post)

Bingo Square Filled: Rivalry

Warnings: mentions of loss, grief, death, sex, drinking all the good stuff lmao; also fluff and angst!!

Word Count: 2,257

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

(Pt 2)

Loss was not something you were unfamiliar with.

The haziness of loss clouded over you throughout your whole life. One step after the other, you experienced what it meant to be disappointed and left behind — never really on purpose, but that didn’t mean you weren’t bitter about it. Bitter at the world, yes, but also at yourself.

Your mother died soon after she gave birth to you; her short, but wholly loving embrace was only a memory you had from what others told you. Not knowing what it was like to have a mother made the loss of her feel less than what it should have been; you felt complete with the life you had, though the curiosity of what a mother’s touch felt like barely left your mind. Still, being surrounded by the rest of your family kept your loss from overtaking your life, and for a while, you were a relatively content child.

And then, your father didn’t come home.

He had been attacked by bandits — any merchant was at that risk, but never did it cross your mind that your very own father could be a victim. Of course, your naive mind was flipped upside down when you went looking for him and found his cart ripped apart only a couple miles down the road from your village. Everything was taken, including your father’s life, and you were once again reminded of how heavy your heart could feel when something was ripped away from it.

As you tried to make it in the world, you felt loss tracking your every move. It was a cloud that was just on the brink of churning up a thunderstorm right over your head. But, as you grew, the cloud shrank, until it was totally gone. You were finally free of what it meant to lose because you had gained so much. But the freedom from loss never truly left a person, and you would soon realize that despite a large gain, loss would always be lingering around the corner.

—

You were a fiery bard. It was one of your famous attributes, one of the things that kept people coming to your performances. That, and your singing voice. It was an unusually unique thing — your father used to call it a gift that no one knew existed. Your voice was as fiery and passionate as you were, and bards from near and far envied you for it.

And you fed off of that, like a leech from the nearby river. You loved the way other bards watched you perform with a hateful glint in their eyes that could only be described as friendly competition. It was what kept you going — that, and the coin. You had made a name for yourself in your own time, but it was all worth it. You had people nearly begging to hear your voice, others begging to have your voice, and some wishing it was gone completely.

“Jaskier.” You emerged from the cheering crowd and smirked at the fellow bard; your set had just ended and happened to be preceding the young man in front of you. Though the crowd seemed overjoyed, he was quite the opposite.

“Y/N.” He practically seethed. “Quite the show.”

“It was, wasn’t it?" Your smile never left despite the man’s hateful expression.

Though you’d hate to admit it, Jaskier was your best competition. He wasn’t always — once you were almost an inspiration to him, despite you two being around the same age. But as soon as he met Geralt, the mysterious witcher, he finally found what he was good at performing. It was honestly quite sad when Jaskier would go out on adventures, as none of the other bards had the guts to challenge you.

Even though you two had quite the rivalry, you had a lot of respect for the bard. You had seen him rise in his career, seen the good and the bad from him, and in the end, you knew he was quite the talent. You weren’t sure how he felt about you, but that wasn’t something you needed to know — just like he didn’t need to know of your slight admiration of him.

You flashed Jaskier a bigger smile. “I can only hope your performance will keep the crowd excited.”

“Oh, it will, I can promise you that.”

“Your promises hold the validity of a drunken sailor.”

“And your voice the beauty of a Drowner’s bum.” This time, Jaskier smiled. Despite the vile words that escape his lips, he seemed happy to be back.

You rolled your eyes. “A Drowner’s bum is beautiful to someone.” You tapped underneath your eye. “The eye of the beholder.”

“More like the ear of the beholder.” Jaskier’s eyes purposefully ran down your body, then back to your face. “Did you ever think you’d be helping the world if your voice was…gone?”

“Of course not. If that were true, maybe you’d be the one the crowd was calling on for an encore.” You quirked a brow and his eyes flicked to the crowd that was chanting your name. He took his cup of ale and threw the rest of the liquid back into his mouth, letting out a frustrated groan as he slipped past you. “Good luck!” You called, and he scrunched his nose aggressively at you; you only laughed at his gesture and took his seat at the bar.

As you waited for your drink, your mind wondered about what Jaskier said. He was kidding, you hoped, but you thought — gods forbid — if you didn’t have your famously known voice, what would you do? What would make you happy?

You shook the thought away. Ever since you were a child, singing was a way to make the bad times okay. It didn’t cure all your pain, but it simmered it, and because of that you were here. It was silly to think of such events, so you decided to put your mind on more important matters.

The cup of fresh ale was on your lips when you heard the woman speak.

“The mind is a strange thing.”

You turned your head slightly — the voice was soft, but loud. Like a whisper only you could hear. It was especially surprising because Jaskier had already started his performance, where everyone was singing along and making as much racket as they could. Yet still, you could hear the woman’s voice.

She was quite young looking, but her eyes seemed even wiser than what her age inferred — something told you she lived longer on this Earth than anyone you had ever met; which, to be fair, wasn’t saying much. Still, the slight twitch in her smile sent a shiver down your spine.

You placed down your drink. “What was that?”

“The mind.” The woman slinked into the open space between your seat and the man next to you. “It is quite strange, don’t you think?”

“I think I’m too sober for this.” You laughed and took another gulp of your drink. After gritting your teeth from the strength of the ale, you turned to the woman. “Do you want an autograph?”

She kept a steady smile. “No. I want you to help you find what you are missing.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the calmness of her statement. This woman had to be crazy; perhaps she was playing a joke on you. But the look in her eyes told you otherwise. You stuttered. “Ex-excuse me?” You watched as the woman took out a small jar. She opened the lid and gestured for you to look inside. You didn’t. “What the hell is this?”

Though before you could hear her clearly, now her words were just a distant whisper. It was another language, surely, and the longer she spoke the more uneasy you felt. As you opened your mouth to speak, a strong wince of pain burrowed in the bottom of your throat, making you grab your neck with a free hand. You looked back at the older woman, who closed up the jar and waved it in front of your face. Your eyes caught a small rune-like symbol on the bottle before she placed it back in her pouch.

“When you find me, you will know.”

In the blink of an eye, her unsettling smile was gone. And so was your voice.

Just like that, the cloud of loss had returned. Your heart felt so heavy that it weighed you down as you desperately clawed at the emptiness of your throat. You wanted to scream for someone to grab the woman, to help you, for anything — but you couldn't. You grabbed at the people around you, forcing them to turn and glare. But as you dropped to the floor, the people knew something was wrong — they crowded around, towering over you with their fearful eyes and loud shrieks of worry. As you searched the faces for someone who could help, you realized the only thing you could do in that moment was let the world around you go dark.

—

You woke up in a room that you knew wasn’t your own. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened (being a bard had its perks) but it would be the first time you saw a person waiting over you.

“Oh, thank the gods you aren’t dead.” Jaskier’s relieved face hovered over your own, only leaning back once you widened your eyes at his presence. “The crowd was worried. They would’ve had a riot if you didn’t wake up.”

You frowned and opened your mouth to speak. Did I faint? But your voice made no sound.

Panic rose in your chest as you sat up, your hand raising to grasp at your throat. So it wasn’t a dream. Your eyes watered almost immediately, both from the fear that banged against your ears and the scratches you were leaving on your own neck.

“Hey, hey — woah, woah, woah okay, calm down. Calm down, Y/N.” Jaskier sat on the bed next to you and grabbed your hands as they clawed at your skin — despite your silent protest, he held them down in your lap. His eyes scanned your face as you tried to scream the words you were thinking.

“Can you…can you not speak?”

You shook your head and, trying to relax your shaking hands, let out what would have been a long sigh.

Jaskier stared at you for a moment, squinting his eyes as he processed what was happening. He lifted his hands and placed one on his chin. “So you weren’t trying to sabotage my set?” You could only glare at him, but he was too busy mumbling to himself. “Yes, well, either way, it worked.”

You slapped him in the arm, bringing his attention back to you.

“Right. You can’t speak — or sing. Oh. Oh boy. This is not good for you.”

“What do you remember?”

The voice took you aback, and as you swiveled your head to the other side of the room, there stood the famous witcher from Jaskier’s songs. Geralt. You had never had a proper introduction, though you supposed now wasn’t the time.

You closed your eyes and tried to shake the memories back into place — after fainting, you were still feeling a little lightheaded. Still, your mind drifted back to the moment before, when the woman smiled all too politely in your face. I want to help you find what you are missing. But what you were missing?

You opened your eyes and looked at the men who stared back at you. With an eye roll, you made a gesture of writing.

“Ah, yes.” Jaskier snapped his fingers towards Geralt. “The notebook, by the table.”

Geralt picked up the notebook and quill and handed it to you with a nod. “Geralt, by the way.”

You nodded back, somehow getting used to the loss of your own voice. Without dwelling on it too much, you wrote what you were thinking.

Once you handed it to him, Jaskier read your note out loud, “‘She said something was missing.’” He looked up and blinked. “What was missing?”

You widened your eyes at him with a clenched jaw, as if to say ‘how should I know’. He shrugged.

Geralt huffed. “Anything else you remember?”

You closed your eyes and tried to think of the woman. Creepy smile, bright but aged eyes, the clear whisper of her voice, the jar—

You scribbled on the notebook and flipped the page towards Geralt.

Geralt frowned. “A jar with a rune. Looks like a rune for — oh.”

You frowned. Jaskier answered for you. “Oh?”

“It’s old — very old. The only sorceress I know of that uses it —“

“A sorceress?” Jaskier exclaimed for you. He jumped up from the bed, nearly hopping in his spot. “Now this is interesting.”

This time, Geralt spoke for you, “It wasn’t interesting enough with a lost voice?”

“Of course it was. But a sorceress? This could be the greatest tale of all the Continent. And beyond!” Jaskier turned to you with a grimace. “No offense.”

You flipped him the bird. Then, picked up the pen and wrote: Fix?

Geralt nodded at the writing. “I know where the sorceress lives. We can be there in under a week if we leave in the morning.”

“Wonderful!” Jaskier clapped his hands together and smiled way too brightly. “Tomorrow it is!”

You supposed you didn’t have much of a choice. You closed your eyes and let out a silent breath, wishing this nightmare would be over soon.

———————————————————————————————————

Tags: @trees-fanfic

#thewitcherbingo #jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #the witcher imagine #the witcher #joey batey #geralt of rivia #animal kingdom #drabble #self insert imagine #reader insert #reader imagine #jaskier x you #fic #jaskier fic #witcher fic #my writing

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danishmiilk · 3 years

Text

PART TWO. --- RENJUN

previous // next // masterlist

summary || a collection of crack stories from y/n and nct working together in taeyong’s pizza shop - ncity pizza. written from povs of different characters.

note || wow!! double update!! who am i!! also this is another mess aha- uh disclaimer i think none of us work in pizza shops with nct so- fiction!! pure fiction!!

genre || crack

pairings || none

warnings || swearing, joking references to a car crash, fake death of someone that never existed, one mention of bleeding

word count || 1.7k

taglist || @teasysan @hannie-dul-set // send an ask or a dm to be added to the taglist! though i have no idea why you’d want to be.

Renjun wasn’t paid enough for this. Taeyong, seeing that Renjun was off his (five hour long) break, immediately got up gratefully and passed the post of cashier (Yuta had already disappeared to who-knows-where) and online order/call handling over to him, assuming that he’d come to take things off Taeyong’s shoulders.

“No, hyung-!” Taeyong had already walked away. Renjun cursed himself internally for walking over to the counter to find his pen. It was understandable why everyone else avoided the place like the plague- once you got the post, it was impossible to pass it on to anyone else, and it was the most tiring thing to do in the place.

Face lighting up upon spotting the girl crouched under the counter, Renjun called out to her excitedly. Y/n only looked up at him pityingly, returning to sipping soda out of a cup he was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have taken for free, “Nope. You’re on your own.”

“What are you here for then?”

“Damage control.” Renjun snorted. Y/n L/n? In damage control, of all posts Doyoung could have given her? She must be kidding. That or Doyoung really was going senile. The girl couldn’t control her temper or convince people that she hadn’t stolen their Pocky biscuits without scowling at them, though she was an excellent actress, so Renjun supposed it could work. After all, according to the older and therefore wiser Mark Lee, the possibility of all those possibilities being possible was just another possibility that could possibly happen.

“Ugh, stop laughing. I hope there aren’t any rude customers wanting to call the police on us for robbing them again, or you’ll have to call the police to report murder.” It was funny, really, that the bad things we say have an odd way of turning into truth.

Renjun sighed, recognising the lady stalking toward the counter as a customer he’d just cashed out a few minutes ago. Looks like this would be a fucking waste of time for everyone involved, seriously.

Putting on his best fake-chirpy voice, he forced a smile, “Hello, how may I help you?”

The lady slammed her pizza box down on the counter so hard that Renjun winced. “I want you to redo my pizza.”

Renjun frowned, “What’s wrong with it?”

The lady stared at him like he’d just suggested that Fancy by Twice was not the greatest bop of all time (it obviously was). “It tastes sour! I want a refund, and I want you to redo my pizza for free!”

Renjun cocked his head, confused, “Okay, so I think that’s against our refund policy-” The lady’s face grew more and more red, before finally throwing down the dreaded phrase, “I want to talk to your manager.” Renjun shrugged, tapping on Y/n’s head with his right hand, glad this matter was out of his hands.

Y/n could have stood up and pretended she was searching for something to keep up the facade of professionalism, but of course. Of course she had to crawl up like she was from the Walking Dead and flip her hair before turning to give her attention to the customer. Renjun winced even harder at her non-standard greeting- what the fuck was “Yeah. Go on.” and where the fuck was “Hello, how may I help you?” He hadn’t expected anything less- god, he’d prefer if the show unfolding before his eyes was more amusing. Though he was a tad more responsible than Y/n, at least pretending he was writing out something while biting the pen to keep his laughter back.

The lady looked enraged, to say the least. “I said I want to talk to your manager!”

Y/n raised her eyebrows, taking on a look of surprise, “I’m the manager.” She was not. Renjun bit even harder on his pen.

“Is this your shop’s rules? Managers sit under counters and sip on soda they didn’t pay for?” Y/n was getting irritated with the customer. Renjun could feel it. Oh, this was going to be one heck of an interesting show.

“I paid for this, thank you. And are you discriminating? I was in a car crash a few days ago and my husband died. My leg was injured, and I can’t even sit down?” Y/n put on a pained expression that somehow looked real. Renjun snorted around his pen. Y/n definitely had not paid for the drink, and he was even more certain that she was neither a widow nor the victim of a car crash. She turned around and gave him a look that very clearly said do not give this game away or I’ll make you supervise Chenle for a week. The threat was clear. Renjun bit his cheek so hard blood flowed and he didn’t laugh anymore.

“Oh,” the lady’s eyes softened for a second, but she stubbornly went on, “But you still have to redo my pizza.”

Y/n’s eyes flared in annoyance, jumping up onto the counter with more ease than someone who had “injured her leg” should have enjoyed. “Look here, lady, it’s against our store policy. And if you send this back, our chef might poison it.”

The lady slammed her hands down on the counter, “I WILL CALL THE POLICE ON YOUR CHEF! AND YOUR STORE! AND YOU!”

Y/n wrinkled her nose, “What’s your name, Karen? Anyway, you asked for fucking lemons and anchovy on this pizza, of course it’d taste fucking awful. Just like your attitude.”

The lady threw a pen at Y/n’s head, then turned and walked away without her (untouched) pizza, making sure to slam the door of the restaurant on her way out. Renjun hummed, “I think that’s assault, man.”

The door behind them slammed open, Chenle walking out to see what had gone on with all the screaming and shouting. Y/n turned around to look at him with a blank look, “What did I do wrong?” Chenle turned and stared at Renjun with concern. “What’s wrong with her?” he whispered loudly in Renjun’s ear. Thank god Y/n was still staring blankly into space, or Chenle wouldn’t live to see the light of day ever again.

Personally, Renjun could think of a number of things Y/n did wrong, and a number of things that were wrong with Y/n, but that was a story to tell the entire shop after they’d closed, so he just shrugged.

A mere few minutes after Y/n had sat down with a new cup of soda, another dissatisfied customer walked in. “I want a refund. I don’t want you to remake my pizza, I just want a refund. It tastes awful.”

Renjun turned to the side with a grin, ready to see another show. Y/n looked up at the boy on the other side of the counter and pushed her tongue into the side of her cheek, shooting Renjun a glance. The boy is cute, Renjun. Renjun shook his head at her. Whatever you want, Y/n. Whatever you want.

Y/n smiled flirtatiously at the boy, knocking her hip against the counter, “Sure. Name and number, please?” If the boy didn’t know she just wanted his number, he must really be quite daft. Renjun turned his head to make eye contact with one of the waiters, Jungwoo, and rolled his eyes affectionately toward Y/n. Jungwoo, all too used to her antics, only shook the cloth he was using to wipe the table in Renjun’s direction.

The boy blinked. “Han Jisung, and XXX-XXXX-XXX.”

Y/n very unsubtly wrote it down on a piece of paper and tucked it into her jeans pocket, then pushed a cup of soda across the counter, “Here’s a soda for you along with your refund.” She pulled the exact amount he’d paid for his pizza out of the cashier. Renjun’s eyes widened - surely she wasn’t actually going to give it to the boy just because she was enamoured?

The boy stretched his hand out expectantly, but Y/n just turned and dumped the entire amount into the tip jar. “Thanks for the tip, man! We really appreciate it.” Right. How could he have expected better? Though Renjun supposed it was better that she did this; he didn’t care who she dated, but he did care about his share of the $10 (which would probably be shared by him and Y/n anyway as self-payment for manning the counter.)

Han Jisung - that’s what he said, right? - sputtered and blinked, not having expected Y/n to do that right after flirting with him. Y/n prodded his arm with a finger, “Well, what are you waiting for? Off you go, and come back again!”

“I certainly won’t be.”

She shrugged, “Oh well, we have enough handsome regulars. Don’t really need you.”

The wind chimes on the door jingled, signalling Doyoung’s return from his lunch break. Eyeing the full tip jar suspiciously, he frowned down at Y/n, “What did you do?” Y/n smiled up innocently, “Oh? Oh, nothing! Whatever did you expect me to have done?” As Doyoung had come to realize, the more innocent she looked, the more guilty she was likely to be.

Catching the message in Y/n’s eyes, Renjun tapped on Doyoung’s shoulder. “See, this is what happened, [...]. But no harm was done, hyung, so don’t worry!” He put his thumb up and gave his best chirpy salesperson smile, only halting his speech when he’d seen that Y/n had finished pilfering the tip jar to get enough money for both of them to share.

Doyoung looked so furious that, and Renjun quotes from a later discussion with Y/n, he could probably have eaten up the entire tip jar if he tried! Although truth be told, Doyoung didn’t look all that scary. It’s not hard to look scary if you’re in a way too oversized white t-shirt and jeans, but Doyoung looked even more like a rabbit than he already did, so Renjun was more amused than scared.

“Y/n! I’M TAKING YOU OFF DAMAGE CONTROL, NOW AND FOREVER. AND YOU, RENJUN, YOU FUCK OFF AS WELL! SEND YUTA AND DONGHYUCK OVER!” Hm. Would Yuta and Donghyuck really be better choices to man the counter? I mean, Renjun was sorta skeptical about that, but whatever Doyoung said, he guessed.

Giggling and laughing, Renjun dragged Y/n into the back room, grabbing half of the tips before anyone else could see them and steal some.

#neowritingsnet #nctcreations #dreamwritersnet #kdiner #neo-the-stars-net #nct-writers #starryktown #kpopscape #nct imagines #nct crack #nct scenarios #FHSDOFDSHFUDOS MESS

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