#I drew this like six months ago and just found it again while sorting through my art folder
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Does. Is this anything.
#if you know the reference I am giving you an enthusiastic high five#aa#ace attorney#phoenix wright#maya fey#shitty doodles#I drew this like six months ago and just found it again while sorting through my art folder
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'tis the damn season
frankie/reader | childhood friends to lovers | pre-canon
wc: 1.8k/2.5k
summary: At one point in your lives, you knew Frankie better than anyone else on earth. When did that change?
warnings: none
an: don't let anyone tell you that second person doesn't work from another character's perspective, least of all yourself while editing
Masterpost | ao3
Chapter 2: Who am I Related to?
December 8, 2012 18:57
Hudson’s was a shitty bar just up highway 210 outside of Fort Bragg, the nearest watering hole to the base as the crow flies.
As a result, it served pretty damn near exclusively military personnel. When it changed ownership about four years back, the new management decided to reflect that and so the place looked like the Fourth of July and Top Gun had thrown up on it. Never mind that Fort Bragg was an Army base. Still, they had cheap booze and greasy food that was far better than the commissary, so it was always busy.
Pope had texted the usual suspects a few hours ago that he was heading to Hudson’s that evening, making Frankie immediately ditch his plans of drinking alone for drinking with Pope and whoever else showed up. Most likely just Benny and Ironhead now that Redfly had semi-retired down to Florida. It was a short drive to the bar from the dorms on base, but it was enough to make Frankie groan and press hands to his lower back as he got out of his car and made his way inside.
Pope was sitting at the bar and didn’t look up from texting on his phone as Frankie gingerly eased into the stool next to him.
“Hey, Fish,” Pope said, rereading the email.
“Hey.” At the bartender’s attention, Frankie pointed to Pope’s beer before daring a slight back stretch.
Pope sent his email and then looked over. “You alright?”
“Yeah, just finished PT.”
He chuckled once. “Back still fucked?”
“More tired than fucked anymore,” Frankie managed, shaking his head and wincing. The bartender delivered his beer, and Frankie took a swig. “When did we get old?”
“¿De qué estás hablando ‘nosotros’, viejo?”
Frankie jabbed an elbow and grinned slightly down at his next swig. “Culero.”
“Hey, before everyone gets here–” Pope looked at him, an oddly serious expression on his face for their usual bar. “I found out today you haven’t re-enlisted yet.”
Frankie immediately dropped his gaze to the suddenly very interesting glass in his hand. “Ah, no. No, I haven’t.”
“I’m trying to pull strings to get Benny into our unit full-time. I think he’d fit well with the team. Then Simmons tells me you haven’t signed your new papers yet. So what’s up?”
Frankie glanced over to see Pope still focused on him. “Nothing, nothing. I… I’m still thinking about it.”
He chuckled. “What’s there to think about?”
“We all want out someday, right? If we’re lucky enough to choose when we leave.”
“Yeah, but there’s thinking and thinking.” Pope smacked his shoulder. “What – are you gonna become a real estate agent like Redfly?”
No. Definitely not. Even just the idea of shilling condos was enough to make Frankie’s eyes glaze over. But still–
“Real estate agents make more money than we do.”
Pope made a considering face for a moment then brushed it off. “Yeah, but you’d miss it. You’re like me. We like the rush.”
Frankie nodded slightly. This is why he was still just thinking about it. It wasn’t a small thing to walk away from fourteen years with the Army. Especially since everyone knew the retirement benefits were absolute shit until you hit twenty. But he could already tell, he didn’t have another six years in him. He wasn’t even sure he had another deployment.
“You know the deadline’s New Year’s, right?” Pope said, cutting through his thoughts.
“Yeah, I know. I have some leave I have to take before the year’s out anyway.”
Pope nodded. “Good. Clear your head, get some perspective. See how fucking boring civvy life is, and then come back Jan 2 and join my team.”
Frankie smiled wryly; Pope always could make anything sound easy. “Something like that.”
“You have holiday plans then?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the bar.
Frankie sucked in breath. “I guess I’ll go back to my parents’. My mom’s been wanting me to visit for a while now.”
“How long’s it been?”
“I saw them in DC last summer, but I haven’t been back home… since I joined Delta.”
“Remind me where they’re at.”
“Up north. Little town in the middle of nowhere. Still in the same house I grew up in.” He could picture the wreath on the door, the twinkling lights his dad always strung across the front fence every December. A matching set used to be hung on the fence exactly opposite across the street. Who lived there now, he wondered. Would they put the tree in the front window too?
“Soldier coming home for Christmas. Sounds like a Hallmark movie.”
“Fuck you,” Frankie replied as the others finally arrived.
--
Frankie got his answer as he ducked out the front door of his parent’s house about a week later. His breath immediately fogged as he sucked in a few calming breaths of night air, the pressure in his head slowly levelling. Out in the still darkness, the noise level coming from the living room was finally manageable. Inside, with all of his cousins and his aunts and uncles and the music and everyone talking over each other and the heater set far too high for the number of people inside– he… he just needed a break.
Seven hours was a decent stint for his first day. He’d be around longer tomorrow. Wading in. That was the key. Because he was now the kind of person that had to treat time with his family like running a marathon. Apparently.
He walked down to the twinkling front fence, making a mental note to shovel the front walk tomorrow, and stopped. The house across the street – your house, as it would forever be in his mind – was completely dark. A small sign posted in the front yard announced some sort of home refurbishment company was going to be arriving soon. No doubt they would come in, strip away wallpaper and old tile and heart to paint it all beige and granite for the quick resell.
He hadn’t had the heart to ask his mother yet how long the house hadn’t belonged to your family. No need for another reminder of how much time had passed, how much he’d missed. He had more than enough already.
The front door opened behind him, casting a temporary warm glow across the dark snow, and his dad stepped out, pipe in hand. He meandered down the front steps to join Frankie at the gate, puffing a few times before speaking.
He shook his head. “It’d break his heart to see it so empty, but I understand why she sold,” he said, looking at the forlorn house with him.
“How long ago?” Frankie asked.
“Few months. Not too long after the funeral.” Dad looked his way for a moment. “I’ll give it ten minutes before I tell your mother you left.”
“I�� thanks,” he replied weakly.
“Will you be back tomorrow?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back.”
Dad nodded slowly, leaving just the pipe smoke wafting between them for a minute. “Take it slow, no need to rush.”
“Thanks.” He stepped through the gate, fishing in his pocket for his car keys.
“Francisco,” he said, making Frankie stop and look at him. “We’re glad you’re back.”
Frankie just nodded and went to his car. Even though he couldn’t bear another minute in the noisy press of his loved ones, the idea of going back to his lonely hotel room was truly abysmal. So after some finagling with the ignition, he started the engine and headed to the one bar he’d ever been to in his hometown.
--
There were Christmas lights in the window and a dancing Santa on the bar as Frankie walked in. Some sort of forcibly cheery holiday classic played over the speakers tucked between quirky memorabilia that hung over every square inch of wall space. And even though public smoking had been outlawed by the state well over a decade ago, cigarette stench had sunk into the very foundation of the place.
It was nothing like Frankie remembered. But it would do.
Eyes automatically sweeping across the moderately busy room for a Thursday night, he headed for a stool at the far end of the bar, ordering a beer when the bartender came by. It was just one step up from swill, but comfortably numbing in its mediocrity. He looked across the room again, checking for familiar faces this time and finding none. No surprise there. A decade was a long time, and really he hadn’t been around too much for the years before that too.
There were couples on dates here, friend groups, some sort of girls’ night happening in the corner, a few loners like him hovering at the bar. Most everyone was smiling, talking, laughing so hard their whole bodies shook. A whole world of Normal. And Frankie was a tourist.
Pope was right. He couldn’t go back to this. He couldn’t make it through one whole day with blood relatives anymore. What was he thinking? That he could just settle into a normal life like the last decade of his work was nothing? Get a 9-to-5 and a mortgage and a girl – not that he’d ever had too much luck in that department. Especially when there was one girl that eclipsed all others, and he didn’t even know her phone number any more.
The door opened, making the Santa on the bar dance, and every thought in Frankie’s head immediately stopped. His eyes drew wide as he stared, jaw barely restrained from slapping against his chest. Was it really – course it was, there wasn’t anyone else it could be. A whole century could pass, and he’d still know that face.
It was you.
Live, in the flesh you. Cheeks pinked from the wind, haloed by the street lights outside, wrapped in a truly astonishing number of woolen layers. Not a half-remembered fantasy, but Real and breathing and even more beautiful than his memory had claimed.
He watched you shake a few flurries out of your hair and stomp the excess snow off your boots, shutting the door behind you as you waved to the bartender. Your gaze swung across the bar, completely skimming past him, and landed on the girls’ night in the corner. You smiled. He stared.
You began to head over to the people you were obviously here to meet. On nothing but pure instinct, he immediately got out of his stool and followed you. Falling into step behind you, he stretched a hand forward to hook a few fingers inside your elbow.
You looked back at him, and for a heart-breaking breath there was no recognition in your eyes.
Till he gave you a half-smile and said, “Hey Bo.”
You blinked, mouth dropping open. “Frankie?” you asked.
He nodded.
Your astonishment ballooned so wide it froze your whole face solid for a moment. Then you laughed, out of far more shock than amusement, and gave him a smile all his own. “Oh my god!! You’re here!”
You immediately wrapped him in a hug. And though it took him a moment to return it, for the first time in ten whole years, he was home.
Chapter 3: Not my Homeland Anymore
taglist: @kelenloth ; @darnitdraco ; @gracie7209 ; @616wilsons ; @icanbeyourjedi ; @astroboots ;
#frankie morales#frankie morales x female reader#frankie morales x you#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fic#triple frontier#frankie morales x reader#my writing#ttds
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⛽️ 🔥 FIRE AND GASOLINE 🔥⛽️ (PART 2)
Prompt: Y/N’s life has changed drastically, precisely 10 years ago and all because of an adorable lunatic and two little maniacs. But what will happen when a divergency of thoughts leads Y/N and her lunatic to say some pretty harsh words, that they know they will regret it later?
Word count: Definitely too long!
Pairing: Jon Moxley (or even Dean Ambrose if that’s your liking) x Reader
Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy, a lovable mutt named Moxley
Tag: @jibbles26 and some lovely folks who wanted to see the part 2: @drew-is-boo , @amandalynngraves , @bellalutionn , @moxleybabe
Notes: FINALLY!!! I KNOW PEOPLE, I KNOW...LET’S ALL SING HALLELUJAH! Sorry this took me so long, but I hope is worth it ☺️ Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories on my Masterlist and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉
I was saved from given them an answer by my phone ringing, I looked down and saw Nancy’s name. Without thinking twice I answered
“Yeah?”
“Y/N, is everything ok? You said you’d be here in 10 minutes and it’s passed 30 now”
“Yeah I’m good, I just got caught up in something with Jon and the kids”
“So you figured things out with him?”
“No, I just” I look at the kids and Jon who were all still kneeling on the floor “I don’t know” I whispered
“Y/N, dear” Nancy starts “You don’t sound like you wanna come over and no offense, pumpkin...but you’re not 15 anymore, you can’t run away from your husband whenever you guys have a disagreement and by the looks of it, it was a mixture between Jonathan and his temper and you and your mouth! Fire and gasoline if I remember correctly” She angrily said, making me laugh lightly
“See, I knew it!” I heard her clapping to herself “Do you want my advice?”
“Sure” I answered
“Stay there tonight, talk to Jon like a GROWN UP COUPLE WOULD and if you still feel like you need a break you can come by tomorrow and stay as long as you’d like, how does that sounds to you?”
“Sounds good, Nance” I smiled
“Nice, now go on, stay with your family and call me tomorrow to say how long did the make up sex session lasted”
“You’re so unbelievably disgusting! Love ya Nancy”
“Love ya pumpkin. Bye bye”
Once I ended the call I looked at the kids and said
“Well, I think it’s better for us to go downstairs and grab some popcorn so we can watch Moana” I smile fondly
“YAY, MOMMY IS STAYING” They scream and jump as they run towards me, hugging my legs
I laugh “Ok, let’s go stinky bumbs! Choose your sits on the couch”
With that they ran downstairs. I look at Jon, who was still knelt down on the floor.
“Jon, get up please”
“Are you really gonna stay?” His voice is low
“Yes”
“Are you gonna file for divorce?”
“Jon, please” I plead
The hope in his eyes died a little “Can we at least talk about it?”
“We will, later. Once we put the kids down for bed”
“Ok, thank you kitten” He caresses my belly and we hear two impatient kids screaming for us to come downstairs
......................................................
“They’re asleep” Jon says once he comes to sit by me on the couch
“Good, so we can talk now”
He stares at me and I started
“We can’t do this anymore, Jon”
He looks at me with pure fear upon his eyes
“The arguing, the yelling, the saying bad things just to spite each other...never being able to understand each other’s perspective whenever the subject of having more kids appears” I sighed “I just wish you would understand that sometimes it’s difficult for me, difficult for the kids to not have you around. When they have a bad dream they want you to protect them. Last week, Rosie had a nightmare about a man taking her away and she screamed for you. Do you know how much it hurt me seeing her sob because she wanted daddy to scare the mean man away, but daddy couldn’t because he wasn’t here? Sometimes they cry on our way back home from school because they wished daddy was there to pick them up. Things like ‘why is everybody’s else daddy comes to pick them up and ours doesn’t?’, ‘he doesn’t like us?’, ‘did we do something wrong?’, ‘does daddy not love us?’, ‘why daddy has to travel so much?’, ‘can’t he have another job?’...Things like that end me every single time, Jon. Even more because I know the father that you are, I know you love Atticus and Rosie more than your own life! It’s not fair to them but is also not fair to you” I whispered as tears roll down my cheeks. I look up to find Jon’s eyes filled with tears as well.
“Why did you never told me, doll? You should’ve told me that they were thinking that, that you had to explain to them over and over that I don’t leave them because I want to. That is not that I don’t love them but because I love them so much I want to give them everything I’ve never had as a child” Jon’s voice cracks and he begins to sob.
The vision is too much for me to handle it, so I pull him towards me and he hides his face on the crook of my neck.
“I don’t want them to go through what I did Y/N” His muffled voice comes out in hiccups
“I know baby, I know” I caress his hair and all I can do is cry with him
“I’m sorry” He whispered now calmer
I cup his cheeks on my hands “I don’t want you to apologize Jon, I just want you to try to understand that is not that I don’t love you or don’t love our family is just that sometimes it saddens me to hear those things from two kids and I wouldn’t like to hear it from a third one as well” I caress his beard
“I know but, it’s just that, I’ve always wanted this! The wife, the home sweet home, the kids..” His voice fainting on that last word “And when we met I knew that I wanted all of that with you, so I got kinda upset when you said that you didn’t wanted more kids because in my head that was some sort of sign that you regretted” He whispered
“Regretted what Jon?” I ask soothingly
“Us...leaving your family for me, moved in to that shitty one bedroom apartment, running with me to the emergency room because I overdosed on speed, eating tuna sandwiches for a year because you couldn’t find a job and the money I made at CZW was pathetic...getting married, helping me go through abstinence when we found out you were pregnant with Atticus, having the kids, still being married to me after all the shit I’ve put you through” He looks into my eyes “I regret everything I’ve said to you earlier, I was always the selfish one not you! It’s time for me to man up and take responsibilities for my words and actions. It’s time for me to be an actual husband to you and for once let you lean on me and not the other way around” He pressed his forehead to mine “Please Y/N...please kitten, let me make it up to you for all these years. Let me show you how much you really mean to me. How important you are to me, the difference you make in my life! I love you, cherry, please let me fix it..just give me one last chance, I beg you! I promise you I’ll never talk about having another baby ever again, but please” He whispered against my lips
“Jon” I pleaded
“Please, don’t do this to me. I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me...I-I wouldn’t...I couldn’t live without you. I can’t take it, kitten. I just can’t” He’s sobbing again while begging me to forgive him
I pull him towards my chest as I lay us down on the couch. His head is resting on my breasts as he silently cries, murmuring apologies and pleads. I’m caressing his hair and upper back, whispering to him that ‘we will work it out’. Once he’s calmer I ask him to look at me and he obliged
“Promise me Jon, promise me that we will never go down that disrespectful and spiteful path again”
“I promise you! I-I promise you kitten, on my mother’s life” Hope slowly returning to those beautiful blue orbs
“Promise me that whenever one of us feels like is loosing control we will ask for a time out and there’ll be no pressure from the other person to work it out at that moment”
“I promise” He pecks my lips repeatedly “I promise, I promise, I promise”
I can’t help a light chuckle that escaped my lips “Ok Jon, I see you agreed”
“Whatever you say kitten, whatever you want, I’ll do it!” He continues to peck my lips “Tell me you love me, please Y/N, I just need to hear it”
“I love you Jonathan, always have and always will!” I smile fondly
He sighed in relief “I’ll never talk about babies ever again! I promise you that!” He’s eyes had the same sparkle of determination as Atticus’ and Rosie’s
“We can talk about it if you want, but in the future, once the kids are a little bit older, how does that sounds to you?” I offered
I’ve never seen Jon’s eyes acquire such a pure happiness glimpse so fast
“Really?” He asks
“Really. BUT it’s a future thing, not right now!”
“Ok, in the future” He eagerly kissed me
“But can we at least do some training for when the time comes?” He smirks
“I swear you‘re just like those punk ass teenagers! The pain in the ass ones” I laugh
“What? It’s just for practice you know, I don’t wanna mess it up when the time comes” He kisses my neck
“How could you mess it up? You’ve made two already” I softly moaned
“Still...I don’t wanna miss my shot” He says as he pushes my jeans down my legs
......................................................
*FOUR MONTHS LATER*
“Cherry? Where are you babe? And where are my little manics? This house is too quiet for my liking” Jon yells as he searched us through the house.
*Finding me in 3, 2, 1* I thought
“Hey kitten, where’s my welcome home crew?” He opened the door to our bedroom “Why are you on the bed? Are you feeling alright? Did something happened?” He runs towards the bed, sitting down by my side
“The kids are at Nancy’s because I need to talk to you”
“Uh Oh, those are the six words nobody wants to hear it. Did I do something wrong?” He asks, slightly scared
“Yes you did, Jonathan” I try to hide my amusement
“What did I do?” He faintly asked
“You impregnated me, you fucker!” I laugh as I throw the pregnancy test at his chest
“Impregnated? What do you-“ He looks down to his lap, to the pregnancy test “Holy shit!” He laughs “You’re pregnant?” Jon looks at me for confirmation and I just nod
“YES!!!! MY KITTEN IS PREGNANT!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT” Jon screams in excitement
“How far long are you?”
“15 weeks, according to the doctor”
“That’s the best news I’ve ever had since Rosie!” He smiles widely as his hand caresses my belly “Hello there baby, daddy loves you so much!” He whispered to my bellybutton “I can’t wait to meet you! Come out now, so you can meet mommy and your siblings Rosie and Atticus” He nuzzles his nose on my belly
“You know there’s still like, 7 more months until you meet her right?” I chuckled
“Her?” His head shot up
“Yep, apparently she wanted to make her debut already letting us know that she is a girl!”
“Another little princess. I’m cursed to be surrounded by beautiful and strong women” He jokes
“Yeah you are” I laugh as I let my fingers comb through his hair
“Do you think I should give her one of my Mox t-shirts so she can wear it?” He sincerely asks
“Now?” I laugh
“Yeah! I need more beautiful girls in team Moxley” He teases
“You’re the worst!” I giggled
As he engaged a very serious conversation with his future princess about the ‘no other prince but daddy’ rule.
If you feel comfortable with it, please let me know your thoughts? Feedbacks are always so appreciated 🥰😘
#jon moxley imagine#jon moxley smut#jon moxley x reader#jon moxley fanfiction#jon moxley one shot#jon moxley#dean ambrose imagine#dean ambrose x oc#dean ambrose x reader#dean ambrose fanfiction#dean ambrose one shot#dean ambrose#aew fanfiction#aew one shot#aew#wwe x reader#wwe smut#wwe fanfiction#wwe one shot#wwe imagine#masochist writes
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This is the start of my newest multi-chapter Lukanette story, and a Dammit Quick! fic. To the LBSC crowd - you’re all a pack of enablers, so have some Disney music-nerd angst/fluff with a Julerose wedding for good measure.
See the Light
A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction
By Mintaka14
Chapter One – All Those Years
Luka Couffaine got the shock of his life when, six months before his sister’s wedding, his past walked onto the boat. She moved with an assurance that she’d never had at fourteen. A little older at twenty-four, a little less arms-and-legs and a little more rounded curves, but still with those same devastating blue eyes.
Her hand curled on the rail, and he realised he was staring.
“Luka,” she said. “Hi.”
“Ma-ma-marinette,” he managed, and that mouth of hers lifted in a tentative smile. “It’s been a while.”
“It’s been a while,” she agreed softly. “How are you?”
He said something, he wasn’t sure what.
“I take it Juleka didn’t mention that I was coming,” she said. “I’ve offered to design the dresses for the wedding, and she suggested I come round today to talk about them. Are you… is it okay that I’m here?”
At that, Luka jolted out of his distraction and offered her a more genuine smile.
“Marinette, it’s more than okay. It’s good to see you again. You’re looking well.”
Her own smile grew a little brighter, and she flicked a quick glance down and back up to meet his eyes again. “So are you.”
“Marinette! You made it!” Rose’s shriek cut off any response he might have made. Rose barrelled up the steps from the galley and past him to engulf Marinette in a tight hug, with Juleka not far behind. Luka had a moment to collect himself while they caught up. All in all, he thought he’d handled it pretty well. He hadn’t actually swallowed his tongue.
Marinette flashed a brief, rueful smile at him over her shoulder as Rose towed her below deck, leaving Luka to pull his scattered thoughts together. He hadn’t seen her in ten years and she could still bowl him over at first sight. He turned absently to the stack of papers he’d been working on when she arrived, barely seeing them.
He hadn’t made much progress half an hour later, and gave up, heading down to the galley. A burst of laughter drew his attention and in the other room he could see Marinette wielding a tape measure around his sister with brisk efficiency, while Rose sat on the table, swinging her legs as she flicked through a plain black sketchbook. He’d seen plenty of the same type of book back when he’d been spending a lot of time with Marinette all those years ago. He leaned in the doorway, unnoticed, watching Marinette at work.
It had always been hard to define exactly what made Marinette so overwhelming whenever he saw her. Maybe it was the sense of intensity and creative fire, as if her skin could barely contain everything that she was, or the fierce, giving heart that shone within her. Maybe it was the endless blue of her eyes that spoke to him of a limitless horizon. It seemed like none of that had changed.
What had changed was the dizzying rush he felt as she bent to pick up something and he found himself following the tight curve of her jeans and the contour of her strong, lean legs. He jerked his wayward gaze away, trying to fight down the heat in his cheeks and the fleeting speculation about what it might be like to have those legs wrapped around him, and those beautiful eyes of hers on him while he … God, Couffaine, get your mind out of the gutter! It had been ten years since he’d last seen her, and these were not appropriate thoughts to be having barely thirty minutes and less than a handful of words of conversation after she’d turned up in his life again.
She had always been a pretty girl, but that was nothing to the gorgeous woman she’d grown into.
He would have bet money that the jeans hugging those legs like a second skin were her own design, and the silky red shirt sliding artfully off one shoulder but never quite falling looked like it had come straight from the fashion week runway. The way Marinette filled it, though, was far more distracting than any model could have ever made it.
The pigtails were another thing that was gone, but he didn’t spare them more than a moment of nostalgia, because the blue-black satin of her hair was caught up in a knot that left the smooth line of her neck bare, and that was a whole other train of thought that he cut off quickly. He looked up to find that she was watching him with a quizzical expression, and he managed to answer it with a smile of his own before Rose noticed him standing there.
“Luka!” she called out. “You have got to see what Marinette’s come up with for us!”
She was practically bouncing, and shoved the sketchbook at him. He looked at Marinette, one eyebrow raised in a question, before he opened it.
“If Marinette’s okay with that,” he said. Marinette’s mouth lifted in a smile at that.
“Marinette’s okay with that,” she told him, and he opened the cover. The slim book was full of designs and scribbled ideas and notes on wedding dresses. He’d seen her fourteen year old designs, and been impressed by them, but this… this was a whole other level, which, he supposed, wasn’t surprising. He turned through the pages slowly. He paused on one that was clearly meant for Juleka.
“Wow,” he said softly.
“That’s one of my favourites, too,” Marinette said. She’d come to look over his shoulder, and he was finding that rather unsettling for some reason. “Juleka’s so elegant, she could wear just about anything, but I like that structure for her.”
“It feels like her.” He glanced up at Marinette. “Dangerous edges, with just a bit of sweetness underneath.”
Marinette turned another few pages, and waited for Luka to find it.
“Rose,” he grinned back at her. “Channelling her inner Disney princess?”
“The brief was Sleeping Beauty, live action, but more -” Marinette gestured extravagantly, opening her eyes wide, and from the table where she was perched, Rose stuck out her tongue at them.
“It’s my wedding, and I’ll princess if I want to,” Rose sniffed.
Luka glanced back at the sketch, and was impressed all over again. Marinette had somehow turned flowers and glitter and pink and Rose into a few lines of charcoal and caught it on the page. Her own special brand of magic.
On the other side of the room, Juleka looked up from her phone.
“I’ve just ordered takeaway, and Ivan and Mylène are on their way,” she told them, and levelled a look at Marinette. “You are staying, aren’t you?”
By the time Marinette had been talked into it, and Ivan and Mylène had turned up in a bustle of exclamations and hugs and chatter, Luka had recovered something of his equilibrium. As darkness fell over the river and the lights strung up across the boat spilled a soft light over the deck, Luka handed Marinette a glass of wine and settled into the deck chair beside her.
“You’re wearing a tie these days,” she said with a hint of mischief, and he glanced down at the shirt he’d rolled up over his tattooed forearms and the tie he’d forgotten he was still wearing. “I never pictured you in the kind of career that would need a tie.”
He pulled himself together enough to smile easily back at her. “Well, it’s been a while. A few things have changed. I see you’re not wearing those pigtails anymore,” he teased her, and her hand went to the soft satin twist of her hair.
“No.” Marinette leaned back in the chair, her wine glass in hand, and her eyes were on Rose and Ivan arguing amicably about something. There was an indefinable sense of distance in her that had never been there when they were kids, and he wondered what had happened to put that there.
“So when did you get back in touch with Jules? She didn’t mention that she’d seen you.”
“I was showing a couple of pieces at something Juleka was modelling at a while ago. We bumped into each other backstage, and when she mentioned that she and Rose were getting married I offered to make up the dresses for them. My wedding present to them,” she said with a self-conscious smile, and Luka couldn’t help a soft laugh.
“Only you would do that for someone you haven’t seen in years.”
“They’re still friends.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.”
Rose was standing on a stack of crates now, singing something about rainbows, while Juleka hooked an arm around her to keep her from overbalancing and Mylène snorted with laughter. Marinette looked over at them a little wistfully.
“It’s nice to be back in touch with the old Kitty Section crew,” she admitted. “It was nice to reconnect with Juleka… and you. I’ve missed that.”
“I’ve missed you too,” Luka said quietly. “Do you see much of the old school crowd?”
Marinette shrugged. “Not really. I run into Adrien from time to time. I see him at the fashion shows sometimes, but honestly, once we get past the awkward reminiscing about collège, and industry stuff, we don’t really have a whole lot to talk about these days. I’ve sort of lost touch with everyone else.”
“How about Alya?” he asked. Luka had never really warmed to the brash journalist-in-the-making, with all her Adrien-schemes, but she’d been best friends with Marinette back in the day.
“No.” The one word was oddly expressionless. “I haven’t see her in a few years.”
There was a heartbeat when he thought she was going to say something else, then those lashes of hers dropped. Instead, when she looked up again there was that mischievous spark in her eyes again, and she said, “So what convinced you to put on a tie? Although I notice you didn’t get rid of your blue hair.” Was that an approving note in her voice? He ran his hand a little self-consciously through the longer, teal-tipped sweep of his dark hair, rubbing at the shorter hairs at the back of his neck. “What are you doing these days?”
“Playing the occasional gig whenever I get the chance, selling my music from time to time, teaching…”
“Teaching?”
He named the lycèe.
“Lucky students.” Marinette tilted her head to regard him speculatively, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’m having a hard time seeing you as M. Couffaine, though.”
“Just Luka. I’m the cool teacher that half the faculty hates because I undermine authority.”
“And the other half madly crush on,” Marinette suggested, and Luka felt himself flush. She could still throw him off-balance, all these years later, although it was in a different way now. The fourteen year old Marinette he remembered would never have been able to say something like that without self-combusting, but here she was, watching him with that mischievous glint in her beautiful blue eyes, and it was just another reminder that things had changed.
“What about you?” he deflected. He gestured at the sketchbook she’d left on a nearby table with her handbag. “Following the dream?”
She gave a wry little smile. “Oh, I got through my degree in fashion design somehow, and I’ve been running a bespoke atelier out of my bedroom. It’s not huge, but it pays the bills, and at least it gives me a certain amount of … flexibility.” Luka couldn’t understand the slight twist of her mouth at the word, but she had it smoothed out before he could be sure he’d really seen it. “And Ja… a few high profile people have been very kind and sent work my way.”
Luka felt certain he knew who the celebrity had been. For that alone, he could forgive his father a lot. There was a long silence while Marinette contemplated her empty wine glass, then she met his eyes.
“You have no idea how sorry I am that I broke up with you like that, right when you were going through everything with... I just made everything worse, and it wasn’t fair on you. I never really found a way to tell you that I was sorry for everything.”
“Marinette, no!” Luka straightened in his deckchair, a faint frown crossing his face. “We were kids. I’ve always felt badly that I put you under more pressure when you were clearly having a hard time with something.”
“There was a fair bit of that going around,” she conceded, and let out a shuddering breath that he didn’t realise she’d been holding. “But you have nothing to apologise for, you had every right to be upset about how I treated you. I regret a lot of things about back then.”
“I don’t regret that we tried,” Luka said with unintentional intensity, and Marinette’s eyes widened a little. “But I do regret that I lost you out of my life altogether. You always had the most fascinating way of seeing things, and I missed just hanging out and talking to you.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after all that. And I thought it was saf -“ she cut herself off abruptly, changing what she’d been going to say, “- better if I stayed away.”
He shook his head, but didn’t say anything in response.
She gave him a sidelong look. “I never really got the chance to ask you, did you… how did things go with Jagged in the end? Do you talk to him?”
Luka’s expression turned wry. “It’s complicated. It’s always complicated with Jagged, but we talk a bit. He’s going to be there for the wedding. Not sure how that’s going to go.”
Marinette made a sympathetic noise. He thought for a moment that she was going to ask him for the details, but instead, with another swift, perceptive glance from those blue eyes of hers, she changed the subject.
“So what’s teaching like, M. Couffaine?” she asked lightly, and he settled back to tell her some of his stories, enjoying the ripple of laughter he drew from her over his students’ antics, and the chuckles she surprised out of him with her own tales about clients and their most outrageous demands. He had no idea how late it had grown when the conversation was interrupted by a chorus of phones chiming all at once from various corners of the Liberty. Ivan was the first to reach his.
“Akuma alert,” he sighed. “Aw, man, they’ve shut down septième. Traffic getting home is going to be hell.”
“What’s the bet that it’s the Eiffel Tower again?” Juleka muttered.
Mylène was shaking her head. “Hawkmoth, and now Swallowtail, and there was that weird thing with the rats a few years ago, and the government keeps pretending that there’s nothing they can do as long as they can just dump it all on Ladybug and Chat Noir to deal with the problem. We’re still working on getting subsidies for mental health therapies, but they keep stonewalling us.”
Marinette was getting to her feet.
“I really should go,” she said reluctantly, and Luka stood as she gathered up her bag and sketchbook. “It was… really nice to catch up again, Luka. It’s been far too long.”
“Oh, but you’ll be back again soon, right?” Rose cut in before Luka could say anything. “There’ll be fittings for the wedding dresses, and we’re not letting you lose contact again like that. We’ve missed you, right, Luka?”
Luka ignored Rose’s unsubtle nudge, and Marinette said her goodbyes to the rest of their friends.
“It’s good to see you again, Marinette,” he told her, and accepted the light bise she brushed against his cheek. He caught a hint of vanilla and sugar as she leaned in, and oh hell, it suddenly hit him why the smell of cookies had always left him with a faint and peculiar sense of homesickness when his mother had never baked a cookie in her life. He closed his eyes briefly, and let Marinette go before he could do something stupid.
Luka watched her safely down to the dock, and he absolutely was not fixating on the sway of those jeans as she walked away, holy crap, and turned back to meet Rose’s hopeful and utterly transparent look.
“So-oo,” his future sister-in-law said with overdone nonchalance. “You and Marinette looked like you were having a good time together.”
“Don’t go getting ideas, Ro.”
“Rose,” Juleka muttered warningly from the bench where she was sitting, but Rose ignored her.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said innocently. “I just want you to be happy Luka. It looked like you were really happy tonight. And it was great to see Marinette again.”
“No ideas,” he repeated, and Rose gave him a look of deep disappointment. She started collecting the empty takeaway containers, while Luka rounded up the glasses. Rose dropped a kiss on Juleka’s mouth on the way past, and flitted down into the galley. Juleka heaved a put-upon sigh, and swung herself gracefully to her feet, scooping up a couple of stray cushions.
Luka picked up Marinette’s wineglass, with the soft pink imprint of her lipstick.
“You didn’t mention that Marinette would be coming round,” he said, his back to his sister. “You didn’t mention that you’d been in touch with her again.”
Juleka shrugged, and dumped the cushions in one of the storage boxes on the deck. “Didn’t think it mattered. It was ten years ago. You’re not still hung up on what happened back then, are you?”
“No, of course not.” And he was pretty sure that was true. This felt like he’d been blindsided by Marinette Dupain-Cheng in a whole new way.
#lukanette#pro lukamari#see the light#this is disney nerds#julerose wedding#they're still idiots#tangled
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A little thing that presented itself to me on my morning dog walk and wouldn’t leave me alone until it was written. I’ll put it on AO3 later, but for now, please enjoy.
Thank you to @purplehotmess for a wonderful betaing job on this ❤️
A Thousand Miles Apart (and I know I love you)
Harry laughed as he leaned back against Draco’s chest. They’d not been back long from a night out and everything was funny.
“I can’t believe you’re going on the international tour tomorrow,” Draco sighed, one hand absently combing through Harry’s hair. “Who will come out on wild nights with me while you’re gone?”
Harry laughed again. “I know. It’ll be over with before you know it, though.”
“I can only hope you don’t miss me too much to concentrate on the Snitch,” Draco deadpanned before laughing.
“You could come with me if you wanted,” Harry suggested, sitting up to look at Draco, who shook his head. “Friends are allowed to come.”
“I can’t. Just because I’m free of house arrest, doesn’t mean I’m free. I can’t leave the country for another six months.”
“Oh yeah,” Harry said with a frown, resuming his previous position and putting his head back on Draco’s chest. “I forgot about that.”
“Lucky you,” Draco muttered.
Harry’s frown deepened. Since Draco’s house arrest had finished three months ago, and he had turned up on Harry’s doorstep to both thank him and apologise to him, they’d slowly but surely become firm friends. In fact, they probably spent more time together than they did apart, now that their friends were busy starting their families (or in Pansy’s case, had moved to France).
At first it surprised Harry how easily they got on with one another now that all of the issues from their past had gone. He hadn’t felt animosity towards Draco for a long time.
Rolling onto his side, Harry looked at Draco. “I’m sorry. I will fire call you and send you owls every day I’m away if it helps.”
Draco snorted, a look of amusement passing across his face. “Like you’d have time.”
“I’d make time. Really, I would,” Harry replied. “You know I would.”
Draco sighed again. “You’re right. I do know you would. Listen, I’m getting tired now. Do you mind if we turn in?”
“Not at all. Let’s sleep.”
And sleep they did. Right there on the sofa because neither of them could be bothered to move. It wasn’t the first time they’d fallen asleep together and Harry was sure it wouldn’t be the last. There was an odd sort of comfort that came from having a warm body next to him, whether it was in bed or on the sofa, and he suspected that Draco felt the same.
***
Three weeks later, Harry found himself in the middle of an international Quidditch tour with Puddlemere United. They’d been through Europe and were now somewhere in Asia - Singapore, he thought - playing against some of the top teams in the world. He should have been happy. He loved nothing more than flying freely, and catching the Snitch, but every night after his team mates had left him in the bar of whatever pub they’d found that day, he couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness and sadness that settled over him.
He had spoken to Draco a couple of times, but the time difference made it hard to schedule a call. The calls he had managed to make, though, had brought a smile to his face like no other. He’d been able to hear Draco’s mood lifting too as soon as he realised it was Harry on the other end.
On his third night in Singapore, while he was sleeping, Harry awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. His skin was warm and clammy, glistening in the moonlight from the same sweat that was sticking his hair to his neck and forehead. His chest was heaving, his boxer shorts and the bedsheets were damp. He’d dreamed about Draco before, of course, but never like that. That had been something different. Something, he realised, he wanted more of and next time, he wanted it for real.
***
The next day, after securing himself an international Portkey, Harry stood on Draco’s doorstep. He’d waited for what felt like an eternity before the door was thrown open. Draco stood in front of him, bleary-eyed and his hair standing on end. Harry smiled.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Harry didn’t answer straight away. He’d rehearsed what he wanted to say the whole time he was travelling, but now that he was here with Draco in front of him, he’d forgotten what words were. Instead, not caring who saw them, he stepped forward and kissed Draco. It was more than a peck on the lips, but he stopped himself from taking it too far, and then he was gazing at Draco once more with his lower lip caught between his teeth.
Draco, who had definitely kissed back, was looking back at him with an open mouth. They were both breathing hard.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, finally. “I’ve… been doing some thinking while I’ve been away.”
“So I see,” Draco replied faintly. “Do you want to come in?”
Harry nodded and followed Draco inside.
“Upstairs,” Draco said as he closed the door behind Harry. “Living room is too cold.”
Harry laughed softly and headed up the stairs to Draco’s room, kicking off his shoes as he went. They’d had many talks in the confines of Draco’s room, usually snuggled together under the duvet for warmth. This was not the Manor that Draco had lived in for most of his childhood, but a small terraced house in London itself. There was a small fireplace in the living room, but it couldn’t heat the whole house.
Settling themselves on the bed, Draco wrapped in his duvet, they looked at each other once more.
“Explain,” Draco said, softly. He sounded almost hopeful.
“I realised something. Last night, when I was in my hotel room in Singapore,” Harry began, frowning as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “For the last however many months, you and I have spent pretty much every waking minute together where we can. You occupy more of my thoughts than I ever knew. These last three weeks have been torture because you weren’t there. That’s not all. I had a dream last night. That you and I were… intimate.”
Draco inhaled sharply.
“Draco… I liked it. I immediately wanted more of those feelings that… well, that I imagined I felt with you.”
Draco shook his head.
Harry frowned, a look of hurt crossing his features. “N-no?”
“No! I mean, yes. But no, that… Harry. I fell asleep on the sofa and I had the same dream. But I don’t think it was a dream. It felt too real, I think we… somehow connected last night.”
Harry drew in a shaky breath. “Are you serious?”
Draco nodded, his cheeks turning pinker. “Yes. I’ve heard of it happening but it’s usually a mutual thing between a couple separated by distance. Not… two people who are supposed to be friends.”
“Friends isn’t enough,” Harry whispered, realising how close together they were. “I want more. I want you, all the time. Forever.”
“I want that too,” Draco replied softly. “But you… I’m…”
“Don’t. Don’t even think that,” Harry interrupted, recognising the look in Draco’s eyes. “What happened is in the past. It’s over. You’re moving on, you’re making amends. You deserve to be happy.”
“What about your reputation?”
Harry snorted. “Since when do I care what the papers think? They know we’re friends. They don’t have to like it, but they can’t expect me to care what they think. We have something special, Draco. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
Draco smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. So… should we give this a try?”
Draco’s smile turned into a smirk. “Only if we can have a replay of the ‘dream’. I’d like to see you come undone.”
Harry grinned. “I think that can be arranged,” he said, closing the gap between them and kissing Draco fiercely as he pushed him back onto the mattress.
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paper rings [a nessian one-shot]
a/n: hey besties!! here’s some fluff for this fine saturday. i wrote this for my mate, my besta @vanserrasvalkyrie bc i love her to death and she deserves everything. i wrote this based on paper rings by taylor swift. enjoy!
acotar masterlist || masterlist of masterlists
When the sunlight hit his face, Cassian stretched with a groan and reached for his girlfriend. Girlfriend. Three years and he was still shocked that was the title he could call Nesta Archeron. When they met all those years ago, he could have sworn she hated him. He thought it might have been his high clouding his mind but no.
Nesta gave him the cold shoulder every time they hung out, though he never failed to sense her eyes on him when they were out with his friends. There was something about Nesta that always drew him to her. Some sort of gravitational pull that made her irresistible--even as she pushed him away.
Cassian frowned when he found that the other side of the bed was cold, his girlfriend long gone for the day. Blinking slowly, he wondered if she told him what she was up to today. Not that she needs to, but she usually gives him a heads up. His thoughts were pulled away when his phone chimed.
A single text message from Nesta read, Morning, babe. I’m out running errands with Feyre today. I’ll see you later. Xx
Cassian couldn’t help the grin that formed on his lips at her use of the word babe, and he used that energy to get out of bed and prepare for the day. The day that he hopes will bring him one step closer to calling Nesta his wife.
He dialed Rhys, putting the phone to his ear as he fastened his watch around his wrist. He smiled fondly at it, remembering the day Nesta gave it to him saying, “Your old watch is too loud. Use this.”
Rhys answered on the last ring with a labored, “Hello?” followed by a female yelp and giggle. His brother shushed her, but Cassian’s brows furrowed.
“Is that Feyre?”
Rhys cleared his throat, “Yeah, of course, why?”
“I just thought…” He trailed off. “Nevermind, brother. Is everything still set for tonight?”
He could practically hear Rhys rolling his eyes when he replied, “Yes, brother, we’ve been over it a thousand times. It’s going to be great.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you two to… whatever I interrupted.” Cassian almost gagged hearing Rhys’ stifled groan of a goodbye as he hung up, patting his jacket pocket to feel for the ring one more time. He was about to grab his keys when he noticed a note on their side table, the elegant script telling him who left it. Smiling, he picked it up and read.
Cassian,
Do you remember the night we first met? I remember it vividly, probably because I wasn’t as stoned as you. But what I haven’t told you is that I went home and stalked you on the internet. Full on FBI mode. If you tell anyone, I will not hesitate to kill you. Sometimes I think about how I tried so hard to learn every detail I could about you without actually talking to you, but now I feel like I know more than I should.
We’ve shared a lot these past three years, and I have to say that one of my favorite hobbies to share with you is reading. The days we spend wasting away in bed reading side by side are the days I hope we will continue to share for the foreseeable future. While they aren’t my favorite, I do enjoy the war novels and thrillers you keep beside your bed. I think I’ve read all of them by now.
I skimmed Catch 22 this morning and was particularly intrigued by page 143.
It wasn’t signed, but Nesta’s perfume lingered on the page, igniting Cassian’s senses. The memories she wrote of came to the forefront of his mind. She was shy at first, not wanting him to know the sort of books she enjoyed reading with her friends. But one night he snuck one off her nightstand. Needless to say, they’ve had their fair share of experimentation based on a few of her novels. And when she read his books and talked excitedly with him, he thought he’d propose on the spot.
Cassian rushed to his bedside table and, sure enough, Catch 22 is on top. He flipped to the page she mentioned. Another note fell out along with a blue paint swatch. The color looked familiar, but he couldn’t figure out where he knew it from. Shrugging, he read the note.
Cassian,
Do you remember when Azriel made us all help him paint his room? My favorite memory of that day was the fact that there was more paint on us and our friends than there was on the walls. You, of course, had the brilliant idea of jumping into the pool of Az’s apartment complex. At 8PM. On a January evening. No one wanted to join you, for obvious reasons. I still think you’re an idiot for suggesting it. I still think you’re an idiot for actually doing it.
But then again, I followed. You may have jumped first, but I went in, too. I will always follow you, Cass, to the ends of the earth.
Will you follow me, too?
Yes. One hundred percent, yes. Cassian would follow Nesta to the ends of the earth and back. He’d slay dragons for her or just sit back while she conquered them herself. He couldn’t think of a time when his world didn’t revolve around Nesta. While they played games of cat and mouse when they first met, it was always Nesta. For him, he would always follow Nesta.
Will you follow me, too? He absolutely would. There were no other directions on the note, but Cassian knew exactly where he needed to go. Carefully folding the notes, he placed them in his pocket next to the ring. Giving the pocket another pat, he grabbed the keys to his truck and made his way through town. Azriel moved out long ago to live with his girlfriend, but Cassian still knew how to get to his old apartment complex.
That night was one of the best nights of Cassian’s life, but not for the reasons Nesta might be thinking. It was fun, definitely, swimming in that freezing pool, alcohol the only reason they didn’t feel the icy bite of the water. But that was the first night Nesta laughed and smiled with only him. Sure, before then, he had seen her radiant smile and heard her mesmerizing laugh with their friends. But with no one else around them in the pool, Cassian had relished in the fact that he was the reason for her happiness. It was the first time he had dared to hope for something more.
The apartment complex wasn’t gated, so Cassian drove right in, straight to the clubhouse pool. He hopped out of his truck, leaving it running idle, as he searched the area. He searched the chaise lounge chairs and tables but only saw a towel and duffel bag that someone left behind. He walked the perimeter of the pool itself. Still nothing. Did he get it wrong? Was he supposed to go somewhere else? Confused and frustrated, Cassian was about to give up when something at the bottom of the pool caught his eye: a ziploc bag anchored by a can of paint.
“You have got to be kidding me, Nes,” he mumbled to himself. Cassian went back to inspect the duffel bag, cursing his cruel girlfriend the whole way. When he unzipped the bag, a note was on top. Have fun getting wet, was all it said. Underneath was a pair of Cassian’s swim trunks and an extra pair of clothes. Accepting his fate, he changed in the restroom, and dove into the pool.
Pulling the paint can--the same color they painted Az’s room--to the surface was harder than he thought it would be, but eventually he was sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water that was a lot warmer than it was that night. Shaking the moisture from the bag and his hands, he took out the note, slightly shorter than the rest. Nesta knows he’d be impatient and nearly irritable by now, and he loved her even more for thinking about that detail.
Nice day for a swim, right? I wish I could have been there to see it, but don’t worry, I’ll have you wet and shirtless in no time later. But in all seriousness, I had a lot of fun that night. Getting to know you better in the pool is one of the highlights of our relationship and it’s something I will never forget.
But let’s go back to the beginning. Meet me in the place it all began. I’ll always be waiting for you.
Cassian grinned and pushed himself up to dry off and change. He grabbed the clothes Nesta packed for him, pleased to know she knew his style, and meticulously transferred the small box from his jacket pocket to the front of his jeans.
Knowing exactly where to go, Cassian made his way to meet his future wife.
---
Nesta waited nervously on the dock of a lake just outside of Velaris. She clutched the final envelope in her hands, reminding herself every few minutes not to ruin it. She sat on a blanket, a basket filled with Cassian’s favorite foods. She tried to push doubt from snaking its way into her brain, but she couldn’t help it.
She had been dropping hints to Cassian for months now but to no avail. After Rhys proposed to Feyre six months ago, Nesta felt that tug in her heart that told her she was ready. She practically told Cassian as much. She made it a point to talk about Feyre’s wedding prep every day, asking what he would want if he was in their position. She even went as far as showing him rings.
But Cassian hasn’t made a single move. Nesta knows he loves her, but does he not see her as wife material? Does he only love her for now? Nesta didn’t think so, and she didn’t let herself believe that, but the seed of doubt is still there, waiting to grow. To counteract the doubt, she decided to take things into her own hands.
Hence the basket and the notes.
Her phone chimed with a text from Az telling her that Cassian just jumped into the pool. He got it on video. She laughed and asked him to let her know when Cassian left the apartment complex. While all of their friends were in on the event, Azriel was the only one she trusted to trail Cassian without being caught. Everyone else was tasked to decorate their apartment for a party after Cassian left on her scavenger hunt.
Nesta stood as she heard the sound of tires on gravel and braced herself as she watched Cassian step out of his truck and make his way towards her. Much to her amusement, she realized his hair was still a little damp from his impromptu swim, but he was also wearing the jeans and button down shirt she had packed for him as well. Nesta still counted herself lucky, praying to the Cauldron every day that this was the man that crashed into her life all those years ago.
Cassian stopped in front of her, surveying her from head to toe. His gaze sent shivers down her spine, but she stayed still as he scanned her set up on the dock, a smile gracing his lips as he most likely remembered what they’ve done out here. Multiple times.
Finally, he turned back to her and greeted her, “Hi, Nes.”
“Hey,” she said, voice low.
“What is all this?” He started to move towards her, but she held up her hand, nerves getting the best of her.
“I-- uh, we’ll get to that. But first,” she held up the note she held in her hand. “Last one.”
This time, he did step closer to her, but didn’t touch her yet. Ever observant, he knew she needed her space right now while her nerves went haywire. He stopped just in front of her, though, and asked, “Will you read it to me?”
Nesta’s eyes went wide, scanning the hazel ones she’d come to love so much. She saw only love and a hint of amusement staring back at her, so she whispered, “Okay,” and opened the envelope. With a few deep breaths, she began to read.
“Cassian. My best friend, my love. The biggest brute on the planet.
I don’t know how else to put this, but when I think about who I was when we first met, I can’t help but feel that I fell in love with you by accident. Don’t get me wrong, I am so glad that I did. But you know me, I hate accidents. I hate when things don’t go the way I want them to. And that’s you in a nutshell. I never know what’s going to happen, but I’m here for it, along for the ride for the rest of my life.
You know my past better than anyone else, even my sisters. All of the things that happened with Tomas… if none of that had happened, I wouldn’t have found you. I can even say I’m thankful for your past girlfriends, knowing that you wouldn’t be the man I know without them. We may fight, we may not be perfect, but that doesn’t stop me from loving you and hoping you love me in return.
Because I want it all, Cassian. I want you and all the complications you may come with. I want to kiss you randomly just because I can. I want to brighten your dreary Mondays, for you to wrap your arms around me while I cook, and everything in between.
You’re the one I want, Cass, in any way you’ll have me. Picture frames, dirty dreams, you name it.”
Nesta paused, steadying herself for the next part. She wiped the tears that started to fall from her eyes as she read. When she looked at Cassian, she could see the silver lining his own eyes as he gave her a watery smile. The smile she can’t imagine living without ever again. Steeling herself, she asked, “Are you going to make me do the knee thing?”
The corner of Cassian’s mouth turned up higher at that, decorating his face with that smirk that’s gotten him into so much trouble in the past. “You know how I like to see you on your knees in front of me, Nes,” he teased, making Nesta’s heart stutter.
“Brute,” she mumbled. “Fine.” Nesta adjusted her dress as she got down on one knee, holding the note in her palms. “I know this isn’t a shiny ring or anything fancy, but I don’t need any of that. I only need you, Cass. You’re the one I want until we’re taken to the next life and every moment after that as well. Will you marry me?”
Cassian hesitated for only a split second before he was on his knees in front of her, her face in his hands. “You stole my thunder,” he accused, his voice playful. When Nesta only stared at him with a cocked brow, he chuckled. She watched as he reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a small velvet, black box. Nesta couldn’t contain her gasp as he opened it to reveal a perfectly cut ruby set on a simple silver band. “You’re the only one for me, Nes. You’ve always been the only one for me.”
Nesta stared at the ring. “Cass…” she whispered.
“Are you sure you don’t want the shiny things? I can return this…”
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “Ring me.” Nesta stuck her left hand in Cassian’s face. He laughed but removed the ring from the box to slip it onto her ring finger.
They both watched in silence, the air buzzing with anticipation, as Cassian pushed the ring past her first knuckle then the second. Until it metaphorically clicked into place at the bottom of her finger.
A perfect fit.
Nesta launched herself at Cassian, tackling him to the deck with a searing kiss. Her heart thundered wildly, their tongues tangling as the words engaged, fiance, and future husband played on repeat in her mind like her favorite song. She pulled back to look down at her best friend, her everything, his eyes shining right back at her.
“I love you, Nes,” he said, voice low but thick with emotion.
“Until the end of time,” she replied with another kiss.
---
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An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave III---The Second of the Spirits
Hello there! The third part of this is up up up, and at 11,000 words I know it’s long, so if you wanted to read it in parts that’s great and okay! I worked hard on this and I hope you like it!
Her alarm struck, though she had not set it, and she felt at her own body as she awoke from the horrible nightmare.
Ana, like most people of her ilk, believed herself ready in any moment for any sort of thing that came her way, that she could master it, and tolerate it, and come out victorious. So have all of us, in a moment where we are very courageous in our own homes and beds, said that same. And so despite the harrowing nature of what she had just experienced, it seemed to Ana Amari that anything between a children’s choir and an army might have been just as expected.
But what Ana was most unnerved by, and utterly unprepared for, was nothing. The alarm sounded, and still it stayed dark, a cold, and quiet, just as her room had always been, and no matter how many times she looked over to the clock, at five, ten, or twenty minutes, still the same nothing answered her back. This was enough to make her brave, as it might us all, and so she spat her words into the darkness.
“Ridiculous.”
There was a light from the other room, at that, peeking and shining under the door with a brilliance Ana did not know.. The apartment in Brixton was tiny and dark, and would never have been accused of any manner of warmth by anyone, and yet now the light coming from the living room was golden and warm, dancing light firelight on the walls despite there being no fireplace anywhere near the building.
“Right then!” There was a chipper, high voice from the other room, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!”
Ana stepped out of bed, creeping toward the door. There had been Jack, and there had been Reinhardt, and despite herself, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that it was all something in her mind. And she knew that voice, had known it for more years than semed reasonable, when she reflected upon it.
She turned the corner into the living room. There was a tree brightly festooned with ornaments and tinsel, and while it might not have been the finest tree in the world it had clearly been dressed with great enthusiasm. There were stockings hung from the edge of the window, carefully nailed in, mismatched and well-loved. The room rang with an echo of laughter, almost as a chorus, but one voice above them all.
And, on what had been her coffee table, now grown long and covered with a white cloth, a grand feast, ham with a rich, shiny, glaze, turkey overflowing with stuffing, rich turnip and parsnip gratin, dripping with sauce, bowls full of roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes, pigs in blankets, Yorkshire puddings, and mince pies with brandy butter.
Tracer sat cross-legged on the end of it, in a bright green sweater, which looked thick and soft even from this distance, a crown of red and green gold star tinsel, mixed here and there with jingle bells, on her head. There was a Christmas pudding in front of her, and she popped a bit into her mouth before she looked up and saw Ana. She swallowed, licked the fork, and grinned.
“Right then.” She set down the plate, and leapt to her feet, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!”
Ana opened her mouth to protest, but if she had to hear another lecture about narrative structure and known mythologies, she was going to lose whatever was left of her mind. Besides, she had little belief that Tracer would care much about her own feelings on Christmas, and even smaller still was that small pang of regret, the part from last Christmas still dancing in her mind.
“You already said that.” She allowed.
Tracer stood up straight for a moment, and considered, hand at her chin. “I did, didn’t I?” she laughed. “Was right both times!”
Lena Oxton had died. Ana knew this. She knew it in the same way that she knew Jack had died, and Reinhardt had died, and she had attended their funerals, and she had seem them burned or buried. But Tracer’s death was newer to her, having been an interruption to the month of November, the dirt on her grave not quite settled.
It was as, well, unsettling, as her encounter with Reinhardt had been. The room seemed to respond to her, the lights twinkling when she laughed, the smell of the Christmas feast following her about the room like a cologne. The flames seemed to dance and she bopped about the place, and it was only in that moment, Tracer’s eyes glittering brightly, that Ana noticed something.
She wore no chronal accelerator. Ana never would have remembered her without it.
Too much. Draw back.
“You look fairly good, for someone who has been dead for six weeks.” Ana snorted.
Tracer’s eyes narrowed, and the cheer left her face.
“Don’t get smart with me Ana, not in the mood.” She scowled, “Doing this for Jack, because I said I would, so I did, and I’m a woman of me word. But don’t think I particularly feel any sorrow over the idea of you spending the rest of your life alone. I don’t, not a drop.”
Ana opened her mouth for a moment, and then reconsidered. The image of Jack in her mind, of him somehow gathering this group of people beyond the grave to help her, the constant reiteration that this was her last chance, somehow for once in her life, Ana Amari could not come up with some sharp rebuke.
She looked straight ahead, and frowned, adjusting her scarf. “The night will be over before you know it, so, let’s go.”
Tracer nodded. “Right then.” She snapped her fingers, and the two them exploded into sparks against the night, rushing off into the present.
They were outside as the morning sun shone brightly through the streets of London, even the fog feeling it must cast away into the night and not disturb the sacred joy of that beautiful and crisp day. There was the smallest dust of snow on the ground, though you would have been forgiven for thinking it was so much more for the delight in children’s eyes as they gazed out of their windows.
Tracer ran down the sidewalk, jumped, grabbed onto a pole and swung back toward Ana, all in one swift motion, landing right in front of her, eyes glittering.
“Christmas morning!” She gestured grandly, London caught in a sort of pause, the hurry Ana was used to at seven am only a distant memory. “‘appy Christmas, London!”
Tracer rushed over to where a bunch of pigeons were cuddled on the eave of a window, and pulled two large handfuls of birdseed out of her pockets, tossing it all in front of them.
“‘Appy Christmas, little ones!”
“Did you just have that--”
But Tracer was already off, running through the sidewalks and stopping wherever she found someone to greet. A happy Christmas to the little dog with a biscuit, a happy Christmas to his owner with a box of tea, pulled from that same pocket. A happy Christmas to the nurse just walking to home, hoping her husband could distract the kids long enough so she could see them open presents, a gift card to the Pret by the hospital pressed into her hand even as she looked confused. A happy Christmas to the bus driver with a bottle of scotch, rested by his side with bow. .
Eventually, Tracer seemed to realize herself, and broke into a laugh that seemed to ripple through the street, the lights glowing a touch brighter as she did it, even the icy lace on the windows seeming to glitter just a little more brightly as she dashed back toward Ana.
“Right, right, I,” She dramatically paused in front of Ana, “Love Christmas. But you don’t ‘ave to!” She interrupted Ana’s protest, “For that isn’t the real point, not ‘ere, is it?”
“Giving people all these things, but,” Ana shook her head. “Is the point that people will be driven into debt over it? That it’s an excuse to press honest people into working more and harder, and later? The Christmas spirit, for sale at Mark and Spencer’s.”
“Marks and Spencer, but I’ll allow it.” She rocked back on her heels. “There are plenty of people who don’t understand the meaning of what Christmas is, and often they’re the ones with the biggest trees, and that’s the God’s honest truth. What I show you ‘ere? Ought to be in every day. Every where. Because it isn’t about any ‘oliday, or turkey, or nothing. Is it, Ana Amari?”
She drew something out of her pocket, a small gold book,, maybe the size of a credit card, and she flipped it open before pressing it into Ana’s hand. A picture of her and Pharah, Pharah only a baby, long ago and oh so far away. They both looked so different. So full of promise.
“Come on, Ana, there is just so much to see.”
She looked up from it only to realize that they were inside someone’s living room, parents looking at each other with tired eyes as a little girl ran happily around a dollhouse, placing the furniture in this room or that.
“Up all night constructing it, they was,” She shook her head, the bells tinkling, “but it ‘ardly matters. Was all she wanted, right?”
Tracer drew something out of her pocket, and knelt down next to the girl’s dollhouse, nearly nose to nose with her. Ana, whatever Reinhardt might think, had listened to him, and assumed the same was true here, that they could neither see nor hear the two of them, but the girl paused and looked in Tracer’s direction with such intensity that Ana wondered for a moment. Tracer put something in her palm, and closed her hand around it, smiling.
Tracer jumped back up next to Ana and threw an arm around her, Ana shrugging it off just as quickly as the little girl opened her hand.
“Look! Mummy! Daddy! It’s a kitty just like Patch! I didn’t seen it before oh it’s just like her!”
Her parents looked confused, each looking at the other, but the little girl was radiant in that moment of joy, and though Ana refused to look over at Tracer, she could feel the happiness pouring off her.
“I don’t know what you--”
“Next!”
But Tracer’s fingers snapped again, and they found themselves back in Brixton, outside of Ana’s apartment building with the falling, tattered awnings over crumbling bricks at windows. It was nothing to look at, but at least it was a place to sleep, and that was all the more Ana thought of it. It looked particularly dreary, if she were being honest, today, where she could see the scraps of Christmas trees in windows, and plenty without, people like her who didn’t participate in the nonsense of Christmas, who were fully cognizant that nothing changed on one day, no matter when that day was.
“Up she goes!”
Tracer grinned brightly, jumped on top of a dumpster out back, and grabbed onto the drainpipe, the tinsel in her hair shimmering in the dim morning light, throwing off stars into the daytime. She quickly began to shimmy up, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as she did so.
“Tracer,” She crossed her arms and stared up at her, “I have a key.”
“...You better not pout, I’m telling you why,” Another pull up the pipe, “Lena Claus is coming, to town,” she looked back down at Ana and shook her head merrily, “No you don’t! Left it in your room, then, didn’t you?”
She did not wait for an answer, simply started back up the pipe, as Ana felt for a pocket that she realized wasn’t there.
“Tracer.”
“What?” She turned around, swinging out with one arm, “Bit too old for this, Amari? I could do it all day.”
Ana huffed, but scrambled up onto the top of the dumpster and grabbed the pipe.
“Death has done wonders for you health, but not your attitude, Oxton!”
Tracer nodded. “That IS true.”
Ana began to climb behind her, grumbling as her hands tried to gain purchase on the cold drainpipe, her hands aching with the swell in her knuckles. Feeling her age, a bit, but also feeling a bit of something else, something she could not quite place. She looked up at Tracer above her, still climbing, toward the third floor, occasionally giving a bit of a bounce, or a swing.
Perhaps it was a bit....bad. It was true, that Tracer was well in a way Ana had not seen her in more than a year, and that was all she had said. But there was a sudden realization that Tracer so loved this moment, with a glowing smile and a song on her lips, because she was still basking in the joy of what it was to have her body obey her again, just as it had for years. It felt unkind, even if it wasn’t unfair, to criticize her for it, and she could not remember having had the feeling much before, least of all with Tracer.
“....Just you wait, poppet, got all her gifts ‘ere in her back trouser pocket, Lena Claus is coming to town…”
Ana struggled to pull herself up, slipping a bit on the iciness of the pipe.
Maybe not that bad.
“That doesn’t rhyme!” Another small slip, and a scowl as one of her slippers dangled off her foot.
“Slant rhyme, innit?” Tracer looked in a window, “Good enough for Shakespeare, good enough for me. ‘Ere we are!” She cocked her head and laughed down to Ana, her nose wrinkling, with its spray of freckles gathering like bunches of holly, those lights in all the windows bouncing again, along with her.
Ana slipped again, and felt her foot give way, but with a snap of Tracer’s fingers, they were inside a beige-walled apartment much like Ana’s, same layout, same unloveable carpet, same cheap seaming at the windows, but oh, so much more crowded. Not that it was particularly hard to do, but Ana looked at a man and a woman, sitting on their small threadbare couch together, a toddler sitting on the woman’s lap as the two of them directed the three other little children around the tiny apartment, with only a small smattering of toys to distract them.
Despite this, the apartment felt warmer than Ana’s own ever had, more filled with light despite the bareness of the walls, and maybe it was only the smile between the parents and their children, or maybe it was the chatter in a language Ana did not know, but knew the feeling of without having to understand the meaning, but somehow she felt a certain twinge of what she had felt all those years ago in that miserable military camp, all those Christmases ago.
She resented it.
“I suppose I’m supposed to be amazed it’s Christmas here, too?” She glanced sidelong at Tracer.
Tracer jumped up onto the back of the couch and sat there, cross-legged, shaking her head. “Ana, s’not Christmas here, they’re Muslim, don’t you notice anything? Thought you was,” she made her hands into claws, “the Shrike!”
Ana glowered, unable to decide if she were more annoyed at herself or at Tracer, and glanced around. Of course she would have noticed, if she had a moment, if she hadn’t been waiting for whatever lesson Tracer meant to lay upon her.
“Our point in being here, isn’t Christmas at all, as I said.” Tracer pointed to the both of them. “Inconvenienced by Christmas more than anything, they are. All the schools closed, all the meal programs off or offering a bit of ‘am, nothing really to make them keep the slightest bit merry in all the world. But...look at them. ‘Appy to spend the day with their little family. New to London, right, and filled with something like the Christmas spirit. And that, Ana, is ‘ope. That, Ana, is universal.”
Ana huffed. “They have nothing.” she pointed her chin to the kitchen, where daal and rice cooked, spiced carefully and beautifully, “Such a meager feast.”
“But very appreciated!” Tracer jumped off the back of the couch and shuffled toward the tiny corner of the apartment that served for a kitchen. “She’s been working plenty ‘ard, for the meal they ‘ave here. Everyone knows it.”
The family chattered happily, even as the father had to rise and place a sweater in the sill of the window to keep out the chill from the cold wind that dared to slip inside, and even as the mother smiled sadly toward the large pan on the stove, her eyes full of wishing for something else. But neither of those small, tiny regrets seemed to be able to steal the joy they had at simply being with their children, despite missing a day’s work, despite missing out on the childcare, despite all the things Ana might have laid, not unfairly, at Christmas’ feet, a sense of pleasantness seemed to endure, like cider hanging in the air long after the drink is gone.
“I--” Ana began to say something, something in the back of her mind, and then shook it away.
Tracer nodded, as if knowing that the bounds of this room had been reached in their capacity to teach her student.
“Need to see something a bit more familiar, don’t you? Come on then!” Tracer walked over to the door, and opened it, ushering Ana through, who came along, though grumbling.
Tracer reached into her pocket and materialized a large cardboard tray, laden so heavily with delicacies that Tracer had to catch it with her other hand. Biryani chock full of meat, paratha so decadent that it looked as if it might melt under the simple wave of Tracer’s hand, sweet rice smelling richly of cinnamon and raisins, and things Ana did not even know, but made her feel a pang of jealousy and hunger all the same.
Tracer went to knock on the door, thought a moment, and as a sparkle fell from her fingertips, she drew a Christmas pudding out of her pocket, sauce dripping over the sides, nuts and fruits bright on the top.
“Just so as to welcome them to the neighborhood, try something new, as well.”
She set it down with the rest of the food, and then knocked. There was a call from inside and the swiftest patter of feet as a little boy rushed and opened it, even as his father rose from the couch to call after him. At seeing Tracer, his eyes grew wide, but Tracer smiled as she put a finger to her lips, and with one last slip into that pocket, took out a 100 pound note and tucked it next to the pudding.
She turned and quickly went down the hallway, giggling as the father looked all about the place, unable to see anything at all, while the little boy broke into a bright smile himself, and waved.
Ana found herself waving back, and then stopped herself when she saw Tracer, hands in her pockets, grinning with such a luminosity that Ana would have sworn the hallway was brighter than it had ever dared to be.
“So you are what, Noel Baba now? Must be nice, to be so easily loved.”
“Oh!” She slid down the bannister, and at the end, let herself fall into a somersault and popped back up to her feet in one smooth motion. “I’d love to be Father Christmas, really! But of course, no, there’s no real Father Christmas, so near as I know, but, we all sort of are, right? Father Christmas, and all of us spirits, can only come once a year, and so how lucky and powerful can we be? You, on the other ‘and, ‘ave seen that family at the little mail cubbies for six months now, innit?”
And did not reply, but it was certainly true, that she had seen her. That she had noticed the mother trying to wrangle to children, and the father’s long hours, and the mother has once admired, in halting English, Ana’s scarf, seeming slightly shy of the ragged edge of her own. She had told Ana her name.
Ana could not remember it.
“Always ‘ad the power to do what I did, on any given day, right? Could ‘ave given them all that, but didn’t. Could ‘ave given the bus driver what takes you every day a gift, as well. You’ve ‘ad enough chance to be that bearer, Ana. You waste it, and you can’t pin that on me, not rightly.”
Ana walked down the stairs after her. “I live on the next floor, you have taught me enough--”
But as she stepped down another stair, her foot plunged into the snow on the sidewalk, and she looked up. On a simple street, still being rebuilt after the Battle, but about half redone with a grocery store and several apartment building patched back together. But even the ruins were decked with lights here and there, a bit of English humor at the edges of a healing misery.
“Things like that,” she felt compelled to defend herself, “are only patches on, on a bigger problem.”
Tracer stopped her walking and turned around. “Right then, so you go about with an ‘ole in your trousers til you can buy new? Mustn’t bother with a patch, of course not.”
She looked over Ana as they stood, nearly nose to nose. Tracer’s eyes did not linger, and never had so long as Ana had known her. They flitted, instead, like a hummingbird, from moment to moment and bit to bit, but somehow you got the sense that she was taking in all of you, whether you particularly wanted her to or not. In her eyes, Ana saw reflected bright lights of gold and white and green, though she did not recall there being lights so near.
She was still smiling, had never stopped, and this perhaps annoyed Ana worst of all.
Tracer cocked her head, and she took a step back, looking up and down at Ana.
“Like there’s no point in apologizing, right?”
“I tried--”
Tracer burst out laughing. “Oh, right, right! When you told ‘er that it wasn’t as if your mum were there for you, and so she might as well get over it and see a therapist? Some apology, I’ll say.” Tracer spun around in a pirouette, but than turned back. “And still--”
“Fareeha is a military woman. More even than me. To the good. She works things out in probability, in risk, in order. What would be the benefit of sentimentality, for all that? She does not do things that don’t benefit her. She hasn’t since she was a child. She had a plan, even then. She does what needs doing and I--there’s no reason I would fit into that.”
Tracer looked at her moment, and gave a confused shake of the head. “You really don’t know her at all, do you? No more, at least, than any clerk in the new office, and that’s the truth.” She did not give Ana a chance to respond, to argue. “Come on, then! Let me introduce you to your daughter.”
Tracer threw her arm around Ana’s shoulder, and though she took a deep breath and tried very calmly not to sock her right in the jaw, she had to admit that the warmth she had felt in those other rooms, she wanted to feel in Pharah’s home. She wanted to know what it might feel like to have the warmth of Pharah’s love, something that had been lost to her for so long.
Ana had never been to see the apartment they moved into after the Battle for London, and nearly paused for a moment as Tracer let go of her and jumped on the railing and then through the window, but the snap of her fingers gave no moment to think more of it. Their old place, she knew, had been destroyed, parts of it simply cratered in, Pharah rifling through what they had to try and reconstruct their belongings. Mercy, of course, had gone to pieces, by Ana’s measure, some memory of childhood bothering her enough that she kept her distance. The new place had been built of an old shell, like so many things in London, and Pharah had taken pains with the layout. It was a lovely place, bright and welcoming without being devoid of a certain peculiar charm, seeming less like a new-constructed box and more like it might have been in London all this time, even from the inside.
The furniture was new, and tidy, and Ana nearly laughed to see what she assumed could only be her daughter’s way of making sure everything had its place, and was put into it. Little cubbyholes built in by the door for shoes, books organized by subject and alphabetized, a few lying on the dark coffee table near where Mercy sat, reading one of them. But it was not without its hominiess, the smell of Mercy’s coffee in the air, and even Ana was not immune to it, walking to the mantle over a small fireplace, where a few framed pictures nestled among bright silver and blue garlands.
“A bit personal innit?” Tracer looked at the mantle herself, ‘Not quite the barracks you imagined.”
Ana let her fingers rest on a picture of Pharah and Mercy at their wedding, smiling under the chuppah, the pink roses and daisies in Mercy’s hands blooming brightly. Pharah’s hair was in a low ponytail, tightly held and shining, but she wore still the small gold charm in her hair, as she had for so many years. No longer, of course, not after everything that had happened between them.
Ana gave a mirthless chuckle, “All Angela’s, even before she was punishing me.”
Tracer grabbed at the picture. “She built that chuppah herself, you know. So it’d be a piece of her that was also Ang’s dream. Didn’t put it that way, of course, Fareeha, but that’s what it was.”
There were other pictures, crowded family tables and smiling faces in different locations--bright beaches and a ski chalet, even one at Disneyland Paris all of them squeezed into the frame together. There were, of course, none of Ana.
Tracer pointed to one at the edge of the mantle, Pharah and Tracer side by side as comrades they could not have imagined becoming, everything bright and green around them, both smiling, Tracer holding onto an iron gate, but her other arm firmly around Pharah. Pharah wore her usual deep blue, and Ana found herself jealous at the tightness of her grip on Tracer, the way they grinned at each other, Pharah’s other hand at her shoulder.
“She cared for me, you know.” Tracer said, tapping at the edge of the picture.
“Yes,” Ana rolled her eyes and turned away from the mantle, her voice brisker and more cold than even that wind outside “I know, she preferred you to me, because she preferred anyone to me, if this is your point I can just go home, because--”
“Bloody ‘ell, Ana, it’s not what I said!” Tracer scowled, the lights in her eyes near to bursting with the heat of lost patience. “You are so bloody lucky I owe both Rein and Jack a bloody fucking SCORE of favors--”
“--Well, you don’t owe me any, so you can just--”
“God no, you’d ‘ad to ‘ave done something kind for me even once for me to owe you--”
“--Oh, poor pitiful Lena, as if you don’t have enough adoration, you attention hou--”
“--You meanspirited little desert rat, ought to let you rot, I ought--”
“--You don’t know the first thing about--”
“SHE’S ‘OLDING ME UP IN THIS PICTURE!” Tracer had taken it, and held it in front of Ana’s face. Angela looked up from her book, around the room for a moment, confused, and both Ana and Tracer fell quiet. “Didn’t notice, did you? When you looked? But she is. Was just after me last birthday. Couldn’t really stand on me own much.”
Ana took the picture from her and looked down at it. Of course it was clear, looking at it now. Pharah's arm was at her waist, and her thumb was looped into Tracer’s belt loop, holding her close to Pharah’s solidness. Her other hand was at Tracer’s shoulder, steadying her, as Tracer did her best to hold herself up. She should have seen it.
Tracer took it back from her and placed it back on the mantle. “Not many people see that, when they look, because that’s way with Fareeha, right? I meant--and you never knew this--she literally helped take care of me.”
“No benefit to ‘er, mostly a drain on ‘er already limited time, being as she was running all of Overwatch herself. But from the time I started to need a bit of ‘elp, now and again,” she passed a hand across the pictures, and small whirls opened, showing she and Pharah together, in a park, in Tracer’s bedroom, out on Winston’s patio, poring over paperwork, simply sharing a lunch together, “Every Thursday, eight to eight, she did. Earlier, it was Overwatch paperwork,” she touched the edge of that whirl in its frame, and it came alive, she and Pharah arguing playfully over a stack of papers, “Pretending it was on business. Got to be more and more, of course. Took the pressure off Em and Win, when I couldn’t ‘ardly do nothing for meself. Cooked, did the washing,” she touched the edge of another photo, and the two of them were in a dark pub, Tracer in a corner chair with the table tucked up close to her, “Got me out the ‘ouse, when she could. When I could, honestly. And,” her voice got soft, “at the fag end of it all…”
She touched the edge of a silver frame, the whorl opening just a little more to show Pharah feeding Tracer, Tracer’s body trembling.
Ana looked at the photos, and then over toward the window, where a soft morning snow was falling, so heavy in the drifts that it was easy to forget that it was built of delicate individual lace. Had she been gone from her daughter’s life for so much of that year? She had known that Pharah had assumed the duties of Overwatch, that she was often too busy to be seen, but she had pictured something so much different. So much more in the ways that Ana had isolated herself.
“You know,” Tracer passed a hand over all the frames, bringing the photos back to themselves, and put her hands on her hips, “I ‘ave had a bit more fun in me life, than that particular bit of it, that much I’ll say. Don’t much like to think about it, though really, you get so much of life, and only, what, two percent of it, maybe three or four at the outside, is all that bad, than what is there to fuss about? But,” She pointed to Ana, “Much as I ‘ate it, you need to know it. You ‘ave to learn to ‘ear Fareeha, love. You must, if there’s any ‘ope at all.”
Tracer walked away from the mantle, and away from Mercy, and hustled toward the kitchen, small but well-appointed, and laid out in a certain unmistakeable logic that could only have come from Pharah’s own mind. She had put so much of herself, Ana thought, in this home, even as soft as all the furnishings were, and even with the Shabbat candlesticks and kiddush cup tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It was as if Mercy was the rose and Pharah the trellis, growing around the things that Pharah had made.
Pharah was studying a cookbook carefully in the kitchen, her eyes narrowed as she read the same recipe over and over again, flipping back and forth. She had, on her kitchen island, a very large ham, and several ingredients in front of her, everything examined and re-examined as she quietly mouthed the words of the cookbook to herself. It was silly, to see it as another rejection of Ana herself, and yet she felt herself bristle at it. It was one thing, that Ana knew she kept no particular part of her Muslim heritage particularly close, but it was another to see something so plainly in front of her.
Ana watched her with such rapt attention that she did not even notice Mercy come up behind the two of them.
“Is that a ham?”
“Yes.” She did not look up from the cookbook, but looked back to the ham, and then at her book, flipping through to another part, scowling at it all the while. “I understand how to make the bacon my father sends. I have learned how to make a fry-up. This seems like it should not be that difficult, but...it’s entirely new to me.”
Mercy stood silently for a moment. It had never been stated, but she thought that somehow it had been agreed by them that though she understood Pharah was not religious in the slightest, and sometimes a bit aggressively areligious, depending on her mood, Mercy herself was, and the idea of using her cookware to make pork turned her stomach, just a touch. Was she being unreasonable? Pharah did all of the cooking and never asked anything of her, and--
Pharah’s head snapped up, as if she could read the thread running through Mercy’s mind. “This is disposable.” She touched her hand to the aluminium roaster the ham sat in. “For Christmas.”
Ana turned to Tracer. “You came to show me what, that without my guidance, my daughter is going to forget herself entirely? Become some soft Londoner full of pig fat? I should expect a Christmas tree next? I know that, that is why--”
“Ana,” Tracer looked over at her, “You ever just think of...shutting up, every now and again? Watch. Learn something. God’s sake.”
Mercy thoughtfully touched at the edge of the counter.
“Fareeha. I am Jewish, you are Muslim.” She looked at her wife. “We don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“Oh!” Pharah laughed, the fierce concentration of her dissipating immediately as she looked to Mercy, “Yes! No, no, Angela this is not for us. I was--” She closed the cookbook. “Tracer loved Christmas, very much. I thought that Emily and Winston, that they probably wouldn’t--Emily loves the ham, especially--that it would be hard for them. I thought I would bring Christmas to them, in some small way. I can’t--” she looked back down at her glistening pink ham, “I can’t give them, what it is they want, of course. But a ham, I can give. After what happened,” her face grew dark, and serious, “after what was done to her…”
Mercy looked at her with great love, gave an adoring huff of a sigh, and smiled. “What a beautiful idea.”
Pharah pulled herself from her red cloud, and nodded happily.
Ana stared at the couple, both chatting now about the ham, side by side, neither of them having any particular clue what they were doing, but the room was filled with their love of their friends, and for each other, and their child, so much so that Ana could almost smell the dinner they planned to cook. They glowed completely in the light not of what they were given, but what they were giving, Mercy inelegantly pointing out side dishes, Pharah noting what might be in the well-stocked and organized fridge.
“My father!” Pharah exploded in the thought, an excited light in her eyes Ana had not seen for many years. Had she missed all the times it had flashed? Had she only seen her daughter’s cool, collected gaze? Pharah looked at the aviator’s watch on her wrist, and then up at a small clock on the side of the cabinet. “He should be awake by now. He would know how to make this, though I think Rebecca prefers a turkey for Christmas.”
Ana could say nothing, merely took a step toward them, mouth agape.
“That’s right, Ana,” Tracer got up from leaning against the wall, “Despite your very best efforts, she grew up ‘uman. Despite your very best efforts to make ‘er something like you, she ‘as a bloody ‘eart after all, and friends, and a family, and she takes care of them, when they need it. Must ‘ave been Sam’s influence, I think.”
Ana felt a flash of guilt, and pain, and then anger, and she whirled around to punch Tracer, who jumped to the side as Ana’s fist plunged through the wall but did not stop her pursuit. Tracer dodged again as she came, Ana frustrated by her age, and Tracer’s grin, humbled by the fact that it had never only been her ability to blink that made her a terrifying opponent, angrier yet still. Until Tracer stopped in front of her, and let her hit. Ana put her full force behind it, wanting to take away everything this smug little Englishwoman was saying, because if she could simply hit Tracer, make her stop, it would not be true.
She hit.
The fist went right through her.
“I’m a GHOST, ANA.” Tracer erupted into a fit of laughter so hard it took her a minute to recover, which was not nearly long enough for Ana’s taste, and put her hands on her hips, affecting an exaggerated accent, ‘You look fairly good for someone who has been dead six months, forgot that awful quick, didn’t you then!?”
Ana let her fists fall to the side, though she did not unclench them. “Take me home.”
“Cut a bit close, that did?” Tracer peered into her face. “You know why I put up with you”
“Jack--”
“No, though you do owe ‘im a bit of kindness, for ‘is work in the ‘ereafter for you. But that isn’t it, Ana.” She looked over to where Mercy tenderly touched her belly as Pharah talked on the phone, wishing her father a Merry Christmas, beginning to measure out something for a glaze. “Jack believed in you, and I owe him my field career, and that’s the truth. Reinhardt believed in you, and he was always kind to me. But none of that is why. I’m ‘ere because Angela Zeigler did everything she could for me, from the day she met me, even to the end, and so if I have to spend one day in your miserable company, I will do that for her. Because she is a woman what believes in mercy above all else, and still thinks you deserve it, no matter me own leanings. Think on that, Ana Amari. You’ve done nothing but spit in ‘er face, going on years, and she still ‘olds out ‘er ‘hand so you can do it all over again.”
Ana crossed her arms, but did not take her eyes off the couple. “And you want me to admire this?”
“No, don’t expect that much from you, but I do want you to be cognizant of it, at the least.” She nodded back to Pharah and Mercy. “Some people don’t count the cost.”
Mercy smiled as she backed away from Pharah for a moment. “I am having a wonderful idea. Just wait.”
Before Pharah could say anything, Mercy had her coat on and was running out of the house, and before Ana could even think to protest, Tracer had the two of them zipping after her. The door to the neighbors was right across from theirs, and Mercy knocked on it aggressively, and then looked at her watch, and then knocked again, perhaps deciding it was a perfectly acceptable hour.
A man, in a warm Christmas sweater, his slippers still firmly on his feet, answered.
“Angela? Is everything all right?”
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she grasped his hand in both of hers, “But I am wondering, if you have any Christmas decorations you aren’t needing? You see, we have friends, and it has been a very lonely holiday for them, and Fareeha and I have nothing to give.”
“So she’s going to bother this man and his family on Christmas Day.” Ana laughed, “The Christmas spirit. Togetherness. Poor planning. If family love can be made by cheap tinsel, than what is it anyway?”
“Shut up, you, and watch.”
The man startled for a minute, but then nodded his head, “Of course, of course, I know you had some unpleasantness this year, and, I’ll never forget that night you came over, when Camilla was sick.”
Mercy shook her head, as if it had been nothing, and walked in the door, following him as he looked in closets and pulled out garlands and took some ornaments off his tree, and put them all in a box. He bent down to explain to the children what they were doing, and a little girl ran off to the fridge and brought back a fat santa made of paper plates, a little boy with a stuffed dormouse with antlers.
They chatted happily to Mercy, and she thanked them profusely, dropped the box right inside her door, and continued onto another house, where there was a tangle of lights given and a bag of tinsel, and then the next, where Mercy was given a large plateful of cookies and other sweets from a little old woman, on and on until Mercy could hardly carry any of it, stacked up as it was. Some of them took it oof their own trees, out of their own kitchens, a spare stocking was taken off the mantle here and there. None of it matched, and all of it was secondhand at best, but it seemed to glisten and gleam with joy.
As Mercy went to round a last corner, Tracer pulled the two of them into small street that would have been called an alleyway in any civilized city, and pulled out of her pocket a tiny tree. She set it on the ground, and blew on it, and it grew to a fine height, not too large, nothing like the giant affair Winston had set up every year in his home since he’d been in London for Christmas, but smelling freshly of pine. She regarded it, and then threw a strand of tinsel here or there on it, so it would look properly discarded.
Mercy saw it out of the corner of her eye, backed up, and her eyes grew wide as she took it all in, something she never could have imagined. She clung the little box she had closer, running best as she could toward the house, calling Pharah’s name.
Ana stood for a moment, the snow falling softly still around her. It was snowing quite a bit, for London, off and on, or maybe it was only Tracer’s wish that this represent Christmas as best it could that made it so. She went to open her mouth, once, twice, but could not bring herself to say what she meant to, what she wanted to.
“She’s done nothing but help the people around her, be kind to them,” Tracer supplied, “So why wouldn’t they, the one time they get the chance, return it? Come on,” She took Ana by the elbow, “night’s coming on fast.”
Tracer pulled the two of them down the alleyway, and they turned the corner into what might have been a wall but instead was just another street, in a different part of the city, the darkness having fallen in the moment it took them to slide between the bricks.
Around them, the warehouse and odd converted apartment buildings rose, lights in this window or that, a tiny balcony with a number of rowdy revelers on it, drinking some hot rum thing that Ana could smell even from the street. Tracer bopped down the sidewalk with her, drawing this thing or that out of her pocket for a stray cat, smiling as she looked into the windows, and then they turned the corner, and her smile faded, just a bit.
It was the same street she had seen with Reinhardt, and yet it lay so still as the last of the light faded from the city that it hardly seemed that it could have been that same place that had been so fresh and alive, every building like tombstones in a row.
The house was quiet outside, and so grey. Where before, Ana could have ignored that it had once been a simple shipping warehouse, there was no mistaking it now, the cool metal of it tinny and burnished as the streetlights began to fly on. There were no bright sounds of cheer, or games being played. No lights trimmed the bannisters, no garlands played in the windows, and even the small dashing of snow seemed greyer than Ana had remembered when she had visited with Reinhardt. There was no doubt about the quietness settled over this house, and the darkness of it, just one lone lamp lit, the window before it dimming and greying even that.
She should have expected it, and yet, somehow, it came as a surprise to her.
“No point in the, ‘narrative structure’, if Tiny Tim is already dead. As I already told Reinhardt.” She looked over at Tracer. “Aren’t I supposed to turn over a new leaf, and prevent your death?”
Tracer shook her head. “No one could do that, love. If love could have saved me, I’d ‘ave lived forever, and it wouldn’t ‘ave been you that did. Just ‘ow life is sometimes. Sometimes, in life, you lose, love, and that’s the bitter truth of it.”
“So what’s the point? Exactly.”
Tracer bucked up her chin and smiled. ‘Come on then! And I will show you, what it is you’re meant to see.”
They slid through the doorway, Tracer not even attempting any manner of gymnastic endeavor to do so. The smells of fresh baking and cinnamon and apples no longer permeated through the house, and Ana looked about for the giant tree with its bright lights and collection of ornaments, the tinsel hung in garlands around the windows and down the stairway, the music playing, and yet there was nothing, just one lone lamp where Emily sat, even the brightness of her red hair dull in the shadowed light.
She was reading a book, curled up in the corner of the couch by herself, her hair hanging over the side where the light might have touched her face, and Ana noticed that her eyes ran over and over the same page, as if simply playacting at reading while the whole of her mind was somewhere else.
The door opened, and a cool deep wind flushed in as Winston came in the door, removing his fogged glasses and wiping them on his sweater.
“Emily.” He gave her a weak smile.
“Oh,” she set down her book, page still unread, “I wondered when it was you’d be coming home.”
She rose to her feet, slowly and quietly, and started toward Winston, who just as quietly took off his shoes and put on his slippers. There was none of the laughter or raucousness that Ana had felt in this room, before, and suddenly, not crowded with a group full of Oxtons, it felt so large. So empty. So silent.
“I’m sorry, I--”
“Oh no,” she tightened her sweater around her, “no, don’t be.”
“I went to--” He hung up his coat, and stared at the wall a moment, “I went to take a wreath, to where she was--well--where she is.” He tried to smile. “One of the silver tinsel ones, with all the rainbow colors and bells? She always--” He took a breath.
“Oh aye, she loved those. Would like that, that you did that, I think.”
“There are some lovely trees, there, I think in summer it’ll be---she loved green--” Emily touched his arm gently, “--it’s a nice place-- brushed off the stone a little bit. For the wreath.”
Emily nodded. “Was good of you. I have, well, there’s a ready meal in the oven.”
They stood there, simply looking at each other, until Winston nodded sadly and slowly worked his way over to the kitchen, opening the oven and taking out the meals inside on their little cookie sheet. Emily had bought several, for him, and he took a large bowl out of the cupboard and dumped them joylessly inside, mixing the mash and what passed for a steak braise all together. He poured himself a large glass of wine, and passed the bottle to Emily, and they sat across from each other at the small table, saying nothing as they quietly ate their food, or picked at it, rather, only a few errant bites here and there.
“It’s the job.” Ana said, barely convincing herself, the Christmas of the past in this same house still dancing in her head. “We lose people. Good people.”
“Didn’t bring you ‘ere because I thought you’d care about Em and Win.” Her arms were crossed, and she leaned against the wall, looking at the two of them, her eyes glistening. Then she shook off her sadness, the jingle bells in her hair ringing as she did it, and smiled again. “Ana, did you just call me a good person?”
Ana chuckled. “Don’t get a big head.”
There was a knock at the door, and a robotic voice rang out over the house, echoing in the emptiness of it.
“Angela is at the door.”
Winston looked puzzled, but rose up to meet it, trying to pick his feet up a little and put on a brave face, giving an unconvincing smile as he opened the door. Mercy’s cheeks were rosy as she bore the ham in her arms, covered with foil but smelling like a dream, salty and sweet and rich, garlands wrapped around her as she struggled to carry them, her eyes bright with the joy that she was determined to bring with her.
“Happy Christmas, Winston!” She came in the door without even being asked, “I was wondering, if maybe Fareeha and I could join you? For the cheer?”
Pharah came up behind her, lugging in the tree and hardly swearing at the pine branches in her face, that same snowflake sweater on in that same bright blue, a red bow jokingly tied in her hair from the decorations they had brought. She looked to Winston, and then took a tattered but convincingly repaired wreath off her arm and stuck it to the door with an adhesive hook, and nodded.
Winston moved to the side as Emily rose to meet them, Mercy embracing them both and hurrying to the kitchen as Pharah rushed back out to the taxi, bringing in boxes and quickly trimming up the home as neatly as she could with the materials she had been provided, doing an impressive job with the few boxes of scattershot decor.
And as she worked, the room began to change, even so slightly. Emily began to put ornaments on the tree, and WInston asked Athena to play some Christmas music, and in a few moments the room was not as it had been on that night, but it began to take on the glow of a surviving candle, one that might light others, one that might let this place know warmth again.
“Fareeha worked--” Ana sighed and walked to where she was decorating the mantle seriously, adjusted each bow, “She worked very hard.”
“Right, she did. Fareeha is like that, as I’ve said. She took care of me, with not a word. Wouldn’t let me protest it, neither. She’s here for Win, and Em, in their time of need, because Fareeha is nothing if not a rock, right?”
“She is very practical.” Ana continued to say these things, but they felt further disconnected form her, as if she was a ghost herself, simply saying the things that she had said before, over and over again, in a loop, ever so softly. “No,” she chuckled, just as softly, “Zeina. Not me. Sam. But not me.”
Tracer faced her, arms crossed, but the look on her face was no longer angry, or cruel, but simply searching.
“You talk and talk over ‘ow an Amari shouldn’t ‘ave to say nothing, and Fareeha never does, but with her actions. But you still never could speak ‘er language, could you? That all being true, what do you think she’s saying? And what did you say to ‘er, running off all the time, never telling ‘er when you’d be ‘ome, or if, wondering if you’d died until one day, it was true? Or, you let it be true. Even to ‘er. No Ana, you say Fareeha should speak your language, but she always ‘as. You spoke perfectly bloody clear, to ‘er.
“L--”
The thought was interrupted by another knock at the door, a door that did not wait to be answered, but simply opened, and a flood of people came in, all bearing various small things; a Christmas pudding here, a roast there, some garland, gallons of drink. The Oxtons came in, chattering and laughing, and kissed Winston and Emily on the cheeks, and told Mercy how she was glowing, and Mark clapped Pharah’s shoulder and told her what a wonderful job she’d done, and sorry that they had taken a bit of time, but the family was a bit like herding cats, wasn’t it.
Dva and Brigitte walked through the door to calls of ‘hallo’ and ‘happy Christmas’ and an older woman spotted at Brigitte’s hand as she went toward the kitchen with a large bag of rum and brandy and sweetness.
“That a ring, Miss Lindholm? Thought we might miss it?”
Brigitte laughed like a little girl, a blush rising to her cheeks, and flashed its brightness. “I never think you miss anything. She asked me today.”
Dva shrugged, but in that way that indicated she was quite pleased with herself. “Lena’d give me a hard time for doing it on Christmas.”
“Oh she would! She was wicked!” an aunt laughed, “But I think it’s beautiful. We would ‘ave invited you personally, but expected you back in the Nordics, we did.”
“We would have,” Dva nodded, “but we thought…”
“Of course, of course, love, say no more, it was right kind of you to think of it, and we’re delighted to ‘ave you! Oi!” She called back to the room, “Guess who’s getting married!”
There were cheers and jokes and a dozen questions thrown at the happy couple, as cookies and plates of food were passed around. Pharah was complimented on the quality of her ham, Mercy was told how beautifully she glowed, a few children hung off of Winston and asked him to tell the story of how he beat Doomfist again, though he always looked a little sheepish when he told it. Emily was rapidly pulled into an animated conversation over the best of the Christmas puddings, and the tree was lit, twinkling brightly if a bit patchwork.
Ana would have been lying to say that the room took on the same festivity of the year prior, as there was still the sense of something missing, like an empty spot on a curio shelf, where all the dust and all the space let you know something belonged there, but it was warmer than it had been, and it took on that same glow, even if slightly smaller than the years prior. There was laughter, even if there were a few tears wiped away, a few reassurances that the first year is always the hardest, and didn’t Lena do us all such a favor by bowing out so close to Christmas that the sadnesses seemed to roll together? But still the laughter, the warm, the closeness pervaded, and the rum punch was poured, and they banded together, the lights seeming to grow brighter as they did so.
Parvati jumped up on the back of the couch, and went to hit the side of her glass before thinking better of it and simply whistling loudly, the room turning to her, and, after a bit, deciding to quiet down to a few muttersw, and listen what she had to say.
“Happy Christmas, everyone. Know that we all ‘ave a bit on our minds, this year. Not the first time we’ve ‘ad it. Won’t be the last.”
It sounded so much like Ana’s practicality, and so little, and she felt something inside of her pull, some realized notion that to know the facts of the situation and to wield them cruelly were two different swords, than there had been so many people around her that had always known this, and it hd been Ana alone who refused to see.
“Life’s made up of meetings, and partings, and that’s the way of it, innit?. We’ll carry Lena with us, always.” Parvati raised her glass, “To Lena. I’d say may she rest in peace, but, think we all know that’s the last thing she’d want.”
Everyone took a drink of whatever they had in their hand, the moment not dark at all, but not because everyone in the room was looking away from the shadow. No, they all clearly knew that shadow, and had sat with it, but they brought their own candle into it, burnishing the pain of the loss with the memory of what had been.
Despite herself, she was taken by the notion. Despite herself, she smiled.
Tracer leaned in close to her. “You miss the love of it, Ana, and that’s your tragedy. You don’t see how love can make something beautiful. You see the reality of it, but you don’t see how love can make a hard reality somehow bearable.”
In the back of her mind, London stood, bombed out once again and rebuilding, the patchwork of it stronger and better than what had came before. Hadn’t Egypt done the same? And wasn’t she a daughter of Egypt? How horrible, to know that Tracer was right.
A man began to sing, not a Christmas carol at all, for Ana was beginning to allow the holiday to melt away and see the truth behind it, the core that came together in a million different worlds, some of which had never seen a Christmas at all, and as his voice raised above the din, they began to join him.
“...pretty bubbles in the air, they fly so high, nearly reach the sky….”
Sniffles and tears mixed in, wiped away with a joyful punctuation.
“...Then like my dreams, they fade and die!”
Arms were drawn close around each other, the entire room a tight knot of human light against the darkness, as their voices rose even higher.
“FOOOOOOORTune’s always hiding! I’ve looked everywhere, I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.”
There was a collapse of laughter, admissions that Lena would have considered it the fittest hymn and carol and battle song of all, and another round of spiced drinks passed around in pitchers.
“No matter what, nothing sinks them.” There was admiration in her voice, now.
Tracer’s voice lowered. “Soft Londoners, full of pork fat.”
She whipped around to look at Tracer. “Don’t MOCK me.”
“You mock yourself, “ Tracer snorted, “acting as if it’s some manner of courage to push away every kind thing what comes your way the whole of your life.”
“I--” Ana stopped herself.
If she valued honesty, what was the lie in what Tracer was telling her? The whole of her life, she had believed that sentiment came to nothing, and it was only encouraging weakness to pad things for herself, for others. How could she ever have thought it would be so simple? She looked at Pharah, sitting alone at the edge of the room, smiling as she drank at her mug, but still somehow disconnected from it all, rubbing at the edge of her watch with a distant look in her eye.
“Fareeha,” Ana watched her, “Tracer, tell me she will be happy. Tell me I haven’t ruined her the way I ruined myself.”
“I live only in the moment, Ana. Future’s not me domain,” She gazed over at Pharah and considered a moment. “But I see something...Fareeha, if you look carefully, you can see a red light about her. You can see a shadow on her face. I see an anger, a rage, deep within her, and if these shadows do not change, I fear for what I see in her. I’m only the ghost of the present, and can’t tell you rightly, of course. But you must remember her getting arrested in Dublin, after I died.” Tracer shook her head. “You turned cold, but Fareeha? Puts lines around everything because she knows what’ll ‘appen if she doesn’t. Fire in her may burn down every good thing in her.”
Ana could not draw her eyes away from Pharah, could not stop seeing the reflection of red light about her, kept telling herself over and over again that it was just from the tree so near, that there was nothing mysterious about it at all, and that every way she had taught Pharah to make an island of herself had not ruined everything.
The party continued, Pharah eventually being drawn from her chair and brought into the games, Ana convincing herself that her eye was old, and failing her. The warmth of the party continued, drawn close and near with laughter and joy, kisses on the cheek and close hugs, questions about Dva and Brigitte’s plans, stories about Tracer, all coming together into a mulled wine all its own.
“Right, then.” Tracer said softly.
Ana looked back to her, a spirit with sharp words and sharper powers, but very much again a woman Ana had simply known, looking at her family with a sorrowful gaze, wishing she could touch them, sing with them, love them. Tracer was like Ana, in that way, she supposed.
No. Because her family would delight to hold and kiss her again, to hear her voice ring over the room, to see her smile. Ana’s family would not. Pharah barely looked at her. Mercy hated her, after her actions this morning. Her grandchild would not know her. She felt that same pang of jealousy and hunger that she had in the tiny Brixton apartment, deeper now, and more keen.
Worst of all was the realization that she had chosen this for herself, over and over again, in every word and action. That she had built the walls so high and so well that no one could hope to scale them, that she had laid the broken glass of her own personal miseries across the top and never for one moment realized that her daughter had the strength to not attempt to climb it any longer. That she would urge others never to try, and show them the scars on her palm from her own failures.
“Can’t stay much longer.”
Ana noticed the party beginning to get quieter, the lights in Tracer’s eyes beginning to fade, and a sudden panic began to grip her, the sense that she might lose everything she felt she had only begun to grasp, that she was on the verge of something great, slipping through her fingers.
“You can’t already go. There’s so much more to teach me.”
Tracer shook her head, somehow growing thinner, and smaller. “I was never meant to be long in this world, Ana. It was always meant to be brief.”
“I have,” Ana began, and then cleared her throat, and looked to Tracer, “I, I was wrong, not to come to your Christmas party. To your birthday.”
Tracer leaned against the wall, and the party faded from view, the golds and reds and greens fading into the greys and blue of the city, Tracer now leaning against the wall of an underground station, cap on her head, leather jacket pulled in close.
“If I could do it over again, I would not have missed your last year.” She paused, “If I could do it over again, I would not have been myself.”
“Why didn’t you, Ana?”
There was no anger in it, not this time, just a hanging sadness as she shook her head and leaned against the wall, some annoucement Ana could not quite make out coming over the station. A chill ran through her, in that moment, only the two of them standing there, the hazy glow of fluorescent lights overhead dimming the world in a way Ana could not quite understand, but knew intrinsically.
“We wasn’t friends, not really, but…I was dying.”
Ana opened her mouth to protest that this was in the past, that it was not Tracer’s realm. That there was nothing to explain, because it was past now, and so what did it matter, she could not go back and have attended either. She opened her mouth to say that no one would have wanted her there anyway. She opened her mouth to say that she was jealous Tracer had so much of love. She opened her mouth to say, that she had been too proud to admit she was lonely.
There was a rumble, down the tracks, the train speeding its way toward the station. She could feel the rush of air coming from the tunnel, the lights in darkness, coming.
“Was dying, Fareeha was trying to bear up under it for everyone, and you couldn’t even--not for neither one of us--not for anyone.”
The train began to screech into the station, and Ana had the horrifying realization, all in one moment, that it was here for Tracer, and surely enough, as she glanced up to the clock, that horrible long shadow of a hand was drawing toward midnight.
“I should have gone,” she barked out as quickly as she could, but that terrible, terrible screeching echoed all through the station, shrieking high and loud as she tried to take Tracer’s hand, only to find that it was fading away, “I never hated you, I only, you were allowed to be light-hearted, and I wasn’t, and I was so--”
Tracer shook her head, her eyes dull with exhaustion, “Can’t ‘ear you, love. ‘Ave to go now.”
“I can do it different!” She reached out again, “I can learn to be different! I should have been, and I wasn’t, but, Tracer--”
The doors to the train opened, and Tracer looked at them with a smile, even as her hand shook. “That’ll be me train. I trust you to the spirit what’s coming round next. You must see that spirit, love, no way round it.”
“What was the point of Jack sending you if I can’t undo any of this!?” She stood in front of Tracer. “I have learned, now, and so you need to send me back, and I’ll do it better,” Tracer’s body passed through her, and she stepped into the car and grabbed onto a pole, glancing back, “LENA!!!”
The doors slammed shut, and Ana pulled and pulled, but she could not stop the horrible droning of the announcement declaring that they were pulling away from the station, and however she screamed and pounded, Tracer could not hear her, but simply looked up at the advertisements on the side of the car, lost in her own world. The train pulled away as quickly as it had come, speeding into the darkness, the only sound in Ana’s ears her own throbbing heartbeat.
The photo of she and Pharah was cool in her hand.
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Tiny Pretty Phantoms
Charlie Gillespie x Reader
Title: Tiny Pretty Phantoms
Words: 2241 (only a short one)
Summary: Charlie and his girlfriend are separated by work.
Requested: Sort of. The lovely and talented @dream-a-little-bigger-x got this request. Charlie x reader where the reader is on a tv show like ahs or something that’s not necessarily “kid friendly”. But as she’s not taking them atm, I decided to swipe this one. I hope the anon who requested it doesn’t mind.
TW: Swearing, alluding to sexual intercourse. That’s it I think. If I miss anything, message me so I can edit.
Author’s notes: I’m baccccckkkk. This was my way of getting back into writing reader fic. It’s been a while, and I hope y’all haven’t forgotten me. Also, while I’ve seen Tiny Pretty Things, I know nothing about the cast, so anything I’ve written, is completely made up.
Being back at home in my parent’s home was both reassuring and strange all at the same time. I’d been living in L.A. for almost two years, hundreds of miles away from home. While I missed my family like crazy, I loved being out in the world, being independent, and chasing my dreams.
However, rejection after rejection after rejection were beginning to weigh heavy on me and I had been starting to regret making the move. I’d been considering heading back home and teaching dance to kids. Then, I met Charlie through a mutual friend.
From the moment I met him, there was something that drew me to him; it wasn’t particularly hard. He was charismatic, funny, and crazy talented. The good looks were an added bonus. From that first meeting, we’d been inseparable and after six months, I gave up my apartment and moved in with Charlie and his friends.
We both booked jobs on upcoming TV shows within a week of one another, and we’d celebrated the news hard. A week of partying with your friends had wrecked the apartment, but it had totally been worth it. The main difference between our shows were the target audience. His, Julie and the Phantoms was aimed at a younger demographic to mine, Tiny Pretty Things. I was just glad to be using my ballet background as well as my acting abilities. He was also playing a main character, while I was to be in the background.
I was jolted from my memories by my phone ringing, Charlie’s face filling the screen. With a smile, I answered the facetime call.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, babe. I miss you.” Charlie was still in L.A., but he was at a boot camp thing that the legendary Kenny Ortega was running.
“I miss you too. How’s it going?” in answer to my question, he held up his hand. I could see band aids wrapped around his fingers. “What did you do?”
“It’s nothing. Guitar war wounds.”
“Poor baby.” I snarked, grinning at the mock upset look on his face. “Oh please. You’re loving every minute.”
“Babe, I really am.” His grin was wide. “When do you fly out to Toronto?”
“Not for another three weeks. I’m back in L.A. the day after tomorrow though. Will I get to see you?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if we get any time off before we head up to Vancouver for filming.”
I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me. I hadn’t seen him for over two weeks, and I was going insane. It was one of the reasons behind my trip to see my family. They were enough to distract me, at least until I climbed into my childhood bed, the bed that only held me at night. That was when I missed him the most.
“That sucks.” I felt the lump in my throat, an indication I was close to tears.
“I know, babe. I know. I’m gonna try and get back, even if it’s just one night.”
“Please do.” I missed him, missed waking up next to him, missed just goofing around and hanging out with him. He was the man I loved, and I hated us being apart.
:: ::
I’d been in Toronto for almost six weeks. A month and a half had passed since I last saw Charlie, and it was killing me. It wasn’t as if I was alone, far from it. I may not have been playing a main character, but the entire cast of Tiny Pretty Things were close, even those of us in the background. We’d all been put through our dancing paces until we were exhausted – that had a habit of bringing people together.
Charlie and I spoke most days, if we could, and when we did, we were often interrupted by cast mates. Through our facetime calls I became friends with Jeremy, Owen, and Madison, and he became friends with the girls I was rooming with, and Brendan who played Shane. He and I had been partnered up during rehearsals and had become close. It didn’t bother him I wasn’t a main character and he was.
I had a rare night off while the main cast were working hard on some night scenes, so I was able to kick back in my room and relax. And I made the most of it. While a hot bath was running, I connected my phone up to my speaker and hit play on a relaxing playlist Charlie had made for me before we’d had to say our goodbyes and fly to opposite end of Canada.
I’d just sank into the steaming water, bubbles up to my chin when my phone rang. Reaching over, I managed to pick it up, and saw Charlie’s face on the screen. Quickly swiping, I answered the call, despite wanting to stare at the photo I’d taken almost a year ago when we’d gone camping.
“Well, if I’d have known you were in the tub, I would have called sooner.” He grinned as he spoke, making me roll my eyes.
“Charles Gillespie, you’re a damn perv.” I attempted to scold him as he pretended to try and look around the screen to see if he could see anything. Joke was on him, the bubbles came up to my neck.
“Only for you.” I laughed at the corny line. “Hey, why are you in the bath anyways?”
“Because I ache like a motherfucker and I don’t have any night shoots tonight. So, a hot bath is in order. I’ve been dancing almost non-stop for ten hours a day for six weeks. I never did this much when I was with the company.” I knew I was whining; knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I needed to get it off my chest. All of us in the cast moaned to one another, but it wasn’t the same as venting to my boyfriend, no matter how much I loved my job.
“I’m sorry, babe. If I could take the aches away, I would.” I knew he would too.
“I know. Ignore me, I shouldn’t be putting this on you. How’s your set?”
We chatted for almost an hour, Charlie making me laugh about his previous night’s filming eating what he said felt like hundreds of cold hot dogs, making me laugh so much, my stomach was starting to hurt when I climbed out of the bath – much to his enjoyment – and wrapped myself up in a large, soft towel. We carried on talking as I made my way into my room and got myself ready for bed.
“Look, I gotta go. But I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” I couldn’t help but sigh when the call ended, and as I snuggled up in bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, I also couldn’t help crying. It was the longest we’d been apart in over six months, and even though I was loving my job, it hurt how much I missed him.
:: ::
When I walked onto set the following day, it felt as if everyone was acting a little shifty. No one seemed to look at me directly and whenever I initiated a conversation, they either found something else to do, or the director made us begin working.
“Hey, we’re all going out for dinner and karaoke tonight. Make sure you look pretty.” Brendan whispered in my ear as we got into position in the ballet class, ready for our scene.
“Uh, okay. Sure.” He gave me a smile before walking away.
We’d all be out a few times during filming and the rehearsals we’d had before, but this was the first I’d heard about plans for tonight. Rolling my neck and stretching my arms, I put it out of my mind as I followed the instructions of the director as the scene began around me.
By the end of the day, I was yet again exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out. But, as I packed up my gear, putting my comfiest shoes on, Brendan came over.
“Don’t forget we’re going out. We’re all meeting up in about an hour. Make yourself pretty.”
“Can I give it a miss? I’m ready to have a shower and crawl into bed.” He knew how I was feeling, I could see it etched onto his face too.
“Not tonight, sweetheart. Attendance is mandatory for all.” He flashed me a wide smile before spinning away from me, no doubt off to get ready.
When I got back to the apartment I was sharing with a couple of the other female background cast, they were almost ready. The three of them ushered me into the bathroom to shower, telling me to find a nice dress.
The shower did reinvigorate me, and by the time I was dressed and applying my make-up, I was feeling much better, and was even looking forward to some great food and a good night. There were no shoots the next day, so we were able to let our hair down for the night.
When we all met up, the atmosphere was electric. We’d all worked so hard, and were more than ready for a night of not having to worry about getting up early or having to be in hair and make-up at the crack of dawn.
“Ready for a great night?” Brendan asked, linking arms with me as our huge group began to walk to a restaurant nearby we’d all been to on more than one occasion.
“I am actually. Thanks for making me come.”
“No worries, sweetheart.” He placed a kiss on the top of my head before turning to talk to the two guys behind us.
:: ::
Moving from the restaurant after dinner, we all made our way to a club where all of us were able to let go. I got myself a drink from the bar, and stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching my cast mates and friends having the time of their life, showing off their dancing skills. Laughing, I finished my drink, I put my empty glass down and joined them, losing myself in the deep bass. Brendan was in the center, lapping up the attention in a way only he could. He and Barton, who played Oren in the show, were busting out one of their routines from the show and had attracted a hell of a crowd.
As everyone whooped and hollered, I moved away, needing to head to the bathroom. I pulled my phone out of my purse to check if I’d missed any messages or calls from Charlie, but my screen was blank beyond a photo of the two of us. Disappointment flooded me as I shoved the phone back into my purse. Just as I zipped it up, I crashed into someone, strong hands grabbing my waist to stop me falling over.
Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me as my senses were invaded by the aroma of Charlie, the aroma I knew as well as my own. I looked up to find my boyfriend smiling down at me.
“What… how… huh?”
“Surprise, by airplane, Brendan organized it. Hew knew you were missing me as much as I missed you, So Kenny gave me a couple days off while Madi does some scenes with Jadah.”
“You’re really here?” I still wasn’t sure I was hallucinating.
“I’m really here, until tomorrow afternoon.”
With a squeal, I flung my arms around his neck, and kissed him. The evening suddenly got one hundred percent better.
:: ::
Waking up wrapped up in Charlie’s arms was the best thing. I’d missed it so much, and I knew I was going to struggle when he had to leave again, but I felt so happy being with him.
After he’d surprised me at the club, we’d mingled with my friends for a while before slinking away, going back to the apartment and making the most of the quiet as we got reacquainted with one another, multiple times, all night. So much so that when I managed to untangle myself from Charlie’s arms and legs to go to the bathroom, I ached in a completely different way I had been from work.
Once I was finished in the bathroom, I swiped my phone off the counter in the kitchen and sent a text to Brendan.
Thank you. I owe you one.
Once it had sent, I set the phone down and crawled back into bed with Charlie, making the most of having him with me. Especially naked.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Tagging: (strikethrough unable to tag)
@dream-a-little-bigger-x @calamitykaty @crybabyddl @xplrreylo @morganayennefertyrell @lovesanimals @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @echocharm17618 @kinda-really-lost @n0wornever @all-in-fangirl @5sosmukefan @kcd15 @charliesmountains @amazinggracy
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A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 14
AN: I hope you all enjoy!! This was fun to write...
masterlist - ao3
--
Dr Sam Cortland stood tall with a mop of curly brown hair drooping across his forehead. He had a charmingly crooked smile, with rows of shining white teeth on display, that he flashed her as he breezed past Aelin to gently pick up Fenrys’ hand. His elegant fingers drew Fenrys’ arm up and into the light, twisting it around to get a better look.
Fenrys was looking at her pointedly, and Aelin knew exactly what he would say the minute the doctor left the room. He was boyishly handsome, young for an ER doctor, and his brown eyes had a twinkling kind of mischief in them, despite the focus he directed at Fenrys’ hand.
The skill with which he sewed the wound in Fenrys’ hand was impressive, and he made easy conversation while he did it, but she had left most of the task of conversing to Fenrys, only speaking when it would have been impolite to stay silent. She could easily recognise that he was attractive. Six months ago she might have slipped him her number, but now all she could think of was Rowan.
All she could think of was how the doctor was slighter than Rowan, how his hair was dark where Rowan’s was a beautiful shade of silver. At the sight of his deep, brown eyes she could only compare them to the bright, forest green of Rowan’s.
“It’s worse than it looks. A couple of little stitches will sort it out.” The doctor turned to Aelin, drawing her attention back to him. His accent was pleasant; something she couldn’t quite place with a mix of the harsh Rifthold twang. “I’m sure you’ve been very worried about your boyfriend, but he’ll be good as new in no time.”
Fenrys snorted, an obnoxious sound that drew the doctor’s attention back to him and away from where Aelin gawped.
“My boyfriend?” She mumbled dumbly.
“Thanks Doctor, but-” Fenrys spoke quickly before he was interrupted.
“Please,” He said with an easy smile directed at Aelin. “Call me Sam.”
Fenrys reached a hand towards her with a twinkle in his eye, “Ah Sam, if only Aelin had wanted me, what a power couple we could have been. But don’t worry, she is single.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, what was he playing at?
“Good to hear.” Her gaze snapped back to the doctor. His voice was quiet as he spoke, and a soft pink tint spread across the strip of neck that stood above the collar of his clean, white coat.
Aelin was floundering, good to hear? Where had that come from, and where was her response?
The doctor, Sam, spoke again before she had a chance to find the words. “I just have to check these papers, then I’ll be back to discharge you.”
He gave her a small, closed-lipped smile as he left the room. One she almost didn’t manage to return.
As soon as the door closed behind him Fenrys was on her.
“What was that Galathynius?” He demanded. “He was flirting with you and I don’t think you actually spoke!”
“He wasn’t flirting with me,” She said quickly.
“Aelin please.” He leaned towards her, his voice pleading. “That was a hot doctor, do I need to repeat? A doctor. Who is hot, and flirting with you.”
“Stop,” She said.
“What’s the hold up?” He asked, seemingly unable to comprehend a reason Aelin wouldn't be as excited as he was.
She took a breath. The hold up, she supposed, was Rowan. She still hadn’t had a chance to speak with him since their kiss, and so, she still wasn’t sure where they stood.
Well, she didn’t know where he stood. She knew she wanted to leave this hospital and forget all about the hot doctor and go home to the guy she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for months.
Shit, she wanted Rowan.
She laughed, a soft sigh of a sound, and turned to Fenrys who was still waiting on her response. She didn’t want to blurt out her reasoning for dismissing the doctor, Sam, she reminded herself again, until she had spoken to Rowan. She didn’t want to gush about their kiss to Fenrys only to find out he regretted it.
“Nothing, no hold up.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll go get us a ride home, meet you outside when he comes to let you out?”
Fenrys nodded as she fled.
--
“Hello?” His voice came out sounding far rougher than he had intended, and Rowan cleared his throat as Aelin spoke.
“Hi. Are you busy?”
Rowan blinked and sat up straight. He saw Aedion throw him a curious glance and he shook his head. Lorcan’s eyes remained shut despite the jostling and Rowan was convinced he had been asleep for a while.
“No, what’s up?” He asked.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak to her, quite the opposite in fact, he had spent far more time than he should have thinking of opportunities he could find to seek her out, but he was unsure why she would be calling him now. Especially if she was out with Fenrys.
“I was going to ask for a ride,” She said, and he could hear the cheer in her voice already. “But now speaking to you I wonder if you’re safe to drive, you drank quite a bit last night.”
She finished with a laugh that Rowan couldn’t help but return.
“I didn’t drink that much.”
“No?” She asked, teasing him. “So you always sing like that?”
“There was no singing.” That Rowan remembered at least. “Was there?”
“I don’t know.” He could hear the opening and closing of a door and the sound of a siren in the background of her call. “Ask Elide, I think she has the video.”
Rowan bit his lip, he was pretty sure she was joking, there was no way he had drank that much. Despite her jokes being at his expense, he was enjoying the teasing and the brightness in her voice. He couldn't help the goofy smile he knew was dawning across his face, and he determinedly ignored the look Aedion still watched him with.
“I know you’re a liar,” He said and the giggle he received was incredible. “I didn’t drink so much I did anything I wouldn’t have done sober,” He continued, and from the soft catch in her breath he knew she caught his meaning.
“Oh, good. Me too,” Aelin said softly, and Rowan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.
They still hadn’t spoken about the kiss, but they would, Rowan would make sure of it. And if Aelin’s reaction to his comment was anything to go by, Rowan had hope.
“Where do you need picking up from?” He finally made his way back to the reason she had called him.
“We’re at the hospital, Rifthold General-”
Rowan cut her off. “The hospital? Are you alright?”
He knew it was rude, and nothing so far in their conversation had told him Aelin was anything other than fine, but the panic in his chest at her words had shocked him in its speed and intensity.
“I’m fine,” There was a trace of laughter still in her voice. “It’s Fenrys, he’s just cut his hand, he’s fine.”
Rowan could feel guilty about the relief that filled him at another time.
“Oh,” He knew she heard the relief, but kindly didn’t comment. “I can be there in twenty?”
“Thank you!” She cried, and again, Rowan knew the smile he wore was disgusting.
He tapped the screen, ending the call, before he finally turned to Aedion.
“Who’s at the hospital?” His friend’s voice was all too innocent.
Rowan narrowed his eyes at the unspoken accusation. It was right, but he wasn’t at the point of admitting that to Aedion yet. At least not until he had spoken to Aelin.
Rowan thought the oath they had all sworn was pretty much redundant now, he knew Aedion only had the best intentions mixed with a rogue streak of overprotectiveness, but Rowan had no intention of hurting Aelin. And Aedion knew that, at least Rowan thought.
“Aelin and Fenrys.”
“They okay?” Aedion seemed to be feeling some genuine concern.
Rowan nodded as he stood from the couch.
“Good,” Aedion spoke as he settled back into the sofa next to a still sleeping Lorcan, the man could sleep through anything. Rowan shook his head and headed to grab his keys.
--
The hospital wasn’t far from the loft, and he crossed this distance at a more reasonable pace than he would have done had Aelin been hurt. He and Aedion were the only two in the loft with cars, there wasn’t a need for them in the city, nor was there space to park. The loft came with one space in an underground parking garage, which Aedion took with the argument that Rowan’s car was a piece of shit and far less valuable than his own.
Which it was. But it had been a gift from his parents after his graduation from college, and it still ran, so he kept it. It turned out to be useful in times like these.
Rowan found a space quickly and made his way to the entrance of the emergency department. He spotted Aelin quickly once he had passed through the doors. Gods, she was beautiful.
He took her in from head to toe before finally drawing his eyes up again to rest on her face and the polite smile she wore. The curve to her pink lips was enticing, and he wanted to press his own lips to hers again. He thought she would let him, and a bloom of excitement appeared in his stomach.
Aelin turned slightly towards him, and the intensity of her smile only increased when she spotted him. He felt his own grow without a thought and took a step towards her when an arm was slung across his shoulders.
“Thanks for coming to get us man, I didn't think I could have walked with this.” Fenrys held a bandaged hand up in front of Rowan, blocking his view of Aelin.
Rowan lifted an arm to gently lower Fenrys’ hand. “You’re alright I see, what happened?”
Fenrys laughed, “It’s a story with any number of twists and turns and a negligent supermarket. You could probably sue them for me.” Fenrys’ voice took an imaginative turn. “But I’m all good, the hot doctor stitched me up.”
“The hot doctor?” Rowan regretted the question the moment it was asked, but the regret only increased when Fenrys lifted his injured hand to point over to where Aelin stood.
Rowan hadn’t noticed the man she stood with, and wished he still hadn’t. The guy was handsome, Rowan wasn’t blind, and he had his charm turned up to the max as he spoke with Aelin.
His eyes snapped to Aelin, attempting to get a read on her thoughts on the hot doctor, but he didn’t gain much. She only wore a small smile as she nodded along to whatever the doctor was saying. Her hands were in her pockets, and she removed one to tuck a strand of her hair back behind her ear.
Rowan swallowed. He knew Fenrys clocked the movement.
“Hot right?” Rowan rolled his eyes, finally dragging them away from Aelin and the doctor to shoot Fenrys a glare. “And he’s definitely into her.”
Rowan stiffened even further, but Fenrys continued.
“She should go for it,” Rowan took a deep breath at the words. “Unless there was a reason for her not to.”
Rowan released the breath in a big gust. “Why would there be a reason for her not to?” He managed at last.
Fenrys was the joker of their group of friends, always the one to lighten it up if conversation ever got heavy, not that it often did between them. He seemed to have an endless supply of shit jokes that by now Rowan and Lorcan had built up a resistance to, but now he faced Rowan with a serious look.
“I’m just saying, she barely paid attention to the doctor in the room, even though he tried to get her attention more than once.”
“Yeah?” He shouldn’t have bitten, and a spark of the usual cunning in Fenrys’ eyes returned, but he needed to know.
“You know what I’d tell the guy who clearly holds her attention at the moment?” Rowan looked back over to where Aelin had snuck a glance over to the two of them. “I’d tell him not to waste his time, or the next time a hot doctor calls she might not ignore him.”
Rowan swallowed, and shoved his hands deeply into his pockets. Aelin turned back to the doctor, said a few final words, and turned on her heel to head over towards him and Fenrys.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said finally, and Fenrys sighed, but didn’t say another word as Aelin approached.
“Hey,” She said with a shy smile. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Nothing,” Rowan said quickly, ignoring the jab Fenrys stabbed into his side.
He was going to talk to Aelin, he didn’t need Fenrys giving him any advice, the most romance Rowan had seen him experience was whatever he had going on with Aelin’s co-worker, and Rowan still doubted that that had come to anything yet.
“Are you ready to go?” He asked and watched Aelin send a barely perceptible glance to where the doctor had last stood, but then she turned back to him and smiled.
“Ready.”
--
Doctor Sam had been sweet, if not somewhat fumbling, when he had slipped her his number before they left the hospital. It had only been chance that Rowan had walked through the double doors of the emergency department the moment he had handed the card over, and she knew he had caught the smile she had worn at the sight of Rowan.
He had courteously backed off, telling her not to worry about it. I get it, he had said with a soft smile, if it doesn’t work out give me a call. Aelin doubted she would ever use the number, doubted the card it was scrawled across would see the light of day again. Especially not if her plan worked out in her favour.
She had picked this nightgown for a reason. It was a shimmering and glittering metallic gold silk that flowed loosely from the thin straps across her shoulders. It clung to her chest and hips, dipping low and emphasising the gentle curves of her body and the dip of her waist.
She was independent enough to know she never needed to dress for a man, but damn if she hadn’t worn this specifically for Rowan. She craved the reaction she knew this nightgown would elicit.
She padded through to the living room, but the worn brown sofa was empty with the television switched off. Rowan had been here a minute ago. She curled her hands into fists, she didn’t want to lose her nerve, and continued through to the kitchen.
She could hear the sound of water as she rounded the corner and spotted his frame hunched over the sink.
He was ready for bed as she was, loose grey pants hung from his hips and a faded green t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. The shifting of the muscles in his back could be seen through the material as he moved at the sink and she swallowed.
His head snapped to the side at the sound as she leaned against the doorway.
His eyes widened at the sight of her and she registered the clink of a dish against the steel sink. He spun to face her and water dropped down from his fists where they clenched at his sides.
“Hey,” she murmured.
He swallowed, and the sound was audible in the silence of the room.
She watched him take one, very careful, sweep of his eyes down her body and she felt her cheeks blush and her muscles clench under the intensity of his stare.
Rowan seemed to be frozen, his expression almost pained, and his mouth hung slightly open as he took her in. His eyes snapped to hers, their green almost black in the shadows, and didn’t stray from her as he reached to the side for a towel to dry his hands.
“Aelin,” He said, his voice low as she took a step further into the room. “I, um-”
He swallowed again.
“What are you doing here?”
She laughed as she reached the section of countertop opposite him and the air between them seemed to crackle with anticipation.
“I do live here,” She teased, “You know this.”
He let out a gust of air through his nose, a telltale sign that he didn’t want to find what she had said funny but did anyway. She smiled, leaning back into the counter behind her and crossing her legs at the ankles.
“I just wanted to see you, I haven’t seen you, or spoken to you after yesterday.” She admitted, laying clear her reasons for seeking him out.
Rowan cocked his head, the roots of a smile beginning on his handsome face.
“You’ve seen me since then, and spoken to me.”
Aelin would have rolled her eyes had he not stepped closer, the heat from his body spilling into her, but he didn’t touch her.
“You know what I mean,” She said, not managing to hold back her whine.
“Do I?” He asked, he was definitely playing with her now, and he placed his palm down on the counter at her side. The hairs on her arm stood at his proximity, but he still held back from making contact. “Enlighten me. Please?”
The rasp of his voice, so close to the shell of her ear sent a shiver through her. The ball was in her court and she supposed it was only right. He had kissed her, and even though she had done nothing but think about it since, she hadn’t let Rowan know where they stood. At least on her end.
“You kissed me,” She began softly and she tilted her chin back to look up at him.
“I did,” His words were careful. His face was only inches from hers and she felt the soft tickle as his breath drifted across her face.
He wasn’t going to make this easy for her; he was going to make her work for it. And gods if that didn’t send a thrill through her.
It was make or break time and Aelin knew what she wanted. “I was hoping you’d do it again. More.”
The smile that spread across Rowan’s face was wide and the light from beneath their cupboards glinted against one of his canines.
“More?” He repeated, almost breathlessly. His free hand came up to cup her cheek and she took a sharp intake of breath. The smell of him drove her crazy, something musky and masculine, with the hint of pine trees and snow. “Like this?”
He trailed the hand from her cheek down her throat and past her breast, his fingers only lightly brushing the side. He drew a path from there to her waist, her skin burning beneath his touch, until he travelled further, his fingertips brushing the hem of her nightgown to find their place again at her thigh.
Aelin could only nod, couldn’t find the words to respond past the flurry of arousal spreading through her.
Her approval seemed to spur Rowan on, and he took his hand from the counter and wrapped it tightly around her waist. The hand brushing her thigh wrapped around the skin and lifted until she sat atop the counter, Rowan crowded between her spread legs. She could feel her pulse pounding through her body, deep and hot, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
His palm splayed wide up the side of her thigh and slid beneath the hem of her nightgown. She tilted her head back at the sensation, baring her throat to him, as she leaned back into the arm he held around her waist.
She was dangerously turned on now as Rowan’s hand crept higher and higher to brush against the lace covering her hip.
“Something like this?” He asked.
She could barely find the words but somehow managed a breathy, “Yes.”
He slid his hand higher, until it was firmly gripping her hip beneath her dress, and used his other hand to pull her even tighter against his body. The warmth of him between her legs sent her eyes rolling into the back of her head as he let out a dark laugh.
“What is it with us and this kitchen?” He asked, mostly to himself, and she couldn’t look away from him as he spoke. She barely registered the question but managed to shrug as she twisted her fingers through his hair, the motion dragging her front lightly against his with a torturous gentleness.
“What more would you like from me now?” His question both a taunt and a promise.
“Kiss me,” She begged. Rowan broke the eye contact they shared to glance down at their bodies pressed tightly together, her legs spread for him with her ankles locked behind him, and her core so close to his groin. “Please.”
He let out a breath before glancing back up to her. He leaned impossibly closer to her and she felt her eyes flutter shut. She tilted her head up, ready for the heat of his lips against hers once more, but it didn’t come.
Instead she felt his lips press to the junction of her skin between her neck and shoulder. She gasped and tightened her legs around his waist. Her eyes snapped open and she glanced down to where he looked up at her, his lips hovering over her neck. The sight had her burning even hotter inside, and she shifted against the counter, needing some friction from him.
He didn’t miss the motion and clamped his hands firmly on her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, the waistband of his trousers pressed exactly where she needed him and his eyes narrowed at the soft moan she couldn’t hold back.
His mouth returned to her neck, but instead of a kiss, he scraped his teeth lightly down her throat. She gasped at the sensation and she wasn’t sure she had been this turned on in a while, or ever. She needed him. Now.
His teeth closed lightly around the flesh of her neck and she yanked on his hair.
“Please.”
He pressed a featherlight kiss to the skin he had bitten and pulled his head back.
“No,” He said quietly and she jerked.
“No?” Aelin knew she was frowning now.
“No.” He repeated and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I want to take you to dinner first. If you’d like.”
Despite the fire burning through her, she smiled softly at him. “Dinner?”
She loosened her hands in his hair and dropped them to his shoulders.
“Dinner.” He nodded. “Are you free some time this week?”
Aelin laughed and ducked her head. “I’m sure I could find somewhere to fit you in.”
“Great,” He said into her hair, loosening the hold he had on her hips, and taking a small step back. “I’ll plan something nice.”
“Can’t wait.”
Aelin knew she looked absolutely ruined, and he hadn’t even kissed her. She wasn’t embarrassed though, she knew what she’d find if she dared to let her eyes drop to the front of Rowan’s trousers.
She couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across her lips as she hopped off the counter top. She trailed a hand down his arm as she stepped around him to leave the kitchen and head to bed. She wanted to grab his hand and pull her behind him, but she knew going down this path meant more, and she was glad of it.
As she left, Aelin took a final look back at him, his hair was mussed and there was a slight colouring along the high lines of his cheekbones.
He was gorgeous, and he had just asked her to dinner. She couldn’t wait.
--
tags:
@jesstargaryenqueen
@maybekindasortaace
@slytheringalathynius
@http-itsrebecca
@morganofthewildfire
@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato
@fictional-horan
@tottenhamboys20
@dressedindustandshadows
@sleeping-and-books
@perseusannabeth
@ireallyshouldsleeprn
@superspiritfestival
@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln
@spyofthenightcourt
@jlinez
@queen-of-glass
@booknerdproblems
@sjmships
@elriel4life
@bamchickawowow
@woollycat22
@claralady
@illyrianwitchling
@SHINYA-HIIRAGI
@fangirlprincess09
@darlinminds
@bookittothelibrary1 <- this came up as the url please let me know it its not right
@thenerdandfandoms
@danibutterr
#aelin ashryver galathynius#rowan whitethorn#rowaelin#throne of glass#a groovy kind of love#aedion ashryver#fenrys moonbeam#lorcan salvaterre#sam cortland#rowaelin au#agkol#this took ages lol#it was one of them where it was one scene beating me up#then i realised it wasn't even necessary and cut it#oh well
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long way home • richie tozier
(richie tozier x reader)
requested: please please please do a richie x reader about long way home by 5sos
warnings: nothing really, some mentions of canonic trauma but its really vague and underaged drinking
i was happy to write this bc it def got me out of my slump! lmk if yall want more fics
(also i loved 5sos so much back when the self titled album came out in like 2014. i was such a huge fan in middle school so this was so nostalgic to write!!)
[reader + losers are in their first year of college, set around early summer 1995.]
2.9k words
♡
"i don't really know what else to do. we have an hour and a half until we meet everyone." you say, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen upon the car after bev had climbed out the back. you hum, settling back against the passenger seat, head lulling to meet richie's gaze.
you can't help but smile. he's looking at you - just staring, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. he hums, too, turning his head, arm grabbing the shoulder of your seat as he backs up the car. "i have an idea. let's just go - what?" he asks, smiling with a chuckle as he catches you staring at him.
you blink as you flush, "i don't know. just really missed you." you say with a laugh, shaking your head as memories flood your mind. his face flickers for a second and he shakes his head, hair bouncing slightly in his flattery. "gee, i missed you too. it kinda sucks that we all went to opposite sides of the country."
you blow air from your lips gently in agreement as richie starts to drive somewhere east. "yeah. not seeing you for six months is, surprisingly, pretty shitty." you say, causing richie to snort. "you could barely handle it." he says, hand shifting gears as he stops at a stop sign.
you roll your eyes, but you don't tell him the truth: he's right. "let me tell you, when i got the bear last, i sure wanted to forget all about you." you say, kicking your feet up on his dash.
you and the other losers all split ways after graduation. of course, you all still kept in touch with phone calls, letters, and that of the sort. but you all had found a favorite way to all still feel close together: a toy canvas bear bev found that you all signed and drew on, shipping it around the country and letting it stay with each person for a week.
you'd all been printing photographs of the bear with yourselves at various places around all your campuses and sending them along with the bear as little post cards. the most recent from richie had the tattooed-bear propped next to him at a party, smirking with the bear in a vulgar position that had made you roll your eyes so hard you almost got a headache.
that was in april, and you spent the month and a half after that missing richie and your other dumbass friends so much it hurt.
richie smiles, "oh, yeah. that bear had some fun times with us up in the ol' N-Y-C."
"-don't call it that."
"-anyways, i did miss you guys, i wish you could meet my roommate, charlie, he's a hoot. i almost wanted to stay up there and have you come to me, y'know?"
you nod, all too familiar with that feeling. "yeah, i wanted to do that too. there was some kind of-" you stop, frowning. do you really want to admit this to anyone? will they think it's weird? but then you remember it's richie. "-i don't know, some kind of dread i felt at having to come back here."
it's quiet for a second, and you think you said something wrong, but richie's knuckles tighten slightly and he nods, "me too. i have...bad feelings from this place. i didn't want to say anything, but- i don't know. i feel like something's..." but the thought seems to swim away from his voice, getting lost in the dredges of his brain.
and then as if on cue, the old car bumps its way over a speedbump and you cross past old neibolt street near the tracks.
a sick shiver runs down your spine as your eyes fall on the long road, fading away and extending as far as your eye can see...almost into a foggy dark haze, the train tracks running parallel making you feel desolate.
clouds suddenly move to cover the sun in the sky and you feel cold - you feel like something happened here, something important - but you have no idea. it makes you anxious, so you just swallow, saying nothing and instead looking ahead. richie does the same, and his knuckles are pale against the wheel.
"the only reason i came back was so i could see everyone." you say. it's quiet, but you know richie's agreeing with you.
the car rumbles on, eventually pulling past your old high school. you perk up, pointing to the glass and laughing. "wow, look at that shithole."
"swore we'd never go back there, didn't we? when we left?" richie says, amusement lacing his tone. you're clearly both relieved to have changed the subject, and you nod, chewing your lip. "yeah. you know, i know it was really terrible and stuff, but i have some pretty fond memories from that place."
humming, richie nods and slowly pulls into the parking lot. “remember those days?” he says, “kickin back in the ol’ schoolyard during lunch.”
you do remember those hot days, richie, bill and bev smoking cigs while you and eddie play a game of marbles or scramble to copy richie’s math homework. ben reading a book, mike eating stan’s sandwich. the heat barreling down on the eight of you...
he stops the car next to the football field and you snort slightly at its misery in the dying purple and blue of the summer twilight. "remember those bonfires that were always over in the woods right there?" he points a chipped nail towards the dense trees on the other side of the field, and you can see it.
the crackling of the wood, the orange glow reflecting the light strands of stan’s dark curls. there’s a sea of students from your class and the class above, everyone rowdy with drunken fun. there’s laughter drowned out by the boombox placed on the outskirts, blasting a salt-n-peppa song that has eddie bouncing around with some kids from track. over to the side, you can nearly see bev's lips curl around a note as richie strums on someone else's guitar, putting together some surprisingly pleasant chords while mike throws twigs into the fire, singing softly with richie and bev.
you can almost smell the smoky hot air from those nights and you remember the odd sensation of feeling invincible back in those days, when your greatest fear was nothing more than coming across your parents when you were too hungover to remember anything the next morning.
it’s almost melancholic, the realization that you’ll never have those years again. you’ll never have your friend group in the same way as you did in high school, and it was barely over a year ago. it hurts a bit, until you realize you’re here, in the car with richie.
but still, despite the feeling, you grin. “why did we think it was a good idea to party so close to the school?”
richie chuckles, “it was safer. for some reason.”
it makes you smile, "i wonder if those pabst cans are still hidden in all those hollow logs." you muse, a gentle smile splaying over your lips. richie huffs a small laugh at the memory of jorge garcia drunkenly stuffing the empty beer cans quickly into the log when the cops came.
a car pulls into the vacant lot behind you, and richie takes the liberty of driving away again, still not really sure where you're going.
the trees roll past, and soon you're passing through the downtown section of derry, causing the two of you to fall silent as your eyes flick up and down the nearly desloate streets. the aladdin passes by quickly and you remember going to see so many films with the others for less than five bucks a pop, richie slipping an arm around your shoulders and whispering in your ear about the weird worker who always gave you the eyes.
you smile lightly as your eyes fall to look ahead, passing the corner store. you remember how many times you and richie and stan stopped there after classes or during lunch to grab slushes while the workers weren’t looking. you remember the sticky fingers and bright blue tongues.
then as you stare more at the ugly front of the store, memories from middle school scratch the surface of your brain. "didn't the boys..." you say, perking up as you turn and watch it pass, richie looking at you attentively. "-eyes on the road, rich." you say absent-mindedly, "...didn't they... steal stuff from there? i can't remember why... it was for ben. tissues?" you ask, tilting your head. richie's brows furrow. "i had to stay outside with him, all i remember is bein' pissed i couldn't go in. dunno why, though." he mutters. you hum, sinking back in your seat.
"crazy, how quickly you forget your childhood." he says quietly.
the town slowly fades away before your eyes, and its just then that you realize you're going the opposite way from bill's. then it's plain grassland and marshes, dipping into the barrens. your lips twitch and the silence, while pleasant, makes you feel nervous.
you look to richie, all nervous slowly releasing from your body.
you feel stupid for thinking it, and you don't dare say it, but there's something really sweet about being in the middle of nowhere with him.
you feel like driving along this ugly, terrible road on the outskirts of a truly ugly and terrible town with someone as beautiful and captivating as richie is such an important moment; as if the roads along here are a place only you and richie share to yourselves.
"i kind of like taking the long way home with you." you let slip instead, instantly feeling hot and panicked as the words leave your mouth. "y-you know, because i just really didn't want to- er, i don't like being-"
as you stutter out some excuses, he leans forward towards the wheel, face turning to you with a smirk. "oh?" he asks. you feel flustered, your hands sweating and heart tingling as you stare at his handsome face.
"god, sorry." you say, feeling flushed, "i don't know why i keep rambling. it's so awkward."
"y/n, you could talk about anything." he says with a laugh, and you look at him, trying to ignore the sheer zoo of animals parading around in your stomach and instead escaping this moment with a sarcastic, "even dead squirrels?"
he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, his hair glinting in the light. "yeah, whatever baby. i just don't wanna be wasting my time alone when i could be here with you. that's what i'm trying to say."
and the stupid pet name almost makes you snort but you also get butterflies, the words that he's said making you smile so wide you're almost embarrassed. "yeah, well." you say bashfully, "i guess spending my time with you is, like... the best part of coming back home."
you avoid eye contact, staring out the window as you pass the house of your junior year bio partner. "hey," richie nudges your jaw and you almost jump at the feeling of his cold ring against the warmth of your skin. he speaks softly. "i'd never let you down, you know." he says, mischief in his eyes. you smile against his hand and look at him, his blue eyes warm and inviting and looking like home.
your eyes fall back towards the windshield and you see a sign up ahead. shifting, you look at richie again to find him still staring.
he's got such a terrible habit of watching you instead of the road (he has since high school), and that combined with his lead foot (also since high school - wentworth tozier was a menace on the streets) has you conditioned into reminding him of every obstacle that he may run into while driving.
"stop sign, richie." you mutter, knowing in his ramble he won't notice it (it happened way too many times as high schoolers). he seems to not really hear it, and you say again, "stop sign!"
just before it's too late, the car lurches as he slams the breaks and you just barely hit the white line, your hands bracing yourself against the dashboard. "oh my god." you hiss, shaking your head. richie's laughing.
"we've been hitting every red light. can't i just have one pass to not stop at one of these things?" richie says. you roll your eyes with a slight head shake. you can't believe him.
"you'll be the death of me, tozier." you mutter. richie's still laughing quietly and then he takes a big sigh, hand reaching out. you lean forward, hand reaching for the volume knob on the stereo just as richie does the same, and your hands brush by accident. you feel warm and instead of pulling away, his hand covers yours and he gently turns your hands, bringing up the volume of a green day song. it's seemingly just in the background as you watch your hand in richie's, then slowly turning your gaze up to his face.
he just stares at you as you stare back, wanting so badly to kiss him but wondering if he feels the same.
"hey." he whispers, quiet for the first time possibly ever. "hey." you respond softly, watching as he comes a bit closer. his hand is still in yours. "i am so happy to be home. with you." he says sincerely, his eyes wide and honest behind his glasses and his smile soft.
your breath catches slightly and you smile, "me too. i always feel like this is the way it's supposed to be. u-us."
something in richie's eyes change, a light of sort, and then he's leaning into you and you're kissing.
his hand that isn't in yours falls to softly rub your thigh and you're taking a shuddering breath as your lips touch his. he tastes like mint chapstick and those stupid red-hots he was eating earlier, his lips slightly cold but his tongue warm as he slowly pulls you closer to him.
your mind almost falls blank as the world melts away, the only thing in your mind is how long you've missed out on this - richie is kind of unexpectedly a fantastic kisser. you pull him closer by his hair as his tongue grazes yours, his thumb tilting your jaw for a better angle.
but suddenly a horn honks loudly behind you and you both spring apart, your stomach panging with anxiety at the noise.
"shit." you hiss as you remember you're at a stop sign. richie snorts slightly, a smirk on his face despite the blush on his high cheekbones, feet going back to the gas pedal and clutch. his hand leaves your thigh as he drives forward and you clear your throat as the car turns behind you at the intersection, leaving you two back in the middle of nowhere with just you two.
it's tense for a few minutes, neither of you two really talking and you can tell the tension is going to kill richie, his hand twitching on the shift and his leg bouncing.
you break the silence after a couple more moments, "did you want to pull over-"
"-yes." he says quickly, car almost swerving as he pulls off the road near the quarry. you laugh and grip the handle of the car as you slide to a stop and he laughs too, the feeling of glee unmatchable.
you both unclick your seatbelts after gaining a few breaths, and then you're leaning over the console to kiss richie hard enough on the lips that he falls back towards the window. he holds your face with his hands and he laughs a bit into the kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip before tugging it. "goddamn, you're eager." he mutters into your mouth.
you smirk, pulling back. "fine, i don't have to kiss you. we have to be at bill's soon, anyways." you say, feigning a fake dismissive voice.
"wait, no, no. we've still got 20 minutes." richie defends after glancing at the stereo on the dash. his eyebrows raising in a plea. you giggle, leaning towards him and bringing your arm over. he's beaming as your face nears his and he moves to kiss you but you turn your head, instead letting his lips graze your neck as you lean to turn off the headlights.
"tease." richie mutters hotly against the skin of your neck before biting down softly, kissing over the skin. "i thought you said i was eager?" you say with a teasing smile. he hums, "y'know, it's pretty unfair to be teasin' me, toots. i've been eager to kiss you since we were seventeen." he says, and you can't help but smile, pulling him in to a kiss as his hands slide up your thighs and yours tangle in his messy curls.
you pull away slightly, "you want to get in the backseat?"
taglist: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @trashedfortozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @oceandog13 @chl0bee @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @screammin @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @five-motherfucking-hargreeves @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter
© all content belongs to soulwillower 2020. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.
#richie tozier x reader#losers x reader#losers club x reader#bill denbrough x reader#stanley uris x reader#eddie kaspbrak x reader#beverly marsh x reader#mike hanlon x reader#ben hanscom x reader
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Taken Apart
After Vergo’s attack, Corazon escapes to the coast with Law. They’re both alive for the time being, but duty soon pulls them apart.
Pt. 1 of a 2 part CoraLives!AU story. 4.5k, minor warning for a panic attack and for non-graphic description of Law dissecting/experimenting with his powers on himself.
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Everything hurt down to the rough chop slap of waves against wood. Law groaned and forced his eyes open. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he would have thought that everything that had happened on Minion had been a dream because he was back on the ship that had ferried him from island to island over the last six months. He lifted himself on trembling limbs and slumped into a seated position.
“Cora-san?”
The towering blond was hunched over on the far side of the small vessel, his blood stained shirt and coat discarded while he wrapped bandages around his torso. He froze for a moment and then continued tending to his wounds. At first Law thought that maybe Cora hadn’t heard him. His voice was frustratingly weak, even to his own ears. Then Cora sighed, put the bandages aside, and pulled his shirt and coat back on.
“Commander Donquixote Rosinante from the marine headquarters,” he said, voice low and clear. “Marine Code 01746.” When he turned around, Law saw that there were tears forming in his eyes. “I’ve been with the navy from the start. I’ve been undercover so that I could try to prevent my brother from causing a tragedy in the future.”
Law had known or at least suspected most of this for some time. Then he thought of the message he’d foolishly delivered into Vergo’s hands. Was Cora upset with him for ruining his years long mission? He looked away at the angry grey sea and then back at the man— the marine— in front of him. “Why are you telling me all of this now? I already knew.”
Cora hung his head. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t want you to hate me.” He shook his head and blinked. “Wait— you knew?”
“Of course I knew. I’m not stupid.”
“No. No you’re not.” Cora’s startled expression softened as the start of a smile crept on to his face. “But if you knew, why did you ask me before?”
Law balled his hands into fists and wriggled in place. “I just wanted to see how you would answer. To know if… if you cared enough to lie about something like that. For me.”
Cora huffed out a soft laugh. He reached a long arm toward Law and then aborted the gesture. Instead, he got to his feet, his smile gone. In its place was a grim, determined look that Law hadn’t seen since Cora had confronted him about his full name months ago.
“You asked why I was telling you this now.”
He nodded his head back to the cliffs behind him. Law followed the motion and craned his neck to try to figure out what he was supposed to be looking at. There, at the top of the snow lined rocks, was what appeared to be a giant cage. He must have made some sort of face because Cora nodded in response.
“Doffy is up to something,” Cora said. “I don’t know what but I do know there are marines there who are probably in a mountain of trouble. I can’t let them face the Donquixote Family alone. Not when…” His eyes shut and when he opened them again there was a fire there. “It’s my responsibility to stop him.”
Law was beyond tired and so it took a moment for the pieces to fall together. When they did, his heart plummeted. “You’re going back?” He grabbed the side of the boat to push himself up to his feet. Between his exhaustion and the rocking from the waves, it was all he could do to keep upright. He squeezed his eyes shut while he fought back the turning of his stomach. “I’m coming with you.”
Cora frowned at him. “Law… You can barely stand.”
“And you were shot. A lot.”
Law took an angry step forward. The whole world seemed to pitch around him. He braced for a fall into the water and instead found himself in Cora’s hands. The world continued spinning and he realized he hadn’t upset the boat. He was just too ill and weak to move around in a boat without making himself dizzy.
It made him furious. He felt tears prick at his eyes in his anger.
The entire top of his head was enveloped by a large hand. “As angry as Doffy might be, I’m his brother. He won’t kill me. I’ll be back,” Cora said. “It’s you and the Op-Op fruit that Doffy wants. So what I need is to know you’ll be there when I come for you. That means you need to get out of here, start figuring out that fruit of yours, and get better.”
Law lifted a hand and looked down at it. He’d felt something the moment he’d swallowed down his first bite of the bitter fruit. Since then that feeling had only grown. He couldn’t yet figure out the shape of it but he could see the outlines.
That didn’t mean he agreed with leaving Cora behind. Unfortunately Cora knew him well enough by now to head off any argument.
“Calm.” Law felt the now familiar subtle tingle of Cora’s powers washing over him. Cora took a long legged step back. He pulled up the anchor and then grabbed hold of the rope that would take him back up the cliff. “This will ensure that you and anything you touch is silent. It will help you slip away without anyone noticing so that you can get to Swallow. Wait for me there. I won’t be more than a day or two.”
Law marveled when he was met with absolute silence as he slapped his hands on the wood of the boat. His eyes widened and that drew out another smile from Cora. Law scrambled to his feet, ready to latch onto Cora’s leg if he needed to. Before he got more than a handful of shaky steps, Cora was already partly up the rope with his foot on the bow of the ship.
Something about the way he was looking at him made Law stop. Cora’s smile became so wide and bright that it seemed at odds with the cloud filled sky above. Law blinked up at him.
“Law…” Cora’s smile broadened even further, reaching impossible levels. “I love you.”
With that, he kicked off the boat and set it adrift. Despite his frustration at being sent away, Law couldn’t help but smile himself. That feeling settled in his heart and bubbled into silent laughter. A sudden gust caught the sail and before he could do anything to stop it, the ship had carried him away from the rocky shores of Minion. Law didn’t move. He stayed rooted in place, unblinking, until Cora disappeared from view.
That effervescent feeling faded fast as the sounds of battle increased. Gunfire echoed through the air and still there was that strange, horrible cage. Law tried to focus on sailing to Swallow as Cora had instructed but he couldn’t stop from looking over his shoulder at the island he was leaving behind.
His vision started to blur so he swiped a hand across his eyes to wipe away tears, only to find there were no tears there. He shook his head but still his vision failed to clear.
“Dammit.”
All Cora had asked of him was to survive and he couldn’t even do that.
Then he realized he’d heard himself speak, which meant Cora’s powers had worn off. His chest tightened. He could feel panic welling up. Now was not the time for that. He had to look at it rationally. In all likelihood, Cora had redirected his energy somewhere more important or Law had simply travelled out of the range of his powers. He wasn’t sure if that’s how these things worked but they had to abide by some sort of rules. Cora had told him that Devil Fruits weren’t magic. They had their limits.
But there was nothing he could tell himself that would stop him from seeing Cora riddled with bullets, the snow beneath him turning red.
Law’s breathing quickened until each gulp of air was too shallow to sustain him. He felt his lungs burn and he started to cough. His vision, already blurred, darkened at the edges. He braced himself by putting his hands on his knees but it wasn’t enough to stop him from swaying. Hot tears welled up and fell from his cheeks as he cursed his body for betraying him at every turn. At this rate he was going to black out and then there was no saying what would happen to him. If he was lucky, he’d regain consciousness before he drifted too far off course. Unlucky and Doflamingo would find him after eluding the marines once more.
He curled into himself and wrapped his arms around the back of his head. He was so tired of it all. He wanted it all to be over. For weeks now, he’d been ready to lay down and wait for the end. In all likelihood, he would have given up a long time ago if not for Cora. He owed it to Cora to keep fighting.
He squeezed his arms tighter to shut out the sound of his own rasping breath, of slapping waves, and distant canonfire. His heart skipped an uneasy beat and a shiver ran through him. He suddenly felt very aware of everything wrong in his body. It wasn’t simply a matter of feeling the pain and numbness in his skin or the fire burning in his lungs. This time he felt aware of every organ— practically every cell— in his body as though he could see them spread out before him like a frog sliced open for dissection.
He slowly unwound his arms and lifted his head. He looked down at his hands, turned palm up. He looked the same but he felt different. It felt like if he tried hard enough, he could see the deposits of lead that had painted his flesh white. He blinked and realized what he had taken for a continued haze in his vision was actually some sort of blue glow. When he reached out he could feel a light buzzing film around him. He was, it would seem, surrounded by a sphere of energy. It reminded him of the way Cora’s powers worked.
Was this the manifestation of his own powers? He had no sooner noticed it when it disappeared by withdrawing into him. Try as he might, he couldn’t make it appear again. He had no idea what he’d done to summon it in the first place.
He had more immediate problems, though. The sea had grown choppier as wind picked up. If he continued to let himself be buffeted by the elements, he could end up capsized. Knowing that his powers were really there, even if he couldn’t yet figure out how to access them, helped to focus him. He could survive this. He would survive this.
With that thought in mind, he wrangled the ship back under his control and finished sailing to Swallow. He’d spent a lot of time at sea since he’d joined the Family and especially in the last six months as he and Cora jumped from location to location, but he’d never been more eager to reach land than he was at that moment. It felt like a finish line in an impossibly long race.
Law gathered what he could from the supplies left in the boat. A knife. His pack with a change of clothes and a bedroll. Flint. It was the most he could easily carry on his own and should be enough for him to hold on until Cora returned. He jumped out of the boat as soon as he felt the bottom scrape land. The shock of the cold water jolted him wide awake and then, just as suddenly, sapped all the energy from him. He had just enough strength left to make sure he fell forward rather than back. He pulled himself over the rocky shore until the water no longer lapped up on his boots.
Law cursed his stupidity. He’d been with the Family long enough, rescued a stumbling Cora enough, to know what happened to Devil Fruit users in sea water. He should have remembered. And even if he hadn’t remembered that, he knew better than to jump into waist deep icy waters. He needed to get inland and start a fire. Before he could worry about figuring out his new abilities or curing the Amber Lead, he needed to get warm.
He braced himself with a breath and pushed up onto trembling legs. He mustered his energy to push the boat back out to sea. If things went as planned, Cora would come for him. If not… he didn’t want to leave an obvious trail for Doflamingo to follow.
He followed the shore for some time to further confuse the trail by avoiding making tracks in the snow. He continued that way until he found a copse of trees. The snow wasn’t quite as deep under the pines and it would give him cover for a short time. He walked to the middle of the pines before he collapsed against one of the trunks. He got dry clothes from his pack and tossed the wet ones aside after he’d changed. It was tempting to gather wood and make a fire now, hope that he would be safe there until Cora came, but he knew better. That wasn’t why he’d stopped anyway.
He remembered his parents spending long days and night puzzling out medical problems. If he could figure out what the Op-Op was capable of, he might be able to do what they’d never gotten a chance to. So he would think things through the way they would have— he would take what facts he had and work from there, one step at a time. He was lost now but he wouldn’t remain that way.
First, he knew he had the power, he just needed to know how to draw it out. Second, he’d done it by accident on the ship. Third, it seemed to take the form of a sphere. That was a place to start. If he could visualize what he’d seen and what he’d felt, he might be able to do it again.
He held out his hand. He tried to recall every detail, no matter how miniscule, of what had happened earlier. There’d been the subtle, numbing tingle of it and a somewhat unnatural, antiseptic taste on the back of his tongue. It had an observable outer membrane that created a sphere around him. Within that sphere, he’d felt a sense of control. He’d felt as though he was not only aware of every hair on his head, every cell in his body, but that he could manipulate it all if he wanted. If that was true, he really could be free of the curse born into his blood.
There! A whirling blue ball appeared in the center of his palm. If he concentrated on it, he could make it bigger. Soon it was the size of his fist, his head, and then his entire body. He pressed the edges of it until it surrounded him and the bases of the trees around him. As before, there was a sense that he could manipulate anything around him. There was certainly a temptation to grab hold of the lead in his flesh and rip it out but, on consideration, he decided the trees would make better test subjects.
He looked at the trunk closest in front of him. He flicked his wrist in an attempt to uproot it. The portion inside the sphere shuddered but, ultimately, remained in place. He tried again with more force behind his gesture but found the same results. He stopped to consider further. Perhaps a tree was too large for him to manipulate or perhaps the problem lay in the fact that he only had a portion of the plant under his control. Maybe a mixture of the two. Whatever the case, the focus of his next trial would be something smaller.
After a quick glance at his surroundings, he settled on a fallen branch. He moved his hand upward and the branch followed. It made circuits through the air, lifted by nothing but his will. He was about to see if he could move two different objects, when his strength abandoned him all at once. The blue sphere shrank back to nothing as exhaustion fell on him like a blanket. He slumped into the snow beneath it. He could do absolutely nothing but watch the thin rise and fall of his chest.
Not the result he’d hoped for but it was still progress. He’d learned that there was a price to pay for his powers. The strongest barrier of what he could do was his own limited stamina. That was something he could work on but he had next to no energy these days and it would stay that way until he’d extracted all the lead from his system.
What he wouldn’t give for a frog to dissect with his new powers. Any animal would do, really, but that was the one he’d practiced on most in the past and so would make the best starting point. He didn’t have a frog though. He also didn’t have time to go hunting for a suitable replacement.
Law bit his lip and held up a hand. He didn’t have the time to do this right. He needed to act. Maybe not on a hand, however. As a surgeon those were the most important tools he had. He eyed his booted feet. He’d rather not lose any limbs, if he could help it, but he needed a part of him that he could easily look at. He pulled out his left boot, carefully placed it aside, and then did the same with his sock. The biting cold against his bare skin made him wince.
Easier than before, he summoned up the blue sphere. He had a moment to muse that he needed a better name for it as he expanded it just enough to envelop his foot. It felt like it used less energy the smaller it was. He needed to find a balance between the energy it took to sustain the bubble and the energy it took to do things within it.
He grabbed the knife he’d taken from the boat and held it with shaking hands against his ankle. He wished he had a scalpel. Likely he didn’t need anything at all, given he’d been able to manipulate a stick without so much as touching it, but the weight of a tool in his hands felt reassuring. Cora had said this wasn’t magic so he would treat it like any other medical procedure. This knife would be his scalpel and the space he controlled, his operating room.
He sucked in a breath and cut downward. His whole body tensed in reaction to what he knew was about to happen and he flinched despite himself. When he forced his eyes open and saw his foot disconnected from his leg, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He wasn’t the squeamish sort. Any last scrap of him that might have been had disappeared while he hid amongst dead bodies to survive. That didn’t mean that he was prepared to see himself chopped to bits.
After a few steadying breaths, he realized something. It wasn’t bleeding. It also didn’t hurt. He’d written off the initial lack of pain as shock but surely it should hurt? All it felt was cold. That’s when he noticed he could not only still feel what it felt but could move his toes if he tried. Despite the crudeness of the knife, the cuts were remarkably clean as well. He’d still feel better with better tools on hand but it seemed, if needed, he could operate with whatever was on hand.
“Fascinating.”
He aimed the knife at his foot again and sliced a few more times. His foot fell to the ground in four neat pieces. There was a sort of numb tingle along the cuts but otherwise no sensation to speak of along the incisions. He picked up one of the pieces of his foot and examined it. The tissue all seemed to be functioning as usual despite being about as far from usual as it could be. What was more, when he focused in, he could sense each of the component parts. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could manipulate every capillary, tendon, and bone at will. Everything within this operating room was his to control. For the first time, he truly felt like he could be rid of the Amber Lead as he felt it sluggish in his veins.
A scream broke through the winter air and snapped Law back to the present. He froze in place as another followed and shouting came after that. Two— no— three voices disrupted the silence. The smart thing to do would be to stay still and hope that whoever they were, they didn’t come this way, but then he heard a call for help. One of the voices was begging the others to stop. He thought of his futile pleas to Vergo and his hand tightened around the knife. He wasn’t in a mood for bullies.
That meant it was time to see just how much power he actually had. He quickly and carefully realigned the disparate quarters of his foot and pressed them back together. They reconnected as though they’d never been cut at all. Any other time he would have been eager to experiment further but right now he had some skulls to crack.
He quickly reattached the foot and let his powers die away as he pulled on his sock and boot once more. He sheathed the knife at his belt and took off at a run toward the voices. He marvelled at the fact that just moments before his foot had been in pieces on the snow and now he was running as though that had all been a fever dream. It was a good distraction from the rage bubbling up inside him as the first voice was reduced to whimpers.
He could see now where the sounds were coming from. Two boys about his age were standing with bats in hand over a bloodied lump on the ground. It looked like a polar bear but it was wearing clothes. This close Law could hear the bear saying ‘sorry’ again and again, so it clearly wasn’t a normal bear. He remembered a story Cora had told him and his brain supplied the word— Mink. Here was a creature he’d never hoped to see and they were treating it like a monster.
Law could hear his teeth creak, he was grinding them so hard. “Leave him alone.”
The two boys looked up at him. The redhead spat on the ground at Law’s feet. “Why should we?”
“Yeah,” said the other, the one with a hat that said ‘penguin’ on the front. “What are you gonna do about it, kid?”
They both leaned down to talk to him, as though to emphasize how much taller they were than him. If that hadn’t worked for Cora, then it was hardly going to work for them. Law almost pitied them.
He dove forward quickly and punched the redhead in the gut so that he dropped his bat as he doubled over. He knocked the other off his feet with a low, sweeping kick. While they regained their bearings, Law summoned up his powers. The bubble of his Room, as he’d decided to call it, enveloped them all. He ran on pure instinct and gestured at the both of them. They lifted off their feet and then crashed into each other. He then tossed them into a snow bank. He was sorely tempted to use his knife, knowing they wouldn’t be seriously injured, but he could feel himself running out of energy. Until he knew if he could put them back together outside a Room, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble of a good scare.
He felt his knees wobble beneath him. He cancelled the Room before it stretched him too thin. Rather than wait to see if the pair of bullies got back up, Law walked up to the still cowering bear. The bear shrank even further into the snow. It looked up at him with small, dark eyes. He was almost cute.
Not that Law noticed such things. No, he was focused on the injuries the bear had sustained. He tried to approach to see if there was anything he could help with.
“I’m a doctor. Training to be one, anyway. I can help.”
It wasn’t exactly the full truth but he had been further expanding his medical knowledge while serving under Doflamingo. Besides, he figured it was probably more reassuring at the moment than saying he was a pirate. Or former pirate. Or whatever he was now that he’d pissed off his captain for good.
Not that it mattered. The bear put his paws on his head. “I’m sorry,” he whined.
Law huffed. He ran a hand over his face and took the opportunity to gather his fraying patience and energy. He wasn’t in the mood to coddle. “You didn’t do anything. Now come on. I can help you.”
The bear peered out from behind one paw. “You made them float.”
“Yeah?”
“And you threw them.”
Law crossed his arms and glared at the two dark lumps in the snow. “Well they were hurting you weren’t they? I can just stop helping, if you want.”
The trounced boys groaned. However they planned on reacting to their thorough beating, they’d be up soon. Law nodded at them to indicate as much. When the bear did nothing to react, he shrugged and started to walk away. A paw wrapped around his wrist.
“Actually, um, uh… sir?”
Law snorted at that. “Law.”
“I’m, uh, Bepo. Not that you asked. Sorry.”
Law pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt dizzy. He needed to get somewhere to rest. Soon. It looked like two hobbling teenage boys had other ideas. They’d picked themselves up out of the snow and were coming toward him.
“Hey you,” penguin hat said.
Law put a hand on his knife and turned back to Bepo. “Come on.”
“Wait.”
The redhead. Law could hear footsteps getting closer. He spun around, knife in hand. “Don’t try it.”
Penguin hat put up his hands. “That’s not—”
Law readied for another fight. His body had other ideas. The corners of his vision had gone fuzzy and his stomach flipped over on itself. He could see the boys mouthing something at him. Logically he knew they were speaking but he couldn’t hear a word. It didn’t matter. He could beat these fools even if he was only half conscious.
Another step toward them, knife raised, and everything went black.
#one piece#one piece au#trafalgar law#trafalgar d. water law#donquixote rosinante#donquixote rocinante#one piece corazon#corazon#penguin#shachi#bepo#fic
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The Flowers Always Know
Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group.
(Slow burn)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Language.
Link to Masterlist
Comment: Another day of side-effects where my head really hasn’t been in the game. But a little fun stuff to pass the time has managed to crop up.
So sorry for the tease ending... I blame the headaches.
Chapter 27
The Chef, Greg, had personally brought you extra leftovers during the five weeks you were living in the cell, training and learning about your abilities. He knew about your abnormal energy-consumption, and had become concerned when you never ordered more than a double portion of food, no matter how exhausted you were.
So, he’d come to give you the leftovers one evening, and you’d explained that it felt like you’d be stealing from others that might need it, if you ordered six or even eight portions.
After that, he’d begun saving all the leftovers every day, and bringing you that for the extra portions you otherwise wouldn’t have ordered.
“I may have to make Greg my Best Man.”
“He’d probably decline. He’s nice, but he does have standards.”
“Ouch…”
“He doesn’t know you, Cujo.”
“Okay, seriously, what is up with that?”
“It’s just an accurate description.”
“I am not a fucking dog.”
“Yes, you are. It’s just that, ordinarily, you’re a puppy. You just have that lovable puppy-face, with the eyes and the grin that can melt the coldest of hearts. And then, you bare your teeth and growl, and you look fucking terrifying.”
“I do?”
“Um – yes. Unequivocally – yes. It’s amazing.”
“Wait… you like my Cujo-quality?”
“I like that you have that side, when you need it. I like that it comes out almost exclusively to protect the things you love. And I have to admit that I like the fact that even the remotest possibility that William actually had tried something, elicited that kind of a response from you.”
“I was a little shocked at how strongly I reacted to that. Just the thought… I would’ve killed him, if he had. Not because you… belong to me. But because you were weak and unable to stop anyone that might have tried. Thank god William’s even more of a puppy than I am.”
“Will is more of a Greyhound.”
“What?”
“Yeah, you know – sleek, effective, streamlined.”
“Okay, let’s just drop the whole dog-topic already.”
“And, just for the record – of course I belong to you. Ass-hat.”
He practically beamed at you.
“Ditto. Mama bear.”
You’d been talking while walking back from lunch, and when you got back to your office, Anita was there. Just standing in the middle of the room, with her signature scowl in full effect.
“Hi, mom. Wow, you’re actually in the office, it must be serious.”
“Fifty noise-complaints in the last hour – is serious.”
You both stopped smiling, and threw a nervous glance at one another, but she just huffed and turned to you.
“Have you had yourself checked out by medical, yet?”
“No… why would I…?”
“Because human beings don’t possess the biological imperative to breed, to the point where their libidos take control of their bodies.”
You had actually checked both your offices for cameras and microphones a good while back, and found nothing. And there weren’t any fucking flowers in your office!
“How the hell do you know that? Seriously… How?”
She just rolled her eyes.
“Get your ass down to medical. Now.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“Whatever it is, I feel fine now, which means they probably wouldn’t be able to detect anything abnormal, so I’m gonna finish my work for the day, and then I’ll go to medical.”
You walked over to your desk as you spoke, and as you sat down, you remembered something.
“And by the way, where you in charge of selecting my substitute while I was gone?”
“Yes. Petra wasn’t ideal.”
“You don’t say. If I’m ever gone for an extended period of time again, no one sets foot in my fucking office. Got it?”
“Did you just try and give me an order, loco?”
“I’m not trying anything. I’m telling you. No one.”
She threw you a kinda skewed smile and then turned around to leave. But as she crossed the threshold she stopped and looked back at you with pure steel in her eyes.
“4pm. If you’re not at medical by then, I’ll drag you there by your ear.”
“Try it. Please.”
She left and you sighed and looked at Marcus, who had sat down on the couch again, one arm draped over the backrest while he’d watched you take on Máma.
“Are you absolutely sure you feel fine? Because I’m all kinds of hot and bothered right now.”
“50 noise-complaints, Marcus. That’s half the damned building.”
“And like I said: fuck ‘em.”
“Please go away so I can think.”
“Only if you promise to call me the moment you feel any amount of craving. I’m serious.”
“You think I want to feel like that again? Of course I’ll call, and you��d better pick up. I don’t care if HQ’s on fire.”
“You have my word, famb.”
“You know, your list of nicknames is getting a bit ridiculously long.”
“Oh, I haven’t even started on the real one’s yet.”
“Real ones?”
“Prometida, esposa, amada, mi corazón…”
“Okay, okay, have as many as you like, jeez.”
“Which one’s your favourite?”
“You already know.”
He got up from the sofa and came over to kiss you before he left. His lips lingered long after the kiss ended.
“Hermosa…”
He was intoxicating. You put a hand up on his chest and pushed him away gently.
“Get out of here, gorgeous. Mama’s got work to do.”
“Oh, that’s mean. You know how I love it when you talk all husky like that.”
“I’ll call you if I need you.”
He walked away looking disappointed, but also kind of expectant, like he was looking forward to getting you back later. You smiled and shook your head after the door closed behind him.
You did get a lot of work done after that, and even if you were still miles behind from catching up to where you’d been 7 weeks ago, it still felt good to have gotten back on track. Especially on what had been possibly the weirdest day of your life. Which was saying something.
Your libido stayed calm and behaved for the rest of the workday, but you did see Anita’s point in getting yourself checked over, and so you were planning on going to the med-bay.
But at 3:30 you were working on your computer, looking up rare metals for an upcoming build, and you sort of stumbled over a site for wedding-rings.
You were just gonna take a quick peak, scrolling through the various options, and getting progressively more worked up as you saw the price-tags.
You were just about to leave the page and go back to work, when an ad in the corner popped up.
Wedding-dresses.
Fuck.
You clicked.
“If you thought I was kidding about the ear, you were sorely mistaken.”
You startled at the sound of her voice, and a puff of energy escaped you, sending papers flying everywhere.
“Thanks a lot, Anita. Why don’t you give me a heart-attack while you’re at it?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not my fault you were so engrossed in that screen you didn’t notice me. What were you looking at, anyway?”
Had half an hour already passed? You just clicked on that ad a second ago… And why was she looking at you like that?
“Just research.”
“Mhm. Let’s go.”
“Alright, just let me get these papers off the floor.”
As expected, since the event seemed to have passed, the medical exam didn’t reveal anything, and Anita seemed unnecessarily peeved about that.
“What are you so upset about? What exactly did you think they’d find?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Never mind, my ass. You all but dragged me to this exam, and now you’re disappointed. So, spill. What’s the deal?”
“I just hoped that maybe… you increased enthusiasm was…”
“Was…?”
“Alright, most women experience increased sensitivity when they’re pregnant. I just wanted to be sure.”
You sort of half froze midway through pulling your pants back on, and your hands involuntarily went to your abdomen.
“Oh… I never even considered…”
“I’m sorry, niña. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, I’m not upset. God, I don’t even know what I am.”
You finished dressing and sat down on a chair, letting your head fall into your hands.
“Eight months ago, I was just a designer, going on a fucking vacation. Now, I don’t even know what the hell I am anymore, much less what to do. Every time I think I’m starting to get a handle on things, something else happens and I’m lost again.”
She tapped your leg with her cane, ushering you to look at her.
“What you are, is my son’s fiancé. My granddaughter’s adoptive mother. You’re smart, highly capable and stubborn, kind and caring, but abrasive when the situation requires it. You’re everything you need to be. And that’s all you ever really need to know about yourself.”
You drew a deep breath.
“Do you think he made the right choice? With me?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Thank you.”
You called Marcus to let him know how the exam had gone, and he was just about to pick up Missy, so since you had your own car you told him you’d race him home.
But you decided to stop by Amanda’s house on the way. You wanted to talk to both of them, but her place was closer.
When you walked in at home, Missy was in the living room playing a video-game with Noodles, A Capella and Wild Card. It had been a while since she’d had any friends over, and you smiled when you saw how much fun she was having.
“Hey, Alma! Wanna see me crush these guys for the second time?”
“Any day of the week, angel, but I gotta talk to your dad right now.”
“Okay, suit yourself!”
You laughed and walked into the kitchen to find him opening pizza-boxes and distributing slices onto plates.
“Hey, sweetheart, sorry, this wasn’t planned, they just spontaneously asked if they could come over as I was picking her up.”
“Honey, why are you explaining yourself?”
“I don’t know… it’s just, with the weird day you’ve had and how you seemed a little down after the exam, I thought that maybe you weren’t quite in the mood for a house full of teenagers.”
“No matter how I feel, Missy’s entitled to enjoy herself with her friends. I would never wanna deprive her of that.”
“No, I know. I just worry about you.”
“Yeah, I do too, sometimes. But that’s usually when I remember I have you, and it all feels better.”
He smiled and asked you to help him carry out the food to the living room, and once you’d done that, you sat down at the dinner table to eat yourselves.
“So… I may have googled wedding-dresses today.”
He beamed.
“Really? Did you manage to narrow down any preferences? Don’t give me any specifics, by the way.”
“I did, I think. Or, at least, I found a lot of stuff I didn’t like, so I guess that helps. I don’t know, I feel like I need to see them, touch them, to actually get a sense of what I like.”
He beamed even more.
“I really like the sound of this. I’m sure Amaire would come with you if you asked.”
“Yeah, I kind of already asked them to, this weekend.”
He was fucking radiating joy at that point. He got up and took your hand, leading you to the bedroom and closing the door behind you.
Then he reached into his pocket and fished something out. His smile turned just a hint of insecure, as he held up the ring he’d chosen for you.
It was gold-plated steel, with a single row of small diamonds sunk into the centre of the band all the way around. A sturdy and solid piece that wouldn’t break or lose its shape.
While you admired it, he started trying to explain his choice.
“I know you’re not much of a jewellery-girl, so I figured we’d skip the whole engagement ring plus wedding-band. You can wear it right away if you want and then just take it off before the ceremony, or you can wait and put it on then, either way is fine with me. That is, if you like it? If you don’t, we’ll take it back and you can pick something else. It just felt right as soon as I saw it. You’re not the frail silver band type of person, and I know you’d only get annoyed with a big rock getting in the way and getting caught in stuff. You work with your hands and so I figured something sturdy but elegant. I have a matching one just without the diamonds. Please say something before I pass out from oxygen-depravation…”
“I love it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
You both beamed.
“Can I put it on you?”
“You better.”
He slipped it on your finger and it fit perfectly. And for the first time it really sunk in that you were gonna marry this man. The love of your life.
It felt like a really long time until the kids went home and Missy went to bed, with her headphones on.
“I totally forgot, we need to go bed-shopping, honey.”
“I don’t know, a mattress on the floor might be preferable until we know the extent of your ‘heat-situation’.”
“Mm. Good point. Although, breaking in a new bed is always fun.”
“Hermosa.”
“What?”
“Stop talking and get undressed. I’ve been waiting for this all night.”
Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.
@blueeyesatnight
@farfromjustordinary
@allmyspideys
@hrk-fic-recs
@strawberryperegrine
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#marcus moreno#marcus moreno x reader#marcus moreno fic#we can be heroes#we can be heroes fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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Only Fan(s) - A Thriller
Genre: Thriller
Pairing: Modern Ivar/OC
Warning: Language, sex, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, sexual assault
Rating: MA+18
Summary: Sometimes OnlyFans subscribers want a little more than internet pictures. Sometimes they want to be your ONLY fan…
Header by: @flowers-in-your-hayr
Thanks to @xbellaxcarolinax for being my beta.
Disclaimer: This story will deal with some topics that might be a little uncomfortable for some people. As always, I’ll try to tackle the hard stuff as tactfully as possible.
a/n: I wrote this months ago and let it sit on the shelf. I’m finally ready to dust it off and give it another go...so let’s see what it do...
Part iii - Trifecta
Torren Sykes hadn’t lived what anyone would consider an exciting life. In fact, in her twenty-three years, she had only just left her mom’s double-wide trailer in East Bumble Fuck less than a year ago. Not quite 365 days later, she still didn’t have a pot to piss in, nor a window to throw it out of.
Truthfully, she usually didn’t know where she would be getting her next meal - that sort of thing wasn’t really a big deal to her. She actually liked the mystery of it all. There was something undeniably sexy about not knowing what the day would bring - who she would run into, or have to take something off of to survive. If someone else had to get hurt so she could make it through another day, such was life. She’d won. Those other people just needed to be better at playing the fucking game, plain and simple.
Besides, pulling a caper or two kept her on her toes. She learned how to pull off the best of them from her mother. It’s not like adulting was one of Leslie’s strong suits.
If only her mother had been more like her Me-Maw, now that woman was a saint. For reasons that Torren never cared to ask, she lived with her Me-Maw until she was five years old. Leslie would periodically visit her to drop off the obligatory present on Christmas or her birthday if that bitch remembered. Not that they were ever good presents – just some cheap ass, unwrapped items she happened to pick up at the dollar store. Torren couldn't remember a gift that she had received wasn't still in the plastic bag with the receipt in it.
Cheap, whore.
Just once she would have liked a real baby doll from Toys-R-Us, instead of those cheap, hard, plastic dolls that the hand molds weren't cut out evenly, and the jagged edges cut the shit out of her face when she tried to sleep with it. But, that was Leslie. Torren didn't choose her; Leslie sure as shit didn't choose her daughter.
It became painfully clear to Torren that her mother didn’t want anything to do with her after her Me-Maw died. Unfortunately, she found herself as her mother’s unwitting roommate at a very young age, forcing the girl to spend a lot of time alone.
By the time she turned nine, Torren was convinced that her mother was a prostitute and she was a trick baby. It was the only explanation she could come up with seeing as how her mother never worked but always had enough money to pay the rent, keep the lights on, and have plenty of booze, chips, and hot dogs in the fridge.
Not that Torren had many other life experiences with a working parent to compare her situation to, but it just seemed pretty fucking difficult to have a job if one were passed out drunk all the fucking time. Besides, who had time to work when during your waking hours you were spending them with one of your many, many boyfriends?
Torren used to wonder if one of the multitudes of men that would traipse in and out of that trailer were her father - but the more she got to know what type of person Leslie was, the more she realized that whoever that guy was, had gotten the hell out of dodge.
Lucky son-of-a-bitch.
But for all of Leslie’s flaws, she did manage to impart her three philosophies of life onto her daughter - the three things that Torren still lived by to this day. It was the least she could do. God knows that whore sure as fuck didn’t do anything else for her.
Mama’s Life Lessons #1 - There is no such thing as too much black eyeliner
As trivial as it sounded, it proved to be a precious lesson. Shortly after she had moved into the trailer, Leslie had forced Torren to sit on the bed and watch as she got ready for another one of her "dates". She had told the little girl that beautiful eyes were the one good gene that ran in their family. “You got to learn how to work ‘em,” Leslie exhaled a long plume of smoke at her reflection in the vanity mirror, “You listenin'? This's important. This right here," she held up the black liner pencil, “is gonna be your best friend.”
Of course, Torren had no idea what she meant. How was a pencil going to her friend? She didn’t really care so much as what her mother was saying to her at the moment, it was more of the fact that she was actually talking to her that made Torren hang on to every word.
That’s why she picked up the black liner pencil from her mother's cluttered vanity table and leaned over to look in the mirror. She tried tracing her bottom lid, the way her mother had done, but at six it was a little easier said than done. She had just learned how to color inside the lines with a fat crayon; mastering the art of applying liner would have to wait a few more years.
Leslie, however, was not willing to wait that long, "What the hell's amatta wit'chu, Dumbass? You doin' it all wrong," she said snatching the pencil from the girl's hand. Grabbing Torren roughly by the chin she said, "Gotta teach you every goddamn thing. Hold still." She mumbled more curses and said something about her good-for-nothing mother not teaching her brat anything useful.
By the time she had finished cursing her name, Leslie roughly turned her daughter's head toward the mirror, "Yeah you got those eyes. Now, learn to use ‘em.” Leslie dropped the pencil onto the vanity before picking up her drink and shooing Torren away.
That was the day that Drew Watkins bought her an ice cream. It had to be the eyeliner. It was a true fact, not just another one of her mother's drunken theories. Eyeliner and her eyes...she didn’t know how she used them, but they worked.
From that day on Torren opted to never step foot outside without heavy black liner again.
Mama’s Life Lessons #2 - As long as there are men around that want to fuck you, you will never need to work
It wasn’t like she going to go out and get a real job. She wasn’t raised with much of a work ethic. She was too young to remember if her Me-Maw worked and what she gathered from her mother was that there would always be men around to take care of her.
Leslie told her that she didn’t need to work because working a man was a full-time job. If she were doing that right, she wouldn’t have time for a fucking 9-5. It didn’t matter if he was in a relationship, gay, or the fucking Pope. As long as he a dick and she could bend over, and her eyes were done, her rent was as good as paid.
If she wanted more than just the basic bills paid, she would have to rethink what all she was willing to do - but just make sure she didn’t do too much otherwise she couldn’t guarantee a steady paycheck every week.
This sage advice didn’t make much sense to 8-year-old Torren, but as the years progressed she started to work it into one of her life’s mottos. She would never want for anything. She could always rely on the kindness of strangers and when that got to be too boring, she could always take it, just to spice things up a bit.
Mama’s Life Lessons #3 - If you want something do whatever it takes to make sure you get it
As a child that grew up with the television as a babysitter, Torren Sykes knew that she was destined to love Ivar “Lothbrok” Ragnarsson since she was a little girl. Ever since that day she turned on the TV and saw this adorable blue-eyed boy drawing Mickey Mouse ears saying, “I’m Ivar Lothbrok and you’re watching the Disney Channel,” she knew that he had to be hers.
He was co-starring on a show called The Baker Boys, about three foster kids, who had come to live with a family that owned a bakery. Ivar’s character was named Simon Baker - a mischievous kid that lived with his grandmother until she died and never felt like he fit in with this cookie-cutter family.
His life was just like hers - minus the cookie-cutter family that loved him and all. She was actually with more of an alcoholic whore that didn’t give a shit if she lived or died, and not pulling stunts in a bakery with flour and messing up orders like him, but she still saw them as kindred spirits.
When the show got canceled she was devastated. How dare the world try to keep her from her man? Didn’t they understand this was love? Didn’t those people at Disneyland know that he was the only person in the world that understood her?
As if on queue, she happened to find the Season 2 DVD box-set at the library one afternoon. Her mother had kicked her out of the trailer because she had a date and couldn’t have the dumbass child around fucking things up for her. Torren had nothing else to do - at 11-years-old, she had no money, and nowhere to go. At least the library was air-conditioned.
She wanted that box-set. Slipping it into her backpack unnoticed was the easy part. Trying to get it past the alarms would be harder. She watched for a while, paying particular attention to the way the check-out system worked.
When the librarians changed shifts, she let a smile cross her lips as she picked a few random books from the shelves.
Her beautiful eyes went as big as saucers when the alarm buzzed, and the young male librarian looked down at her, still clutching the large reference book to her check. Carefully she had stepped across to the other side of the alarm sensor waiting to collect the books she was checking out.
“I’m sorry, you can’t check out reference books,” the young man said, blinking his hazel eyes at Torren, the corner of his lip tugging into a smile.
She let a pout fall on her lips as she lowered her large eyes down to the book in her arms, “Oh...sorry.” She handed the book back, “I didn’t realize I still had it.” And like that, she walked out of the library with her prize.
She had stolen for Ivar...now if that wasn’t love what was?
The only thing that had threatened their love through the years is when Ivar got married. It damn near broke Torren’s heart. How could he be so cruel? She didn’t give a fuck that the marriage was short-lived. She even understood why he had to do it. He had gotten that bitch pregnant, and he didn’t have much choice. But, he cut her deep.
Didn’t he know how much she loved him? Didn’t he know that she stuck by him when he had joined 6cess and had seen him in concert 3 times? She still had the autographed photo of the two of them from the signing at Spring Hills Mall - when she was wearing that blue midriff cardigan and ripped jeans and he had his arm around her. That shirt brought out the color in his eyes. She even wore Happy, which he said was his favorite perfume. She thought it smelled like Comet, but she stole a bottle of it from Macy’s right before the photo-op to smell good for him.
And he went and pulled this shit?
Besides, Johnny Law said that she was still too young for him and that he could get arrested for being with her. She knew that he had to pretend to have a normal life so that no one would know about their love affair. She was just understanding like that. It gave her time to grow up a little more so that when they could he be together, the law wouldn't be standing in their way. She really didn't give a fuck, but she suspected he did. Why else hadn't he come for her?
Torren didn’t even like their music. She wasn’t a boyband kind of girl, but for him, she would make the exception. She was more of the gangsta rap or heavy metal type girl. But if Ivar was serenading her, she’d listen to sappy, wrist-slitting, emo, shit rock all fucking day long, because she loved him.
She hated that he had gotten that whore pregnant, too. She understood that he had to pretend that they had a normal marriage. She knew that when he was fucking that bitch, he was really imagining it was her. The years apart had made him a master at hiding his true feelings for her. He couldn't give anyone cause for suspicion. If he let on the truth he could risk losing everything…his house, cars, job, and his kid. That whore was trying to keep them apart. But, she was just a small obstacle that posed no real threat to Torren.
She did not doubt that she would be his daughter's new mommy. The kid would probably be sad at first that she wouldn't be with that other woman like Torren had been when her grandmother died. But, the kid would get used to it. Torren was going to be a whole hell of a lot better at being a mom than her piece of shit mother was to her. That was for damn sure. She was going to teach her stepdaughter all about eyeliner, and how to dye her hair.
She was going to teach her what party clothes every woman should have in her wardrobe and how to get a man to do whatever she wanted by just batting her eyes at him. She would even share her secrets on what pills to mix and what dosages to give for submission, making a man catatonic, and if she was really good, she'd teach what to put in a drink to kill someone. Hell, she even planned on giving the child her most discrete drug contacts. That would of course have to wait until she was older – at least 13. She was going to be such a good mommy.
Ivar's daughter was going to love Torren as much as Torren loved him. They were going to be the perfect family.
Torren was as hopelessly devoted to Ivar as he was to her. He had waited for her to become legal. Just months before she was old enough to legally consent to sex, and get married without parental permission, his marriage started falling apart. She knew that Ivar was trying to make a clean break from his wife, and get his daughter used to the idea of them being apart before he could come home to her.
Torren had been thoughtful and respectful enough to give him that space to make sure everything was right before she stepped into the role of the new Mrs. Lothbrok. He had to test the waters, make sure that she still wanted him as much as he wanted her. He had to get back into the swing of things…have sex constantly to make sure he could keep up with her. She knew that "the prude" wasn't doing it nearly as often as he needed to - why else would he have an Only Fans page?
Torren was the only one that could feed his appetite, and he hers.
Now, they were both finally ready. She was mature and developed. She knew what she needed, and it was him. He had his fun before her, but now he was auditioning again and getting everything back on track for them. He had a great relationship with his daughter and his dumb ass ex-wife finally understood that their relationship was a fling that went too far.
His face told her everything that her heart already knew. He loved her.
Why else would be looking at her like that? She could feel herself blush when he smiled on Instagram like that into them. Then he gave her that smile. That was her smile; the one that he reserved for her during their private times. Yet, there he was doing it in front of an audience of millions, and he didn't care who saw it. He had to let her know that it was time for her to come home. It was like a sleeper cell being awakened.
She didn't have a choice. She did what any other woman in her position would do. She packed a bag, threw it in the car she stole a few days before and drove. Armed with her trifecta of knowledge and determination, she prepared to face the obstacles that were bound to get in her way. There was nothing that was going to stop her from getting her man.
Nothing.
Part ii || Part iv
Tags: @ideagarden-blog1 @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @a-mess-of-fandoms @didiintheblog @conaionaru @peachyboneless @flowers-in-your-hayr @heavenly1927 @zuxiezendler @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @didiintheblog @revolution-starter
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kiss it better | two
pairing: mark tuan x reader
genre: angst, smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)
warnings: age gap (nine years), cursing, explicit sex, slow burn
summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…
a/n: hi babies, how are we all doing? life is weird right now. i hope you’re all staying healthy and sane. please take care of yourselves! regarding the chapter, thank you guys for reading the prologue and chapter one! i know it’s a more subtle and slow burn than the pact was, but TRUST ME it will allll be worth it in the end. oh, and i wanted to point out: if you were confused by chapter one, make sure you go read the prologue first! i had titled it “preview” before but honestly, it’s important that you read it before diving into the story.
✩ index here ✩
“No way! I loved that show. I was so sad when it ended,” you said, fingers ripping apart a second slice of pizza for yourself.
Mark grimaced, shaking his head. “Agh, no. The special effects were laughable.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those people?”
His deep brown eyes narrowed at you from across the restaurant booth. “What kind of people?”
You licked your lips and shrugged your shoulders. “You know… a snob.” You fought a smile.
Shaking his head at you, Mark chuckled, a low gravelly tone. “No, no. I just can’t do it. When I was in school, I wanted to work on special effects. I know it’s hard work, but I think that’s why I hate seeing people do such a half assed job.”
You raised a brow. “You wanted to do special effects?”
“Mm,” Mark replied, chewing his slice of supreme veggie pizza. “Played a lot of video games… still do, but you know, it was all I did back then. I wanted to be in the business so bad, so I thought about it. It turned me onto graphic design, which turned me onto art, which brought me here.”
You’d been at this pizza shop for nearly an hour and you hadn’t stopped talking since. It was so incredibly easy to talk to Mark, and you weren’t sure if it was because in some way, he reminded you of home. But in an unexpected way that didn’t make you sick to your stomach.
He was also far more interesting than you’d ever thought he was. You found it so impressive how he’d found his passion and fought for it, even if it meant he might fail. If there was something Mark had an excess of, it was passion. You could easily tell from just the first moment you asked him about how he’d gotten into tattooing.
“Wow,” you remarked, licking pizza sauce off of your thumb. “I never knew you were into all this stuff back then.”
“Well… when I graduated you were, what? Nine?”
You grimaced. You remembered the ungodly long graduation ceremony you’d had to sit through with your parents, all while wearing the most itchy velvet dress and tights. At the time, Taehyung had seemed like such a grown up. It was no surprise that you’d seen him as the shining Polaris to follow as you navigated through life.
“It doesn’t feel like it was that long ago,” you said, leaning your chin upon your hand. “Weird. I can’t believe you and Tae are so…”
“Old?” Mark finished for you, one brow lifted.
You bit back a smile, shaking your head. “I’d never say that…”
“It’s alright, you can say it. Every morning, I wake up and a new muscle is sore. They say your health starts declining when you’re 26, so you’re living on borrowed time.”
“Hey, I still have a few years then. Besides, you look pretty healthy to me. I mean…” Without realizing it, your eyes glanced down at his arms, the firm muscles and veins on clear display.
Maybe it was weird, ogling your brother’s best friend, when he probably saw you as his little sister. But you couldn’t help it… he’d really grown into adulthood. His face was a mixture of sharp features and round, doe eyes and full lips. It was only your body’s natural response.
“Thanks,” he replied and you noticed the tips of his ears flushing red. “Alright, are you ready to get out of here?”
You were grateful for the change in subject. You nodded, and with only a little shame didn’t even bother trying to pay for the meal. Funds were extra low now after that tattoo, and you knew there was no way Mark would even allow you to pay a dime.
Mark led you out of the pizza shop and into his car, where your natural flow of conversation continued. You learned that Mark and Dahyun had been at the tattoo shop for almost five years now, and Mark was essentially the head artist. He had worked hard to get where he was, starting as an apprentice and moving up the ladder.
It seemed as if he wasn’t the most social employee, though. He was friendly with Dahyun and the guys, but he didn’t talk about them much besides when referring to work.
As Mark pulled up to the address of the hostel you were staying in, you drew in a deep breath as you prepared yourself for another night of thumping bass and blasting machine guns.
“Thank you for tonight, Mark. I really appreciate it. And… the tattoo, obviously. I love it,” you told him, gathering up your purse as you reached for the door handle.
“This is where you’re staying?” He asked, eyebrows raised.
It wasn’t the prettiest building, no. It was sort of falling apart, but it was all cosmetic issues on the exterior. Inside, it was… acceptable. No air conditioning and the blankets sort of smelled, but it would do for now.
“Yeah,” you replied, hand hesitating on the handle. “It’s not so bad. The owner is kind of creepy, and my roommate sucks but it’s a bed. I don’t need much.”
Mark was looking at you as if he didn’t believe a word you said. You saw his jaw working as he stared at the building, then averted his eyes back to you. Slowly, he shook his head.
“You’re not staying there. Just… why don’t you come stay with me? I have a free second bedroom.”
You shook your head. “No, no. Mark, seriously. I’m fine. It’s really okay, it’s just a place to sleep,” you said, repeating the mantra you’d been repeating to yourself each day before entering the hostel. Honest to god, it sucked. But you weren’t about to mooch off of someone else - you were determined to be on your own and that meant you wouldn’t take any favors.
“Seriously, Y/N,” he started, his voice turning gravely serious. “It might be a place to sleep, but I can see the termites from here. Come stay with me.”
“Mark,” you said, voice equally serious. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ll text you if I have any questions about the tattoo, okay?”
You reached for the door handle once more and this time, Mark just watched as you climbed out of the car, turning just before you shut the door.
“Thank you again. I mean it,” you told him, forcing a smile that you hoped looked natural.
Mark’s face was a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t quite place. He was still worried about you, but for now at least, he’d given up. He didn’t look pleased with you, either. His knuckles were white where they held the steering wheel.
He muttered a ‘you’re welcome’ before you shut the door.
Turning towards the hostel, you took a deep breath and steeled yourself for another night in hell.
-- -- -- -- --
You woke up, as usual, with sweat dripping down your neck and a kink in your lower back. You groaned, twisting your upper body in an effort to stretch as much as you could in the tiny bunk. It was a shit hole, you could at least accept that now.
The owner of the hostel had a no-closed-doors rule, which honestly, you felt was a little bit suspicious considering the fact that the bathrooms were also co-ed. But things were different in the city, you figured. Maybe privacy wasn’t such a big deal.
There were people talking loudly in the hallway, an American couple having an argument that apparently, couldn’t have been held outside or maybe a few hours later. You had to work tonight, and you’d been hoping to get eight hours of sleep for once.
Rubbing your eyes, you sat up, your head just shy of smacking into the wooden frame of the bed above you. You unplugged your phone, finding two texts from Taehyung, one from your boss, and six from Mark. You opened your brother’s first.
Taehyung [07:04am]: Y/N, it’s been a month already. Stop being a brat and go home. You’ve made your point.
Taehyung [07:24am]: At least tell me where you are, please.
You sighed and ran your hand over your face, your eyes falling shut as you tried to push his words out of your mind. He didn’t get it - of course he didn’t. He’d spent his whole life as the star of the family, getting anything and everything he desired. Any dreams he had, he was encouraged to follow them, no matter how crazy they were. Why couldn’t that same kindness extend to you?
As you always did, you deleted his messages, but not without the usual tinge of guilt.
You opened your boss’ message next, which was just a photo of your next schedule. A ridiculous amount of hours, but at least you could make up for the money you’d blown on your tattoo.
Next, you opened Mark’s texts.
Mark [12:33am]: Y/N, I was serious. That place is a dump and you shouldn’t be staying there
Mark [12:35am]: Just come stay with me
Mark [12:40am]: Even just for a little while, a couple of weeks
Mark [02:03am]: Seriously
Mark [02:05am]: I can’t sleep because I’m imagining you being eaten alive by termites
Mark [08:03am]: I’m outside. Call me when you wake up
You furrowed your brows, eyes flicking up to the current time. 8:07. He’d only texted you a few minutes ago, then. Hearing your roommate peacefully snoring above you, you slid out of the bed and rushed through the doorway, dodging the couple still going at it in the hallway.
Once you were in the common area, you called Mark. He picked up right away.
“Mark, why are you outside?” you asked before he even had a chance to say hello. You couldn’t quite hide the irritation in your voice.
You heard him sigh on the other end. ���Are you really asking me that?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
You felt a breeze and turned to the front desk, where the owner was standing, his eyes shamelessly roaming your frame. He had a fan pointing directly at you, causing goosebumps to form on your arms and legs. Usually, you slept in more than just a tank top and shorts, but you hadn’t been able to deal with the heat last night.
“I’m not leaving until you come with me,” Mark said.
Turning away from the owner, you walked over to the front window, one finger sliding the curtain to the side so that you could peek out. There he was, leaning against his car while he stared up at the building you were in. He looked pissed, which further annoyed you. Why did he care so much?
“I said no,” you told him, your voice as firm as you could make it. Mark rolled his eyes, a subtle smirk to the side of his lips.
“And I’m not accepting no as an answer. Just get your shit and let’s go.”
You huffed in annoyance, letting the curtain fall closed once more. “Go home, Mark. You’re not my brother.”
Mark laughed bitterly on the other end. “You’re right, I’m not. Do you want me to call him? ‘Cause I will.”
“No!” you replied quickly, squeezing your eyes shut. “Don’t call him. Please.”
You were met with silence on the other end for a long moment before Mark replied. “Either you come with me, or I call your brother and tell him you’re staying in an infested hole in the ground. It’s up to you.”
Taking in a shaky breath, you opened your eyes, running your fingers through your hair. You didn’t get why he cared so much, or why he couldn’t just leave you alone and go on with his life. “Fine. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Ten,” Mark said. “I’m hungry and I don’t feel like waiting that long.”
You rolled your eyes, not granting him a response before you disconnected the call.
Needless to say, you took your sweet time as you gathered all of your things, tossing them into your duffel bag without any sense of organization. You weren’t quiet, either, figuring it was only fair if your roommate lost a few winks of sleep after all she’d put you through.
By the time you were walking out the front door to the car, Mark’s lips were set into a deep frown, eyebrows creased as he watched you.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re going to get wrinkles,” you told him, tossing your bag into the already opened trunk. “In fact, you probably already have some, old man.”
“The hell are you wearing?” Mark asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
You looked down at your clothes. You hadn’t taken the time to change out of your pajamas, simply because you were worried Mark would storm in if you took too long.
“It was hot last night,” you tried, tugging the hem of your tank top down. Mark scoffed and walked around to the driver’s side of the car, muttering something to himself that you couldn’t catch.
Once you slid into the passenger’s seat, Mark handed you an iced coffee. It was only slightly melted, and you had to admit, it was just what you needed.
“How did you know I’d come with you?” you asked, taking a sip while Mark turned the key in the ignition.
“What?” he asked, barely paying attention to you as he pulled out onto the street.
“You got two coffees. What if I said no?”
Mark glanced over at you, his lips pulled into a cocky smirk. “It wasn’t an option. If you said no, I was going to walk in there and make a scene until you came with me.”
It was your turn to cross your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the seat. You wanted to ask him why it mattered to him where you were staying, but at the end of the day you knew why he cared. Your mom had taken him under her wing when he was a kid, even if you were too young to remember it.
Your family had fed and clothed him when his parents were too drugged out to remember they had a child to take care of. In a way, you figured, Mark felt a duty to repay the favor somehow. Or maybe he was just a controlling asshole - you couldn’t be sure.
“I’m not a kid,” you said under your breath, leaning your head against the cold glass of the window.
Mark didn’t respond, and you had to admit you were grateful. You didn’t need one more person telling you you were too young to know what you wanted, too inexperienced to make your own decisions. That was how you’d gotten into this situation in the first place.
You finished your coffee by the time Mark pulled up to his apartment building. Compared to the hostel you’d just left, it was practically a five-star hotel. Nothing fancy, but from here you could tell all four exterior walls were in good shape and even that was an upgrade.
You got out of the car, grabbing your bag from the back seat. Just as you went to follow Mark into the building, he stopped in front of you and turned around.
“Look, I’m sorry if I was kind of an asshole. I just,” he paused to chew at his lip, scratching the back of his head. “I felt like I had a responsibility. To your family, your parents…”
Mark trailed off and you couldn’t help the guilt you felt in your stomach. You were still a child when Mark was going through the worst of it, but you’d heard enough from eavesdropping on your parents’ conversations to know they quite literally saved his life.
You swallowed, wanting to reach out, but you resisted. At the end of the day, you hardly knew him, despite the connection you felt.
“It’s okay. I appreciate that you care… I guess I was just determined to do this on my own. Without anybody’s help,” you admitted.
Mark lifted his eyes to yours. “Sometimes you need to let people help.”
Like I did. You heard it, unspoken, in his words. Maybe you could have done it on your own, but it would be a hell of a lot easier if you accepted a helping hand from Mark.
“Fine,” you breathed. “But only for a few weeks. And I’m gonna cook and clean for you to earn my keep.”
Mark laughed as you brushed past him, shaking his head at you. “You don’t have to ask me twice. How about you start with breakfast? I’m still hungry, you know.”
#mark tuan#got7 fanfic#mark tuan fanfic#mark tuan smut#mark tuan angst#mark tuan imagine#mark tuan scenario#got7 imagine#got7 scenario#got7 angst#got7 smut#got7
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Sokkla Month Day 3: FMA:B AU
A/N: NGL i did toy with making sokka as mustang and azula as hawkeye but it be like it do. It was either this or Fate/Stay Night AU where someone needs a mana transfer (if you didn't know what a mana transfer is, good. pls stay pure) Anyways, without further ado-
Tunnels
Fifth Laboratory
Central City
As soon as Envy started to brag about how Ty Lee couldn't bring herself to shoot her wife in the face and the look of shock on her face, Sokka knew by the way her entire body was tensing up that this was not going to end well for both sides. While Envy was still oblivious, Sokka braced himself for the screams that were sure to follow the smug laughs.
"Congratu-fucking-lations Envy, you've just played yourself." Azula coldly smirked, her face in a sort of grin that reminded Sokka way too much of Kimblee that it sent a chill down his spine. Pocketing her gloves to reveal a transmutation circle etched into the top of her hand, she turned to look Envy in the eye before snapping her fingers.
Instantly, the room was filled with the agonizing screams of the homunculus as its tongue was set ablaze in a flash of turquoise. Glaring at Azula, she merely remarked "Remarkable, isn't it? After all, the human tongue has a rather high percentage of fat, which makes it oh so easy to burn."
Turning to the rest of the assembled group, Azula barked "Go find this Father guy, me and the lieutenant will deal with this sack of shit."
"You heard the man, let's go."
"But-"
"That's an order." Sokka barked to Aang.
"Look kid, we don't got much time." one of the Chimeras urged. Reluctantly, they started to move deeper and deeper into the tunnels. Before Envy could even move to block, it found itself on the receiving end of another sapphire barrage, scorching it from head to toe.
"So, you're the one who burnt Lust to a crisp." it huffed and puffed, as it spent the lives the Philosopher's stone contained to regenerate its health.
"Then you know just what kind of fate awaits you."
Enraged, it abandoned its human disguise and took on it's true form, a massive green hulking beast that had a host of faces stretching against it's very skin, their death masks an unnerving sight.
"I was just going easy on you, but now I'll make sure you and your pretty little boytoy there is going to- AHHH!FUCK!"
"You truly are a special kind of dumbfuck aren't you? First you openly brag about killing my closest friend, now you give me a bigger target to hit?" she laughed, before zapping him with rapid strikes that soon filled the air with smoke, soot and the ever familiar smell of burning flash that for a brief moment, transported Sokka back to that hot, blood-soaked sands of Ishval.
Sensing that it probably wasn't the best idea to hang around in the place where Lust got fried by her, it chose the only sensible option and ran on all fours into the labyrinth.
"Sokka, stay here. This one's mine to settle."
"She was my friend too!"
" Lieutenant Sokka Hawkeye , this is a direct order from your superior to stand down."
"Fine."
Turning to face the tunnels, she strode in with a singular purpose and aim. To avenge the death of Ty Lee.
-----
"Scar?"
"What is it?"
"I need to talk to you?"
"It's about the Colonel, isn't it?."
A nod. "I figured as much.", he sighed, "That face, the rage, I used to be like that long ago. The way I see it, she'll burn herself up long before she'll even get a chance to recover."
As if to emphasize his point, the sounds of Envy's tortured screams as it was relentlessly pursued echoed through the corridors. "Come, we need to keep moving." Reluctantly, Aang nodded and grit his teeth, steeling his heart to the blood curdling screams of someone getting burnt repeatedly.
-----
"Show yourself, you freak! Weren't you all high and mighty, boasting about your exploits, hmm? Too scared to pick on someone your own size?" she taunted, eyes peeled for any sign of movement.
"Come out come out wherever you are...or else I'll burn off your skin, bit by teensy bit, you worthless piece of crap." she continued, her voice raising by several octaves and taking on an almost sadistic tone.. Hearing the echoing cries and the almost sing song taunts, Sokka could stand it no longer and headed down the tunnels, his pistol at the low ready.
------
Turning a corner, Azula heard an all too familiar voice call out "Hey there, Colonel." Snapping around, she saw Ty Lee standing in her uniform leaning nonchalantly against the wall, before she lunged at her. She won't dare to touch her, not if the-
Her thoughts were cut short as Azula's face, twisted with rage, blasted the lookalike with an unceasing torrent. For good measure, she even charred the cartilage in its left knee and burnt out the soles on the right foot in addition to singing its eyes.
"If you think I'm afraid of calling in fires danger close, need I give you a lesson in who I am?" her lips curling in a feral grin before blasting her once more. At this point, Envy knew better than to try and reason with her and ran. "So much for homunculi being the superior being." she tutted, her face stained with traces of soot and ash that left black streaks on her creamy white skin.
Taking respite in a mass of pipes, it spotted Sokka, who was looking for her, hoping against hope that she didn't completely lose herself. Even injured, it formed up a devious plan as it stalked him from the shadows.
"Fuck, this place is like a maze." he uttered, wandering through the tunnels. Hearing the sound of boots, he clung to the shadows. When the noise drew level, he aimed it at her face at the same time Azula pointed her fingers at him. For a brief moment, neither side let their guard down, before exhaling.
"Didn't I tell you to stay back?"
"I couldn't Colonel. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't do something stupid."
"You're probably right. An extra set of eyes would be helpful."
Traveling a short distance, Sokka suddenly paused and leveled his gun at the back of her head.
"Do you know who your gun is pointed at?"
"Who? Don't make me laugh, when it's just us, the Colonel calls me by my first name." Turning to face her, Envy (who was disguised as Azula) smirked. "So you two really are that close huh." Letting out a small breath, Sokka executed a double tap to the chest and one to the head before replying "I lied."
Shrugging off his shots, Envy got back up and tried to rush him, but Sokka calmly slammed two rounds into the kneecaps, making it kneel on the ground as he leisurely holstered his dry gun and drew two more from his back, knocking out its arms and wrists before finally unslinging the rifle and giving the homunculus a dose of high speed lead poisoning.
Thoroughly pissed off, Envy lashed out and stabbed his shoulder, making him drop the rifle before it wrapped an appendage around him and smacked him upside the head. Before it could paint the walls with his grey matter, the real Colonel Azula arrived and toasted Envy, rendering its grip on him a pile of soot and ash.
"You truly are a glutton for punishment aren't you? First you kill my friend and boast about it, now you hurt my lieutenant? I swear I will burn you until you're nothing but a pile of ash and dust. And I've got all the time in the world, you miserable rat." Even as she spoke, her fingers snapped like a machine gun setting it ablaze over and over again.
"How many lives you've got left? Six? Sixty? Six hundred? No matter, it's all the same to me. Tell me, how does it feel to get your ass roasted by the very same person who killed Lust in the very same way?"
"Why you-GAH!!!"
"Stop, please!"
"What, not hot enough? I'll gladly crank up the heat. Stay back lieutenant, it's going to get a little toasty in here." Like a well oiled machine, her snap came almost naturally and any humanoid form of Envy was finally turned into cinders, whilst the tip of her gloves were starting to char and smoke. From the ashes, a green six legged slug-esque creature crawled away, it's squeaking voice lamenting at having been reduced to this form once again.
Without hesitation, Azula applied pressure on the offending creature, before commenting "So this is your true form. What a pathetic little being."
"P-Please-don't kill me!" it begged.
"Envy means jealousy, does it not? Well then, you won't have anything to be jealous of very shortly."
"Nooo please I don't want to die, not like this!!" it screeched.
Before Azula could turn the hapless homunculus into the next life, a sound of a hammer being cocked gave her paused.
"And just what do you think you're doing?"
"That's far enough. I'll handle it"
"What does it matter if it's me or you that deals the final blow? The fucker is going to die regardless, so lower your weapon."
"No. I cannot obey that."
"I will not ask again."
"Put your damn hands in the air, now!"
A burst of alchemically created earth wave soon took the decision making away from them as it launched it right into Aang's hand, who kept a vice like grip on it.
"Nice of you to drop by. Now hand it over."
"No."
"This is a direct order by a superior officer, hand it over."
"No."
"Are you asking for a fight and a court martial?"
"Bring it on by all means. But take a good look at yourself and ask, is this the face you want to lead Amestris with?!"
"Kill it if you wish, what right do I have as someone who has done the same. But I shudder to think what kind of world such a person held prisoner by their desire for vengeance would create." Scar added.
"Colonel, I have no intention of letting that slimeball live to see the next sunrise but please, this is not your fight anymore."
"No, you don't understand! I finally ran the bastard down, the bastard who killed Ty Lee! I-"
"But still, I cannot let you do something so reckless! Justice is what she needed, not this blind hatred for her killer. If this is how you act if one person wrongs you, what then will you do if a region or hell, another nation crosses you? Will you turn it into another Ishval? No, I will not let you."
"Please, let it go. I know you're better than that, Azula. I'm begging you, please!"
"Go on, do what you need to. Then what?"
"Then it'll be the second last shot I'll ever take. After that, what else is there to live for?"
"No, that won't happen. That can never happen." Summoning her rage, she loosed off an intense jet that blackened the walls of a nearby tunnel, it's heat making everyone sweat like a hot August day.
Looking at the people around her, she remarked "Ironic, isn't it? Scolded by a child, lectured by a man who has all the right to seek vengeance against me for the crimes against his people and you, you-"
"-I've done it again." she ended mournfully. Clasping the hand that was still pointing at her, she gently lowered it down, saying "I've hurt you. Please, forgive me.", before kneeling at his feet, covering her face as the waterworks were out in full force. Holstering his derringer, he too dropped to his knees, and held her in his arms as she cried into his shoulders.
"Azula, I forgive you." he whispered in her ear, all caution and decorum thrown right out of the window as he rubbed her back in small circles.
"Really?" she looked up with red rimmed golden eyes.
"Really."
"Thank you, Sokka. For pulling me back from the abyss. I love you."
"I love you too, my little firecracker."
"Goddamnit Lieutenant, I can't believe you lied to me!" Envy squeaked.
"Shut up you pipsqueak, who gave you the right to speak!" Aang scolded, making it shrink back in fear.
"Hey Azula?"
"Yes?"
"We still got a transmutation circle to stop."
"Right."
"The usual place, 8 pm tomorrow evening?"
"As long as you're the one footing the bill."
"Deal. Now let's go."
#sokkla month#au#sokkla#sokka x azula#i could have had them eat each other's face out in the tunnels but it stopping daddy from making a philo stone was more important#not sure where to insert a secret tunnel pun#day 3: AU
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