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mqverick · 6 months

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Waking On Air || chapter 5

It was ironic, honestly, how you managed to get back with Tom, but had the person who’d gotten under your skin eventually steer clear of you. Maverick; the daily thrill of your day, the annoying little parasite you couldn’t scratch off your body, the person who wouldn’t leave your side for a moment had been ignoring and breaking your heart for what was nearly a week.

At first, you’d barely noticed. Preoccupied with how you’d somehow managed to put your joy second for once again in order not to hurt Tom, you’d missed how Maverick would instantly change paths if he was walking the same direction as you. It began being clear, though, a couple of days later.

Like the refrain of a sappy heartbreak song, it physically burned you to come into realization with the fact that Pete Mitchell had stopped showing signs of interest in you and it had you puzzling yourself over what you’ve done wrong.

The sudden change of his behavior ended up affecting you more than your mind could possibly imagine. Your eyes drooped with sleep, skin pale as you forced yourself to walk into Viper’s office, legs and heart heavy. Sure, you weren’t stupid; you knew that all the exhaustion had ruined your performance, constantly getting called off your aircraft and aborting missions.

Part of you knew exactly what you were going to get told, word by word — but the other part chose to not expect anything. Your plane was all that could get you through miserable conditions such as the current one and you couldn’t bare to get grounded or even worse, suspended.

The words that came out of Viper’s mouth came as no surprise to you, yet still managed to make your knees weaken, uncomfortably cleaning your throat as he dismissed you. Your fingers rolled into fists, digging deep into the sides of your uniform as you bit back an entire breakdown that was hanging on from a thin thread.

You’re grounded, Lieutenant.

He’d promised it’d only be for a small amount of time, until you’d come back to your senses and would be able to perform again, but it’d cut deep through your already stretched out and bruised ego.

“Roger?” a familiar soft voice called from behind you, causing you to turn around slowly. You came face to face with a very worried-looking and confused Maverick; his brows cocked in attempt to read your stiff expression. You tried to speak to him, but found your voice dying down between chokes that accompanied tears. After glancing around reluctantly to make sure no one else was passing by, you lunged your body forward, hitting Maverick’s chest with a slight bump, burying your head in his neck and clutching your arms around his shoulders. Crestfallen, you dampened the fabric of his own uniform with your sobs, only just realizing how powerful the overstimulation you’d been holding back had gotten.

Maverick was hesitant to touch you at first. He didn’t much know what to do with himself — it was the first time you’d ever touched him as well (besides the occasional punches in his shoulders for being a jackass) — but as the lavender scent from your shampoo filled the air, his arms encircled your waist gently, holding you with so much warmth and fear at the same time; as if you were expensive china he’d be petrified to break.

His heartbeat was beating so loud that his brain was getting dizzy by the sound of his blood pumping through his veins. Having you in his embrace spoke volumes, making him melt in a puddle. It scared you to admit that your body was having an experience same to his.

The hug was tentative at first but gradually grew more secure as your sobs eventually came to an end, eyes dry and puffy. You wanted to let go of the pilot’s enveloping embrace, even though not a single muscle moved when the message was delivered to your nervous system.

“‘M sorry,” your voice was muffled by his shoulder and you finally found the courage to pull away from him and take him in, the hypnotized and sort of dumb look on his face. The corners of your lips curled into a tiny smile, which he mirrored as he unintentionally ran his hands up your back, exploring the feel of your uniform against his calloused palms, until they stopped at your shoulder blades, suddenly making him a lot jumpier than before. He quickly took a few steps back from you, causing your little grin to drop.

“I have to go,” he blurted out in a rush, almost running into a wall as he fastened his pace, walking away from you. Your heart ached as you watched him leave — the same way he’d felt when he had to watch you do the same thing to him back when you’d met with him at the cliffs.

A little sniffle, a tear escaping as you wiped it away, not knowing what to do with yourself. How had it gotten like that?

The slanting rays of the setting sun gave a warm orange tinge to the sky, as you tiredly gazed outside of your window, chin propped on your hands. The boredom was killing you slowly along with the package of unanswered questions of why Maverick was going through such a hard time with you. The phone was ringing and you were pretty sure it was your boyfriend calling you to ask if you’d like to come over to his place, but you already knew what your answer would be.

It shot arrows through your heart; having to pretend around Tom. He was such a kindhearted man and he deserved so much better than you, you just wished you had the courage to tell him.

An unexpected face popped up on your window and you jumped behind, almost hitting your head on the coffee table, hand over your fast beating heart. It was Goose, with a wide smirk on his face, snickering at your reaction. He motioned you to open the window and you did, still sort of shaking thanks to the fright he gave you.

“‘Ey, there,” he mocked in a British accent.

“Get lost, Bradshaw.”

Goose placed a hand over his heart, too, pouting in fake sadness. “Your words wound me, Lieutenant.” You rolled your eyes and slightly pushed him away, trying to hold back a laugh.

“What happened, Goose?”

“You and Mav,” he replied almost immediately, causing your eyebrows to raise in confusion. “Well, as mentioned before, you guys are my second family, aside from my baby boy and Carole, and having to watch both of you look so ridiculously miserable when you obviously both have the hots for each other kind of frustrates me.”

You cringed at the word ‘hots’, knowing your feelings for Maverick had moved far past that line. “We’ve talked about that before, Goose.”

“Yeah, I know,” he dismissed with a sad smile, placing his hand on your arm, holding you softly as he carefully caressed the fabric of your thin black shirt. “What I also know, though, is that aside from what your façade shows in public, you both have no balls to face your feelings, ergo me intervening.”

“Even if I wanted to talk to him,” you hummed quietly, looking down at your feet, “he’s been fucking avoiding me as if I’ve got leprosy.”

Goose chuckled. “I think you might be forgetting that I have his address,” he suggested, slipping a small, crumbled piece of paper into the pocket of your sweatpants, then proceeded to mess your hair up goodbye with some poor excuse of having to leave and that the decision was yours to make.

You reached into your pocket and unfolded the little paper, staring blankly at it for a moment.

Maverick was minding his own business when he heard an unexpected trail of shaky knocks on his door. It’s late, he thought, rubbing his eyes open as he walked towards the door, opening it while trying to regain consciousness from being half dozed off. “Goose, I swear to God—”

“Try again,” he heard a feminine voice chirp, his eyes suddenly wide open, pupils blown away in shock — and confusion — as he stood frozen, gaping at your frame. He looked so priceless you almost felt sorry for surprising him like that.

“Roger?” he questioned with a slight voice crack.

“Aren’t you letting me in?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” Maverick moved aside, inviting you in as he shut his door. He was afraid that you weren’t real; that this was all part of a dream he’d wake up from feeling lightheaded again, was terrified of moving any muscle of his body that could potentially ruin the dream and make you disappear from in front of him.

“I’m sorry for showing up like that,” you apologized, looking everywhere but at him.

“It’s okay, you know I don’t mind,” his response came quick along with a sharp intake of breath. Sputtering and struggling to find the words — or even get his mind think straight for that matter — Maverick scraped a hand through his un-gelled, short hair and opened his mouth. “How did you, uh, how did you know where I live?”

You chuckled, wanting to give him the same stern-looking smirk he’d been giving you since the first time you saw him. You’d never come across through such a fidgety version of Maverick before and you were terribly tempted to give him the worst time, turn his face crimson, but you opted to be civil about it.

“Not the only one who’s got the monopoly of barging into people’s houses anymore, huh? I’d keep an eye on your title if I were you, Lieutenant Mitchell.” Maverick eased, smiling a little at your joke. He offered you a glass of water (and the leftover vanilla cake Goose had made for him in the weekend), then sat down with you on his couch. “Seriously, though, I just wanted to apologize for whatever I’ve done that’s driven you away. It’s been eating my head all week.”

Maverick shifted nervously and you bit the inside of your cheek, scared you’d hit a nerve. A long, loud sigh from both of you — and then he was looking at you straight in the eyes, fingers tangled his in dog chains.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he murmured lowly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips and you couldn’t help but feel guilty about how he lacked of that Maverick bit about him.

“Then how come you avoid me every time we’re in the same room, Pete? We’re all in the same academy, one way or another you’d eventually be forced to talk to me anyway.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted in the first place?” You scrunched your nose in confusion, cocking your head to the side. Maverick turned his body to you, facing you completely. “Not to talk to you all the time? Not bother you, not be up your ass? It would make Kazansky uncomfortable.”

“For fuck’s sake,” you exhaled in exhaustion, massaging the spot between your eyebrows. Had he been that upset because of Tom? “This entire time you’re telling me that you’ve been treating me as a deadly disease because you’re suddenly oh, so kind to not mess with Tom and me?”

Maverick bunched his hands in fists and brought them up on his forehead, leaning towards his knees. “It’s not a ray of sunshine to watch you be every second of the day around him, you know.”

“He’s my boyfriend, Pete, what the hell am I supposed to do — stab him repeatedly in the chest and then leave him a note saying how he should take me out on that fancy restaurant around the corner?!” You instantly regretted the tone of voice you’d adopted, curling back into the couch until your back hit the arm. “Look, all I’m saying is that maybe you should give up on me.”

A profound emptiness opened up inside him, threatening to swallow him whole, his heart feeling as if it was getting squeezed. “I don’t want to.”

Your pupils widened, cheeks scorching under the dim lighting of Maverick’s living room. It was exactly what you’d been dreading to hear and what you prayed not to come out of his mouth at the same time — it caught you so off guard that you thought you were having a near heart attack experience. You crossed your legs, tapping your fingers on the top of your knees in prevention of grabbing his face and smashing your lips against his without thinking about the consequences.

“What do you mean you don’t want to?”

You knew precisely what he meant, yet your mind was spinning, dizzy by his words, lost in his eyes and intoxicating smell. Maverick scooted closer to you, bumping the heel of his foot against yours.

“I mean I don’t want to,” he repeated, voice lower than the first time, adopting a shy tone. There it was again; the Mitchell charm you’d missed about him, the slight teasing, the smirk, the look on his face that made you ascend. “Do you want me to give up on you?”

No, never, don’t you dare give up on me. You simply stared at him, so breathless, so out of your comfort zone, so speechless. He looked angelic and his words were getting your body to reach inhuman temperatures — you thought you’d die if he kept looking at you like that. Your lips parted, wanting to reply to him, because — god — had you been looking stupid enough standing there in front of him like a statue. Maverick grazed the tip of his fingers against yours, waiting patiently for any reaction. His thumbs traced your knuckles in a silent confession — he couldn’t let all of it out yet, it was too soon and he didn’t want to risk getting the remains his already broken heart completely shattered.

You couldn’t get any words out of your mouth, which was frankly becoming quite embarrassing. In that moment, only the two of you existed, leaving the rest of the world in a blurry fade; it was just you and Maverick and thousands of loud, yet unspoken words in between.

“Maverick,” you eventually breathed, but your voice muted when you realized how close he’d gotten, his forehead almost touching yours as he tested the waters and slowly began leaning in. Your eyelids shut instantly, eyes rolling at the back of your head as you felt hot puffs of air against your skin. Warmth pooled between your thighs, lips aching to touch his very kissable ones, but you couldn’t. A finger came up against them instead, slowing him down— but didn’t stop him from pressing a kiss on the pad of it.

You were sure you’d asphyxiate yourself by not allowing yourself to breathe normally — or at all, for that matter. You leaned your head against his, eyes still closed. “We can’t,” you whispered with a heavy heart and felt him sigh.

“Why not?”

“You know why,” was your answer, even though you yourself hadn’t had the slightest idea of what you were talking about. Not kissing him had been the hardest task you’d ever executed (suddenly losing your life in the pre-flight seemed like a sweet idea) and you hated yourself for it. You hated breaking Maverick’s heart again and again.

“Roger…”

“When I first met you,” you muttered quietly with a relaxed smile, “I thought you were the most arrogant and pompous person I’ve met.”

You heard him chuckle, the sound of his laughter jumpstarting your heart in the most beautiful way possible. “Is that so?”

“Mhm, yeah. Never thought a human with an ego bigger than his actual physical height existed. You probably proved me wrong.” You took your sweet time with finally pulling away from him, bringing your palm against his cheek.

“D’you still think that?” Maverick asked innocently, leaning towards your touch.

“Kind of.” He was everything you hated and loved. Pete Mitchell was the only person in your life that made you lose control, that had you falling into an abyss without reaching anything. “Pete?” you spoke his name softly, removing your hand from his face.

“Yeah?”

You got up from your seat, walking towards his door and opening it. Just before you were about to leave, you stopped to look at him, nervousness pulsing through your veins with every beat of your heart. “Don’t give up on me yet.”

chapter 6

tags:

@holishol

@iheqrtaustin

@lemmons1998

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pandoraheadcanons · 2 years

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Dang that Avatar 2 teaser really got me back into this Fandom. It's been way too long. Anyways, I was just wondering what your opinions were on Selfridge? Like, looking at the deleted scenes it seems like so much stuff was cut (which is why I'm glad people took to fanfiction to give more of an insight to the Na'vi culture and kept certain deleted scenes in mind). But I was wondering what your thoughts were. (Tbh it's a crime that for the 10 year anniversary that we didn't get a full 5 hour director's cut of the film. Seeing all of those deleted scenes fully animated and rendered would've been awesome).

Hi there! Yes, there was so much good material that was cut from the final product, but that’s the nature of the beast, I suppose. At least they released the extended version, as well as the scenes they didn’t use!

So Parker Selfridge. My immediate reaction to him is that he’s a sort of bezos/musk. He’s entirely profit driven, at the expense of the na’vi (and probably the humans who work for him lbr). He’s like any CEO in terms that he’s more concerned with shareholders and stocks than he is with anything else. The chunk of unobtanium he has in his office is like a way of saying ‘you see how I have this precious resource as just a bobble on my desk?”

You can also couple that with the na’vi artifacts he has in his office (a bow and what appears to be a piece of jewelry? idk), and it’s all very reminiscent of what we see in real colonization. Keep the pretty artifacts for display, and destroy everything meaningful.

He ultimately seems remorseful that Quaritch decides to destroy Hometree with the Omatikaya still there. As bad as it is, I don’t think he had a full grasp of the magnitude of the situation until that happened. When bulldozing the willow grove, he just shrugs and says ‘he’ll move’ when Jake tries to stop the dozers. One person didn’t matter to him. But when he says Hometree going down in fire and smoke, you can see the realization of what he’s doing sink in.

Then, the deleted scene where he tries to protest against Quaritch taking over. He storms in yelling and doesn’t stop until Quaritch bodily lifts him up and threatens him that he’s “a long way from earth.” (This even makes him nearly cry). Basically, Selfridge has to come to terms that he’s got a warmonger general in charge, who only cares about destruction, not the sort of “clean removal” Selfridge wanted.

So, I think he’s a jackass who aided in the destruction of land, homes, and people. I think he was willfully ignorant of what was going on until he was forced to look at it in all its gory reality. He’s an interesting character in terms of having to reckon with his own actions in regards to the colonization of Pandora.

#parker selfridge #thoughts and meta

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨1

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Yay, mob Clark. And I know what you’re saying right now, enough with Clark Kent! I get it haha. Promise, for a while, this will be the last I do of him. I have Lee fic in the work right now, the early development of medieval Peter, and I’m still sitting on some Loki ft. an exchange student... and then all my other series of course!

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You stood against the wall, chewing your lip as you looked around the gallery. You should be ecstatic, you should be floating around on a cloud, but all you could feel was crushing anxiety. It was truly a dream come true; your art hanging on the wall. Only three pieces, but it was there, and your name was below it in print.

You tugged on the waist of your dress and teetered in your heels. It was a borrowed outfit, you couldn’t afford anything appropriate to the upscale venue. The classic starving artist, or almost. You slipped your phone from your purse and up your sleeve. You subtly checked the time and for the little chat icon in the corner. Still no message.

Marcus was almost an hour late. He texted just after the event opened to warn you he was caught up with work but you worried he wouldn’t show up at all. It wasn’t his fault his boss was a jackass but you weren’t prepared to face this alone. You dropped your phone back into your slender purse and snapped it shut.

Vanessa, the gallery owner, made you flinch as she appeared almost out of the air. You smiled at her shyly and stopped chewing your lip.

“You should mingle,” she said, “you have an interested buyer. You might have a few more if you come out from the corner.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so nervous,” you confessed, “I-- thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“You earned it,” she touched your arm daintily, “all those hard hours working the back room, I couldn’t not hang a few pieces.”

You fixed your posture and tried to seem as confident as her. Your income came solely from hours of at-home data entry as you volunteered at the gallery in your few hours between. It was all worth it and maybe if you sold something tonight, Vanessa would feature you work again and you wouldn’t need to spend the bulk of your days staring at tiny font.

“So, where’s this buyer?” you asked hopefully.

“That’s my girl,” Vanessa trilled, “he seems very interested.”

She led you across the room, stopping to greet other artists and old friends with a kiss on the cheek and deep laughter. You’d met them all before as you were often working at these events. It was your first time as one of them.

When at last you neared your little stretch of the wall, a man stood with his head slightly back as he stared at your proto-renaissance portraits. He was tall and his broad shoulders strained the rich fabric of his jacket. His dark hair was neatly parted and a slight curl marked the front above the shadow of scruff poking out along his jawline.

“Mr. Kent,” Vanessa chimed, “I found her.”

He turned to look at you and his deep blue eyes struck you. He smiled between you and the gallery owner, his chiseled jaw even more defined by the gesture.

“This is Mr. Kent,” she introduced you in turn, “I believe he was interested in the larger piece.”

“All three, if you don’t have another buyer lined up,” he intoned, “I think they belong together.”

“All of them?” you raised your brows, “well, I, yeah, I guess--”

“We can put something together for you,” Vanessa interrupted your awkward stuttering, “let me just mark them.”

She took the silver pen she kept on a chain around her wrist and scribbled in the corner of the tags to mark them as sold. You were slightly numb at your disbelief. You were a bit reluctant to part with your work but the check would ease your grief.

“The way you use colours,” he said as he faced the paintings again, “I’ve recently had some work done in my house and I hate the sight of naked walls.”

“Thank you,” you said as you stepped a little closer and looked at your delicate strokes.

“Pardon me,” Vanessa rushed away as she beckoned to one of her assistants and prattled orders.

“Vanessa tells me you’re a new artist,” he said.

“New in a sense,” you said, “I guess, I’m officially an artist now.”

“Oh? I’m flattered. Your first buyer?”

“Besides some online fanart, yeah,” you replied, “so, Mr. Kent, what do you do?”

“Clark,” he corrected, “and a little bit of everything.”

An awkward silence took over and was thankfully interrupted by your name. You turned as Marcus rushed over and his shoes slipped on the polished floor. He reached you and kissed your cheek as he caught his breath.

“I’m so sorry, I got caught in traffic on the way over and then my oil light started flashing,” he gasped out.

“Hey, you’re here,” you rubbed his shoulder and straightened his tie without thinking as it hung at an angle.

“So, you sell anything yet?” he asked.

“Yes, actually, um, Mr-- Clark,” you gestured to the man standing patiently to the side, “he just bought all three.”

“Damn,” Marcus said, “guess I can hold onto my savings.”

“Marc,” you nudged his arm with your knuckles, “you know we can’t afford your cheesiness.”

“Sorry, uh,” Marcus laughed at himself, “I’m Marcus.”

He held out his hand and Clark shook it. His eyes strayed to you as his features sharpened just a little.

“You two…?” he ventured.

“Five years,” Marcus announced, “guess we’re going steady.”

“Oh,” Clark nodded placidly, “are you an artist too?”

“God no, I can hardly write my own name legibly,” Marcus kidded, “I’m a developer.”

“Computers,” Clark mused.

“Yeah, computers,” Marcus scoffed, “and you?”

“Own a couple businesses,” Clark shrugged.

“Must be successful if you can hang around here,” Marcus said and you elbowed him in embarrassment.

“I guess,” Clark smoothed his dark purple jacket and checked his watch, “I’ll let you two be. Maybe I’ll find something to go with these fine pieces.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, “I’m happy to see my work go to a good home.”

“I hope to see more in future,” he returned kindly.

He turned and carried on to the statue constructed of can tabs and greeted another suited man. You looked at Marcus as he leaned in to read the tags beneath your paintings. He stood and looked at you with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, ten grand?” he hissed.

“Pretty good pay for one night,” you chirped, “glad you could make it.”

“Sorry again, I… I had to redo some code. Adam was in a mood so,” he shook his head and sighed, “let’s not talk about it. Let’s celebrate.” He peeked over at the server with a tray of stemmed flutes, “and you can decide what you’re going to buy me with that check.”

“Hush,” you chided as you took a glass of champagne, “now is not the time to go over bills.”

🎨

At the end of the night, you watched one of the assistants take down your canvas and you helped wrap them in paper and twine. As you finished a loopy knot, you were surprised by the figure beside you. You looked up and set the smallest piece atop the larger ones. Clark smiled as you moved to let him pick them up.

“All yours,” you said, almost mournful to see them go.

“Thanks,” he said as he tucked them easily under his thick arm, “I forgot earlier but do you have a card? Are you open for commissions?”

“You must have a lot of walls,” you looked down and opened your purse, “I have a card and I could try a commission.”

You slid out one of the cards that had lingered in your wallet for more than a year. You handed it to him and he read the flowery font before tucking it away in his jacket.

“I do… have a lot of walls,” he said with a smirk, “I’ll give you a call once these are hung.”

“O-okay,” you kept from wringing your hands and closed your purse, “thank you… again.”

“My pleasure,” assured, “have a good night.”

“Yeah, good night,” you said and watched him go.

You let out a breath and smiled to yourself. You would talk to Vanessa and get your cut of the check before you went. Then you could worry about getting Marcus home. He’d had a little too much champagne and you’d left him in the backroom so you could help with the clean-up.

Vanessa bid goodbye to one of her featured artists as you neared. She turned to you and threw up her hands in delight.

“Wonderful, darling,” she said, “you earned that wall.”

“Thanks,” you grinned bashfully.

“Really. That man has never bought a piece before,” she smirked, “I’ve been dying to get into his wallet for years.”

“I never saw him before…”

“Oh, well, yes, he has not been to many of these either. I often see him at other galleries,” she explained, “I hope you have some more for the next.”

“Um, yeah, I should be able to--”

“I’ll have the check for you tomorrow,” she patted your shoulder as her eye was caught by another, “go get your boyfriend out of my studio.”

You accepted your dismissal and turned on your heel. That was just Vanessa, steely but slightly flighty as well. Besides, you were exhausted and you would likely be dragging Marcus into a cab.

You found him slumped at the paint-splattered table. You shook him awake and smiled dopily as he opened his eyes.

“Babe,” he pushed his arm around you.

“Marcus,” you drawled in disappointment, “let’s get out of here.”

“Huh?” He looked around and hiccupped, “oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You had a long day,” you assured him as you rubbed his back and let him lean on you as he stood, “I’m just happy you showed up after all that nonsense.”

“Of course, babe,” he slurred and you helped him through the door.

You kept your head down as you slowly sneaked out past Vanessa but you didn’t miss her side-eye. It was best to be as covert as possible. You came out through the door and nearly dropped Marcus.

“Jesus, can I get a little help?” you snipped as you looked around for a yellow cab.

“Sorry, baby, sorry,” he got his feet flat but it hardly helped take his weight off of you.

You raised your hand to hail a cab and he slipped down your arm. Your ankle bent as you turned to try to catch him before you dropped him entirely. He was saved from hitting the ground as he was caught by another. You looked over his head as he was pushed up to his feet again.

Clark kept his arm behind Marcus as you stared at him, “oh my god, thank you.”

“No problem,” he said as he steadied your boyfriend, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied as you lifted your foot and kept the weight off your ankle, “I just need to get a taxi.” You raised your hand again as you tried to see past the large man, “if you don’t mind getting him in--”

“You can ride with me,” he said brusquely as he turned with Marcus and peered back at you, “this way.”

“We can’t--”

“On that ankle,” he said as you began to limp after him, “you won’t get him out on your own.”

“Really, I’m fine--”

“I don’t mind,” he said coolly as he came to a silver sports car and balanced Marcus against him as he opened the door, “I’ll need an address.”

“Uh, oh,” you folded your hands, “thank you. Really, you’ve done too much.”

“It happens. I’ve had these nights,” he put Marcus across the seat and folded his legs up and shut the door, “you can take the front and tell me where I’m going.”

You hesitated and he opened the front door. You neared and hissed as you stumbled on your ankle. You caught yourself on his arm and quickly retracted your hand as you apologized.

“It’s alright,” he said as you sat in the front seat. He knelt and gently took your ankle. His thumb rubbed the swollen joint, “you really banged yourself up.”

“I’ll be okay,” you assured him, “thanks.”

He let go and stood. He waited for you to turn your legs into the car and gently closed the door. He rounded to the other side and got in as he fished around for his keys. He turned the engine and gripped the wheel with one hand as he took out his phone. He placed it on the magnetic holder and his fingers flicked over the screen.

“Address?” he asked.

You recited it and winced as Siri responded, ‘calculating route’. You shrunk against the luxury leather and glanced at him. He let out a huff and steered into the mostly empty street.

“I’m sorry about all this--”

“No, don’t be,” he glanced in the rearview, “he must be happy for you.”

“Yeah, uh, I think he is,” you said as he followed the map directions, “I am too. I mean, it will go along way… uh, well, you know, things can be tough or--” you shrugged, “I mean, it’s not about the money.”

“Yeah, but it’s nice to be paid,” he said lightly, “and I don’t mind paying for good art.”

You looked out the window as your cheeks burned. You could smell his cologne, subtle but strong. You played with your purse as your nerves brewed in your chest. You watched the sidewalks and the street lights as your surroundings grew more familiar.

He pulled up to your building. It wasn’t the greatest area and the brick façade was faded and cracked. Before you could get out, he was at your door. He offered his hand and helped you out as you leaned on the car. He let you go and opened the back and lifted Marcus out. He hooked your boyfriend’s arm over his shoulder and offered his other arm.

“Come on,” he said.

“Look, you don’t-- there’s an elevator.”

“I’d feel better if I got you inside,” he insisted, “especially in this area.”

You relented and took his arm and limped beside him up the steps. You took out your keys and went ahead of him as he dragged Marcus in. You went to the elevator and hit the button. The doors glided open and you stepped inside. He stood close in the small metal box and Marcus murmured dumbly at his side.

The doors dinged and he let you out first. He followed you down the hall and you unlocked your apartment and waved him inside. He carried Marcus to the couch at your direction and you leaned against the armchair as you bent your leg to check your ankle.

“You should put some ice on that,” Clark said as he neared, “get some sleep yourself.”

“Yeah, I will,” you assured, “thank you, again.”

You felt embarrassed as you eyed his expensive suit and looked around your tiny apartment. It must have been laughable to him. He hardly seem bothered as he retreated to the door.

“I’ll let you then,” he said, “and thank you. I really do like your work.”

The door shut in his stead and you heard his footsteps down the long hall until the door at the end swung open. You glanced at Marcus and shook your head. You weren’t as happy to have had him at the show then.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #series #mob au #mob!au #mob!clark kent #portrait of a dangerous man #dark fic #dark!fic #superman #au #dc #dcu

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thebiscuiteternal · 3 years

Text

(Throwing this out in the ether to see if it’s interesting enough for me to continue.)

“Your Shadow Holding Hands With Mine” Alternate Timeline, Sangxian, Accidental Living Saber Nie Huaisang, Canon Typical Violence, Signs of Mutual Insanity, Referenced Torture

__________

He was pleased to say that the guards on the walls had never seen him coming.

He had already slipped through the gates when the screaming started, and a humorless grin crossed his mouth as he made his way from building to building, setting the red girls on anyone who moved fast enough that they might escape the waves of corpses clambering over the walls.

"Did you see something interesting, jiejie?" he asked when one of the red girls returned and draped herself against his back, arms around his neck.

~"A strange one,"~ she whispered, all cold breath against his skin. ~"One like you."~

He frowned. "Like me?"

~"Once gold, now dimmed."~

His frown deepened into a scowl at the implications of the description. "Show me."

She giggled and floated off, and he left the rest of the compound to the ever-increasing army of corpses as he followed.

The trail ended at what had to be the outpost commander’s residence, since it was much higher quality than the soldier's dwellings.

He didn't have to search long before finding a small, heavily bound body curled up and unconscious on a narrow backless couch.

At the sight of the greens and greys of Qinghe Nie, he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Surely not-

His stomach sank when he rolled the figure over and found himself staring at Nie Huaisang.

His friend was in terrible shape, far too pale and his breathing was weak. He was badly bruised in some areas and his skin had been scraped raw and bloody in others.

Remembering what the red girl had said, he carefully tugged the other boy's outer robes open, trying to ignore the sight of even more bruises and scrapes, and pressed his fingers to the dantian.

Oh. Oh, he knew the hollow coldness that greeted his careful probing all too well. He'd felt the same thing in Jiang Cheng after he’d been rescued from Lotus Pier, which meant this could only be the work of one particular Core-Melting Jackass.

But there was something else. Something weird.

Curious, he fed a little more resentful energy into the other boy's body and...

Wow.

He did it a third time and marveled at how, once more, the resentful energy just melted into Nie Huaisang's meridians like honey into hot tea.

He was a little jealous at how easy it was for Nie Huaisang to absorb it. It sure as fuck hadn't been this simple for him, having to practically let the resentment shatter and reconstruct his meridians over the course of months.

He'd heard before that Nie cultivation was… a little unorthodox, compared to that of the other sects. Maybe...?

A crash from outside alerted him that he was still on a mission. "Jiejie, the chains?"

The red ghost gave a wide grin full of needle sharp teeth, then slashed her claws through the lock. Once the bindings fell away, he laid Nie Huaisang on his back, then sent a much stronger and sharper pulse of resentful energy through his body.

Nie Huaisang jerked and gave a violent gasp, then green eyes fluttered open and stared up at him fuzzily.

"...Wei-xiong...?"

He smiled, all bright and violent cheer. "Welcome back, Nie-xiong. Ready to help me finish burning this place down so we can go hunting?"

"Hunting for what, exactly?" Nie Huaisang asked, squinting at him warily.

His smile grew. "The assholes who did this to us, of course."

---

Lan Wangji felt numb and slightly lightheaded as he exited the house, having been soundly dismissed by Wei Ying to go liase with his assistant.

The screams echoed behind him and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath against the sudden wave of nausea that rose up in his stomach.

"Hanguang-jun?"

He opened his eyes in surprise and stepped back from the person who had just... appeared far too close for comfort, and only the realization that it was Nie Huaisang, of all people, kept him from drawing his sword.

...Wait.

"You are Wei Ying's assistant?" he asked, unable to keep his disbelief from leaking into his voice.

Nie Huaisang smiled, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

He dismissed it as a consequence of the still-ongoing screaming.

“Eh...sort of? I mean, he really does all the fighting, I just take care of the sabotage. Trying to make it a little easier on him, you know?"

"Easier."

"Mmhmm! Cutting bow strings, poisoning rations, that sort of thing. So he doesn't have to work so hard at killing them." Nie Huaisang leaned to the side, staring up at the window behind him, then gave a soft whistle. "Wow, they're really getting into it. Must be someone important."

Lan Wangji swallowed hard. This conversation was getting more unnerving by the moment. "Wei Ying told me to find you," he said past the knot of discomfort in his throat.

"Oh? Well, I've already finished my part of the job, so he must want me to start on food. Come on!"

He didn't want to be here. He especially didn't want food, between what was going on upstairs and Nie Huaisang's far too casual remark about poisoning people.

He followed anyway.

Fortunately, the stew that Nie Huaisang cobbled together from the stores he hadn’t laced proved to be harmless, and the other boy had even been polite enough to cook the meat separately so he wouldn't have to eat around it.

The gesture had done little to soothe his uneasiness, however, especially when Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin returned in high spirits and liberally spattered in blood.

"Really? After I just did laundry yesterday?" Nie Huaisang asked, as if that was the most pressing problem.

"Aw, but it was worth it, Nie-xiong," Wei Ying said in a sweet, affectionate sing-song that he'd never heard directed at anybody before.

Not even Jiang Wanyin, judging by the slightly incredulous look on his face.

"You should have come to watch!" Wei Ying continued, heedless of Nie Huaisang's squawk of disgust when he threw an arm around his shoulders, promptly transferring blood to his clothing as well. "Wen Zhuliu turned such pretty colors when Chengcheng got hold of him with Zidian!"

Nie Huaisang blinked, then looked at Jiang Wanyin. "Did you really?"

Jiang Wanyin smirked. "Made him dance, then took his head clean off," he said, then his expression turned serious. "Wei Wuxian told me what happened on the way back here. Are you going to be okay?"

The question earned a flinch and the other boy’s hand reflexively going to his dantian.

Ah. That explained quite a bit about why he'd been able to sneak up undetected. Or at least that was what Lan Wangji was going to convince himself.

"I'll be fine," he said, waving off their expressions of concern. "I was lucky enough that Wei-xiong found me before we could make it to Nightless City, so... I'll be fine."

"Tch. Ever the optimist," Wei Wuxian teased, but Lan Wangji didn't miss the glint in his eyes, nor the way his arm tightened protectively.

Possessively.

Suddenly the stew was far too heavy in his stomach, heavy enough that he lay staring up at the sky long after he should have been asleep.

"Wei-xiong, you've really overstretched yourself this time."

At the sound of the murmur, clearly pitched to avoid waking anyone, he turned his head to find Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang sitting on the other side of the low-burning fire. Wei Ying had tucked his face into the curve of Nie Huaisang's neck and had a hand resting against the other boy's stomach. Resentful energy writhed around them, apparently flowing from Wei Ying's body into Nie Huaisang's.

What... what was...?

"I know, I know, I shouldn't have called up so much for this," came the muffled sound of Wei Ying's voice. "But I have to practice working with larger numbers if we're going to make a difference, you know that."

"True, but if you tear yourself apart, then we won't be able to do anything at all."

Wei Ying pulled back just far enough to give a sharp-edged grin. "Then it's a good thing I have you to make it all better, isn't it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"You're awful. Horrible, even. An absolute brat," Nie Huaisang said, giving Wei Ying a swat that made him yelp in protest, but his tone was all fondness as he drew away and fixed his robes, then got up to extinguish the fire.

Mind a whirl of confusion and apprehension-

Making him better? With resentful energy? How was that even supposed to work? Could Wei Ying potentially be in danger from what he was letting Nie Huaisang do?

-Lan Wangji didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #nie huaisang #lan wangji #jiang cheng #fanfic #sangxian #xiansang

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

The Barrier

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 77: Married Everlark are coworkers and their marriage is on the rocks. They’ve been sleeping in separate rooms. Divorce looks inevitable. On a business trip, there is *dramatic pause* only one bed. Does the forced closeness lead them to really talk for the first time in months or does it drive them further apart? Smut not required. [submitted by @katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Ratings/Warnings: M; allusions to infertility, divorce, self-loathing

“What do you mean there’s only one bed?” Katniss hissed at her husband. “We were supposed to have our own rooms, and now you’re telling me we have to share a bed? Did you do this on purpose?”

Peeta glared at her, fury flaring in his blue eyes. If she weren’t so furious herself, she’d push a little harder, but the flint-like nature of his glower convinced her that she needed to steer clear, if only by shutting her mouth once she’d voiced her opinions.

“What kind of idiot do you think I am?” he practically spat at her. “It’s not like I want to spend time with you. I get enough of that at home.”

“A big one.”

“A big one, what?”

“You asked what kind of idiot I think you are. I think you’re a big idiot.”

“Enjoy sleeping on the street,” he said with unnatural calm and turned sharply on his heel. He’d only taken three steps before she crumbled. She had no interest in sharing a bed or a room with the man she’d married a decade ago, but she definitely didn’t have any desire to sleep in the hotel lobby, or worse.

“Oh, come on!” She called after him and hurried to catch up before he made it to the elevator. “You’re not going to leave me hanging. We’re here for work, and neither of us can afford a bad performance review this year.”

“It’d be worth it,” he groused.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Peeta stood to the side so those inside the elevator could clear out and then stepped into the box with his suitcase. He punched the button for their floor and leaned against the wall without bothering to glance her way as she struggled to get inside with her bag.

“Can we not?” he asked tiredly. “You can yell at me all you want in the hotel room, but it’s unseemly in public.”

“Unseemly?” She almost said more, but bit the inside of her cheek instead. She could wait until they reached their room to see how bad the situation was going to be before she said anything else. This whole thing probably wasn’t fair in any way, but she couldn’t help but feel like this was somehow all his fault.

The elevator ride concluded in silence, as did the walk from the elevator to their room. Peeta fiddled with the lock for a full minute and cursed as the red light flashed several times before finally figuring out how it worked and popping the door open to allow them to enter. He flipped on the lights as he entered, and she almost smiled at the familiarity of him scanning the corners for someone hiding in the shadows. He’d started that habit on their honeymoon when they’d not bothered to look before going at it against the door as soon as they closed it behind them. An errant cleaning lady who’d only been dropping off extra towels and pillows had gotten quite a show, very likely one she’d had absolutely no interest in viewing.

The honeymoon was a long, long time ago. So long, in fact, that Katniss wasn’t even sure if she even liked her husband anymore, let alone loved him. They hadn’t been intimate in forever, it seemed, and she hadn’t missed it at all. Well, that wasn’t true. She did miss it. She just wasn’t interested in doing anything with him. All the sexual tension, passion, and lust that had existed between them had simply dried up as real life got in the way. They’d taken out their frustrations and irritations on each other instead of looking for comfort in the other’s arms.

“Do you want to use the bathroom first?” Peeta asked as he set his bag on the edge of the bed and unzipped it.

“First, yes. If it’s okay with you.”

“I don’t care. Knock yourself out.”

He turned his back on her and stripped off his tie before unbuttoning his shirt. He got it over his shoulders and was working on his belt before she shook herself out of her daze and closed the door to the bathroom behind her. Taking her time, she showered and re-braided her hair before brushing her teeth and applying moisturizer. She was just about to pluck her eyebrows when a pounding sounded on the door.

“Can you hurry it up? I’d like to go to sleep sometime tonight.”

Irritated, she jammed her beauty products back in her toiletry bag and ripped open the door. Haughtily, she glared at him and swept by to head to the bed. When she saw what he’d done, she froze.

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

“Why are all these pillows in the middle of the bed?”

“They’re making a barrier.”

“Yes, I can see that, jackass. Why is there a barrier of pillows in the middle of the bed?”

“To separate us.”

“But you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Why the hell would I sleep on the floor?”

“Because we’re not sharing a bed right now. We don’t even sleep in the same room at home anymore. Why would you think we’d do that here?”

Peeta gaped at her, completely dumbstruck. It took a while for him to put words together, but when he did, she wanted to smack him.

“Katniss, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re crazy if you think I’m going to sleep on the floor of a hotel just because you decided you don’t want to be married to me anymore. I’ve tried to be understanding, but this is bullshit. I’m not a puppy you can kick.” Peeta shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed and his lips together. She knew that expression because it was one he’d shown much too often in the past several months. That was the look he made when he was about to lose his temper. “Now, I’m going to shower. If you have shit to do, I’d suggest taking care of it while I’m in there because I’m tired, and I’m going to sleep once I’m done.”

She waited until he’d closed the door to the bathroom before ripping the pillows off the middle of the bed. Hell if she was going to sleep in the same bed with him. He’d made a mistake to leave her alone if he thought that was going to happen. She piled the pillows back up against the headboard and then climbed into bed. Once she was directly in the middle, she pulled the covers over herself, set an alarm, and turned off the lights. If she tried, she might actually be asleep before he came back out, and then he’d have to take the floor. They’d barely seen each other in the past few weeks, let alone touched. She certainly didn’t want to start that the night before a big meeting.

It felt like she’d hardly closed her eyes when Peeta exited the bathroom and walked over to the bed. Smirking to herself, she rejoiced in her petty victory. Except… The mattress dipped under her, and she jumped as her husband climbed in behind her. With a shriek, she sprang from the bed and stood clutching the sheets in front of her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Indignant, she wanted to smack his face. His eyes shone wide and blue with faux innocence that quickly shifted to a self-satisfied sneer.

“I’m going to bed. I told you that before I went into the bathroom. Really, Katniss. You should pay closer attention when I tell you what I’m planning. Someone might think you don’t listen. Not very good for a relationship, you know.”

“I was there!”

“And I put up a barrier, which you demolished. Seemed like an invitation.”

“You are such an asshole,” she sputtered. “Get out the bed.”

“And you’re being a total bitch. Get back in bed, and we’ll stick the pillows back between us. I’m not sleeping on the goddamn floor because you’re too stubborn to actually talk about what’s wrong between us.”

“I’m not sleeping in the bed with you!”

“Then, have fun on the floor.”

Infuriated, she fumed at him with a slack mouth and a hollowed out chest. He knew exactly what to say to hurt her, and maybe that was the problem. He knew her too well, knew all her vulnerabilities and insecurities and disappointments. Because of that, she could hardly look him in the face. If she did, she’d have to admit all the flaws she had, and if she did that, he’d know the same way she does that she doesn’t deserve him. Not in a million lifetimes.

Gutted, she ducked her head as tears pricked at her eyes. He reached for her, but she flinched away from him. She couldn’t handle his compassion, which he offered even when they were at their worst.

“Don’t touch me,” she ordered as strongly as she could, which was a pathetic attempt at regaining control. “Don’t touch me. Just put the pillows back. Please.”

He nodded, and it was almost her undoing. Turning her back, she waited until the rustling stopped before climbing back under the covers and settling on her side. The silence was louder than any noise she’d ever heard. It was matched only by the rush of blood in her ears. She stifled a sob and squeezed her eyes closed as tightly as she could. It wasn’t until she was almost asleep that she heard him.

“Goodnight, Katniss.”

She didn’t bother to answer.

****

Katniss woke to a streak of sunlight on her face and a warm fuzzy feeling that stretched from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes. Safe and warm, she nuzzled into the pillow, only to realize it was hard muscle covered in soft cotton, and there was something stiff poking into her thigh.

She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to risk losing the feeling of being loved and protected and cherished. There’s been so little of that in her life. Since her father died, the only person outside of her family who loved her was Peeta. Peeta Mellark, her childhood sweetheart turned fiancé who became her husband way too young, loved her. Maybe he still did, but it was hard to cling to the possibility. More likely, he wanted a divorce. She’d probably face the rest of her life alone.

She closed her eyes and floated in the sensation of being cared for by someone who didn’t have to want her. The press of muscular thighs and cut hips and…hell, she wanted that. She needed it. Desperate, she ground against the thick shaft and moaned low in her throat. It was matched by one just as frantic and eager.

“Katniss,” he whispered, and she tipped her head back to accept his kiss. He’s a dream, someone who could see past everything she couldn’t accomplish, every failure, every disappointment. “Sweetheart, you feel so good.”

He rolled on top of her and hitched her legs around his waist. They rutted against each other, groaning and whimpering at the pleasure they received from their connection. He made her feel so much better. He made her feel like she wasn’t a failure. He made her feel worthy.

“I’ve missed you so much. Missed you so much.”

Hands scrabbled at her sleep shorts. Heat flooded between them and deep in her gut. She wanted him, craved him inside her, longed for acceptance. Something about him—

“Stop!”

Peeta froze on top of her. His reaction was immediate, which only made her feel worse. She’d lost herself, forgotten who it was in bed with her. She’d led him on and allowed him to think their marriage could survive this when he’d be a million times better off leaving than staying with someone who couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Katniss?”

“Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t talk to me like you can fix things if you only talk slowly and calmly enough. I’m not a child.”

“Sweetheart, please. Please let me in. I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered fiercely. “Please don’t do this to us.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what I did. Why did you pull away from me? What did I do that was so terrible?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe evenly, but sobs choked her. He hadn’t done anything. He’d only ever been a wonderful husband, and all that did was remind her that she couldn’t ever live up to what he should have. He was loved and respected and admired by everyone, and she was suspicious of the world. He could make anyone laugh, while she stood by awkwardly with an uncomfortable expression on her face. There were a million things like that, but the worst was what she couldn’t quite process enough to allow herself to embrace what he wanted to give her.

He wanted children, and she couldn’t give them to him.

She burst into tears, which she knew was the only guaranteed way to get him to back down from the brewing confrontation. He wasn’t so much of a masochist that he’d purposefully provoke a weeping woman, particularly not his wife, no matter how strained their relationship. Like she knew he would, Peeta released her and flopped onto his back on the mattress next to her. He didn’t try to comfort her. Instead, he allowed her to sob as her tears quickly converted from fake cries to full-fledged howling.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, and he accepted her apology without even demanding to know anything else. She knew he was frustrated, but he held the space for her, without pushing, as she worked through her outburst. Finally, she quieted, and he rolled onto his side and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“Better?” he asked with such gentleness in his eyes and voice and touch that she broke again.

“No!” she wailed. “It’s not better. It’s never going to be better.”

Exasperated, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Without a word, he stalked to the bathroom, and she heard the shower turn on and the unmistakable sound of him stepping into it. Embarrassed, she closed her eyes and tried to still her rapidly beating heart. Nowhere in her plan for this trip did she anticipate break down in front of her husband, but she also hadn’t foreseen that they’d have to share a bed. It wasn’t like they’d been doing that at home. Not for months.

“Shower’s free,” he announced as he re-entered the room with a towel slung low on his waist.

His hair, usually ashy blonde and wavy when it was dry, clung to his head as water droplets traced down his chest. A jolt of lust shot through her, something she hadn’t felt for a long time. Without a word, she passed by him to get ready. When she was done, he’d already left for their meeting. The day passed quickly, and too soon they were back in the room together with an awkward silence hanging between them. Peeta didn’t even bother to talk. He simply got ready for bed and curled up on his side with his back to the wall of pillows between them.

Katniss attempted to fall asleep for what felt like ages, but the only thing she could do was listen to the steady in and out of Peeta’s breath. The sound was so familiar to her, and it was even more dear than that. She missed him so much, and, if the morning was any indication, he wanted her as much as she needed him.

“Peeta,” she hissed. When he merely grunted, she moved one of the pillows that separated them and reached across the barrier. “Peeta, wake up.”

“What do you want?” he grumbled without turning toward her. “Sleeping.”

“I want you.”

Peeta rolled over, but he didn’t make any effort to touch her. Pillows still separated them, but the wall they’d built between them was much worse than the temporary barrier. They needed to talk, but she didn’t intend to. She could distract him, she knew. She’d always been able to with a smile and a kiss and her body.

“Talk to me first.”

“Why? What good will it do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it would fix everything. Maybe, just maybe, we could save our marriage. If nothing else, it might make me think you want me and not just a night of meaningless sex. It’s not like we’ve exactly been jumping each other for the past several months.”

She sniffed at his sarcasm, although she couldn’t blame him. He’d put up with a lot from her, but he’d been kind of awful, too. His kindness earlier in the day didn’t make up for some of the cutting remarks and nasty actions he’d resorted to when he was frustrated. Still, his desperate plea for her to let him in struck at her heart, and she didn’t want to lie to him anymore. If she could just get started, the barrier between them could be dismantled.

“You wanted a baby.”

Her voice waved, but it was out there now. She knew it wasn’t her fault, had gone over the medical issues repeatedly, had processed all of it. Still, she felt like a failure. Knowing and feeling were almost never the same thing when it came to pain and disappointment.

“So did you.”

“It’s not the same.”

He signed loudly. Shifting away from him, she curled into herself at his irritation.

“Sweetheart, I love you. I’ve always loved you. Yes, I wanted a baby, but I want you more.”

“You don’t mean that,” she protested.

“I really, really do.”

“How am I supposed to believe it?”

Peeta sat up and grabbed the pillows between them and tossed them to the floor before grabbing her arm and tugging her toward him. He put his mouth next to her ear and hissed, “I want you more than anything else in the world. Do you feel that? Can’t you tell how much I crave being inside you?”

She shivered at the feel of him hard and plastered against her thigh. How he’d gotten there so quickly, she had no idea, but it gave her ideas, especially since she did some quick math in her head and realized it had been over six months since she’d slept with her husband. They still had a million things to talk about, a thousand misunderstandings to navigate, and a ton of baggage, but the removal of the barrier had begun.

“Peeta?”

When he hummed, she leaned in to kiss him. They had one more night in their shared hotel room. Katniss decided to take full advantage of it, and it didn’t take long before Peeta let her know how enthusiastically he agreed with her plan. Maybe they couldn’t fix what was between them, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

#hutchhitched #katnissdoesnotfollowback #prompt 77 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 4 years

Text

PRINCE OF DAXAMITE

Mon El x Reader

WARNINGS: smut, non-con/dub-con, vaginal sex, brief oral sex (f receiving)

WORD COUNT: 1696

Imagine being a peasant going to Mon El's birthday celebration back on Daxamite so you can cause a riot but he takes interest in you.

The upbeat music filled my ears as I stepped through the doors of the hall, my dress brushing my ankles. I glanced around and spotted a table with an assortment of food laid out and headed straight for it, ready to eat and ignore anyone that tried to talk to me. You see, I hated the ways of my people, on Daxamite all they did was party, but I knew it was to mask what was really happening. While the wealthy gorged themselves on expensive alcohols and rich foods the poor were left to starve in the streets, lucky to get even a sip of water a day. I was one of those poor people, but I managed to clean myself up enough to get a job with the royal tailor because of my talents with a needle and thread. I'd spent the last week making my dress for this ball, a ball which I was planning to use to make a fuss and cause a riot. Me and some peasants were planning it - ready to revolt.

I started to shove food in my mouth, seeing as I'd probably never eat this much food again in my life. Just as I was a about to pop another strawberry tart in my mouth a felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned around and quickly swallowed what I was chewing, coming face-to-face with the prince. Great. I was kind of hoping to avoid any royals but oh well.

"Is there a reason a lady as beautiful as yourself is alone tonight?" He said with a slight smirk. I gave him a fake smile and came up with the most condescending thing I could.

"Because I don't like jackasses or narcissistic princes." And I walked off, leaving him stood there smiling (probably at the thought of getting to chase me around all evening).

About half an hour later I was happy to say that the prince hadn't made any advances on me, but I had noticed him eyeing me from across the large hall several times. I scanned the room for him but couldn't see him anywhere, confusing crossing my face. Where was he? Just as I was about to go back to eating all the food I felt a breath on the back of my neck. I turned my head to the side to see him, his hands hovering over my waist.

"Miss me yet?" He whispered, sending a shiver of fear and excitement down my spine. No. I was here to revolt against him, not have a 'good time' with him. I shook my head and turned around.

"Look, asshole, I don't give a crap who you are, get your greedy hands off me and grope some other girl who's rich and bowing at your feet." I spat before trying to walk off. Before I could get far, he grabbed my wrist and spoke down at me.

"My name is Mon El and I'm your prince. It'd do you well to show me a little respect." He hissed in my ear, before I yanked my arm from his grasp and disappeared into the crowd of dancing people. I got as far away from him as I could, moving over to the agreed window to give the signal for the riot to start.

As I begun to peer out the already open window, looking for my friend, I felt a hand wrap firmly around my upper arm and drag me away.

"Let me go!" I shouted as I was pulled into an empty hallway and shoved against a wall. Mon El pinned my wrist behind my back with one hand, using his hips to pin my front to the wall. "Get off me you-" I was cut off my him tugging my hair back so he could whisper in my ear.

"If you insult me again, you'll find out exactly what I want to do with that sharp little tongue of yours." He whispered venomously, looking me in the eye. "And I know why you're here, your friend you were looking for is already in custody." I gulped and stifled tears, knowing this would probably end with all our heads on pikes. "My parents wanted to throw you in a cell too, but I convinced them to let me have my way with you instead." He continued, before letting go of my hair and dragging me up some stairs.

He pushed me into a big room with a four-poster bed, a desk with some papers littered on it and some big double doors leading to a balcony in it. The door slammed behind us and I heard the click of a lock.

The look he had in his eyes when he turned back around could only be described as one of lust, rage and want. And that both scared and excited me.

“Fuckin’ whore.” Mon El spat, cornering me and gripping my jaw and in a tight hold, tilting my head back so my eyes met his. “Just begging to be punished, huh?” He spat and I gulped. He roughly let go of me and my head hung low. “Maybe next time you’ll think of the consequences before trying to turn my own people against me.”

With that, he yanked me to my feet, tossing me to the bed and swiftly removing my clothes. I struggled against him, writhing out of his grip but he simply slapped my across the face and told me he’d do worse if I didn’t lay still for him. Once my dress and underwear was gone he chained my wrists and ankles with heavy links of metal to the four post of his super-king sized bed - so I was spread eagle and open for him, at his mercy to do as he pleased.

I winced at the sound of his belt hitting the floor, the rest of his clothes following shortly. He claimed over me, straddling my hips and fisting his cock in his hand, stroking himself lazily and he ran a finger through my folds. A gasp escaped me as he spat onto my clit, a shiver running through me at the sensation.

“Don’t worry, slut, I’ll give you what you need.” He cooed in my ear when a moan escaped me, his teeth nipping at my ear-lobe. Mon El lined himself up with my core, running his mushroom head up to my clit and back again before sheathing himself in one, painful thrust that send me screaming.

“Fuck, you’re right. Let’s see how your little pussy can take me.” He groaned as he begun to piston his hips, his length deeper inside me than I explained. As his top struck my cervix I cried out, hands balling into fists and arms tugging at the chains hopelessly. My moans were silenced slightly when I felt his long fingers wrap around my throat, applying enough pressure to have me struggling for breath with every pump of his cock.

When his thumb connected with my clit I felt my orgasm reluctantly crashing down on me, a smirk spreading across Mon El’s face as my walls clamped down on him with a vice grip.

“And here I was thinking you couldn’t get any fucking tighter.” He chuckled, fake-pouting at my fucked out expression. “Awh, did you think I’d really only get one? You filthy slut. I want to see how many I can get out of you...” he trailed off with a moan as my walls fluttered at his words. My cheeks reddened with a blush at my shame: how could his words be turning me on? Another release came crashing over me, a loud moan tearing from my throat.

“P-please.” I choked out.

“Please what?” He said in a locking tone, amusement lacing his features.

“Please slow down.” I gasped and he raised a brow.

“Like this?” He challenged, snapping his hips into mine with so much force be head was banging into the headboard with every thrust. His pace picked up, too, if that was even possible.

“It’s t-too much!” I screamed out as a third orgasm ripped through me.

“Really sweetheart? Because you tight McIntyre is telling me otherwise. Clamping down on me so hard, milking my cock. Anyone would guess you want to be stuffed with my cum.” Mon El taunted. At seeing my expression after he cooed, “is that it, slut? You want to be full of cum? Want me to fuck a baby into you?”

“Hnnnng.” I moaned out, unable to form words. My sound of jumbled words sent a laugh through the Prince, his lips descending to my ear. “C’mon, whore, one more. Then you can get on those pretty knees for me.” He whispered. His tongue traced over the shell of my ear and his thumb circled my abused numb in tight circles. “F-fuck.” He groaned out, hips faltering as he blew his load into me, triggering my fourth orgasm of the night.

He still after a few finishing thrusts, pulling out slowly and ogling at the sight of a mixture of our cum spilling out of my fucked-out whole.

“Fuck, look at that baby, you ruined little whole is weeping with my cum.” Mon El observed, leaning in and licking a fat stripe up my lips. I moaned out lewdly, his tongue lapping around my cunt and eating me out like a man starved, groaning into me for effect. The vibrations sent shivers through me and he finally pulled away after dragging one more release from my quivering pussy.

He leant over me, hands making quick work of the chains until my wrists and ankles were free - but now void of bruises. He bent down to my ear, his lips brushing shay it almost teasingly as he husked lowly and demandingly, with no space to negotiate:

“Get on your knees.”

#mon el image #mon el smut #mon el x reader #mon el of daxam #mon el #chris wood images #chris wood x reader #chris wood image #chris wood smut #kai parker smut #jake riley smut #chris wood #Kai Parker #kai parker x reader #supergirl imagine #supergirl smut #supergirl

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myouki · 3 years

Text

Lean On Me: Chapter 2

Chapter Warnings:

Swearing

Credits:

Lotus: @nekophy

Rurik: @angeutblogo

***

"Because I can't even do something as simple as ride on a stars-damned bus without falling over myself or ending up in danger," Lotus glanced out the window to avoid Rurik's gaze, "I'm supposed to be your partner... we're supposed to be equals but all I ever do is- mfff!"

Rurik cut their words off with a kiss, holding the back of their skull to keep them from pulling away. He heard his companion grunt in protest, even as their body went lax against him and their sockets began to droop. Lowering his hand to the small of their back in case their legs gave out, the smaller leaned back and shot him an accusatory glare while panting, "Wha... th'hell...?"

"Your thoughts were being stupid again, so I distracted you," Rurik pointed out, glancing around to make sure no one would take advantage of the situation. Some people were still watching, but they were either shocked or embarrassed at his open display. A warning growl managed to avert the more blatant stares before redirecting his attention to his partner and asking, "Did I ever say you were pathetic?"

"No..." Lotus admitted sheepishly.

"Do you think you looked pathetic when you were preparing to throw down with that jackass? Which I'd like to mention was hot as hell," the taller smirked.

"N-no...," Lotus blushed at the bold admittance.

"Then you're not, so cut that pessimistic shit out," Rurik gently scolded, adding on, "Besides, you make it sound like I don't rely on you for anything; you know that's not true. Who always convinces me to sit down and get myself patched up after an injury?"

"Me...," a hint of a smile almost broke through, likely remembering Rurik's aversion to antiseptic.

Rurik nodded, "Yeah, and who cooks most of the food, always has the house clean, and always has the laundry done?"

"You do those things too," Lotus pointed out.

"Yeah, but you beat me to it more often than not because you're always on top of what needs to get done," the taller countered, "Also, who made me decide to become a better monster and holds me to it when I'm out of line?"

"Me... which reminds me," Lotus reached up and pulled Rurik's hat down over his face, "that's for poking me and damn near frenching me in public; don't do it again."

Rurik snorted, readjusting his hat back into place on his skull before it could fall to the ground, "I'll accept the kiss might have been a bit much, but I only poked you to get you down."

"You could have said something instead," Lotus pouted as the bus came to a halt with a tired screech.

"Didn't have a lot of time," Rurik reasoned, "the guy was coming up fast and you would've argued if I asked. I needed you three feet closer in case things went south; poking you was the quickest way to do that."

The conflicted look on his companion's face was enough to tell him he had won the round. "Alright, fine. You're right that I would have argued," Lotus conceded as the bus began moving again.

Rurik grinned in triumph, "I'd tell you not to be so stubborn in the future, but I like you when you're feisty."

"So what I'm hearing is you want me to keep being stubborn?" Lotus glanced up at him with a cocked socket.

"Damn straight," Rurik laughed, "just know when to accept help, okay? Partners are meant to watch each other's backs and pick up the slack, so we both need to unlearn all the one-man army bullshit."

"Alright, I'll try," Lotus sighed, returning his attention to the passing scenery. A block went by in silence before the skeleton perked up, "...wait, you said four stops earlier, right? How many have we gone through?"

"Uh...," Rurik mentally counted out the stops, a sinking feeling settling in him as he came to an unfortunate conclusion, "Ah shit..."

"We missed our stop," the smaller confirmed in an exasperated tone.

"Yeah, guess I got distracted," Rurik admitted, "we'll just have to get off at the next one and catch a bus going back or walk."

"I vote walking," Lotus proclaimed, "I'm tired of standing around, but I can't teleport us there because you won't tell me where we're going."

"I didn't want you tiring yourself out, plus I wanted it to be a surprise; suppose there's no harm in telling you now," Rurik sighed, making sure Lotus was hanging on before fishing out his phone, bringing up the browser, and handing it to his boyfriend, "I got us tickets to go visit this place."

Lotus read the site's information, his eye light widening as he looked up and softly murmured, "You're taking us to a botanical garden? Why?"

"Cause I know you like that kinda stuff, plus you don't really talk about your interests a lot or go out for yourself. The page also advertised a section where saplings and seeds could be bought, and you mentioned wanting to do something with the backyard, so I thought..." he paused, unable to look directly at his partner for fear of being made fun of, "I dunno, maybe we could make a garden or something back there?" Rurik felt a pair of hands cup his face... looking down, he registered the hard expression on his boyfriend's face about the same time that the hands began tugging at his cheeks. "The hell are you doing?" he finally asked when the action went on for more than five seconds.

"Making sure you're real," Lotus stated, continuing to tug and squish the taller face until he let go with a squeak, "Hiih!"

"Is that real enough for you?" Rurik chuckled as he gave the back of Lotus's tenth rib another gentle pinch.

"Fine, you're real; now knock it off," Lotus groused, swatting at the errant hand until it went back to holding him in place, "That said, I have to admit I'm impressed you remembered that conversation; did you come up with all of this on your own or did you get help from your work buddies?"

"C'mon, give me some credit; I can have good ideas once in a while," Rurik puffed his cheeks up in mock indignation.

"I know... I thought I'd ask since it's more thought out than I'm used to," the smaller apologized around laughter as the bus pulled to a stop. The pair made their way toward the exit as he spoke, "I have had a couple of ideas tossing around; this might be the motivation I need to start thinking about it seriously. We can walk around and see if anything catches our eye, then browse the nursery afterward."

"Sounds like a plan," Rurik confirmed, stepping off the bus and plugging in the garden's location on his phone's GPS.

Lotus latched onto his free hand, smiling as he said, "Thanks... I may have given you shit earlier, but I really appreciate this."

Rurik blinked for a moment, then pointedly focused his attention on his phone as he mumbled, "It's nothing." He shot a half-hearted glare at the resulting laughter but was unable to hold onto his ire as his companion leaned into him, pulling a chuckle from him as he laced his hand in theirs.

#FellPoth #Lotus #Fell!Goth #Rurik #Fell!Palette #LOM #Short Stories #Swearing

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mopeytropey · 4 years

Photo

a beer buds series: chapter 8

author’s note: happy, sappy Lexa hath arrived

available on AO3: here or below the cut

Timeline: just after Lexa returns from her holidays in New York, Clarke is bombarded with work at Dockside; Lincoln keeps her company over the weekend as Lexa relays the events of her Friday spent with Clarke (chapter 7 of 'apu')

Beer: Frequency KÖLSCH-INSPIRED GERMAN ALE

Clean and bright. Pleasingly malty with a touch of noble hop. Crisp and sharp with a subtle malt sweetness on the finish

ABV 5.0%

Frequency: Winter Hill Brewing (Somerville, MA)

:::

Lexa cannot stop smiling.

She hasn’t been able to curb the small grins and outright smiles that keep spreading across her lips at random intervals since leaving Clarke’s house on Friday morning.

She doesn’t stop them when her thoughts drift to the sound of Clarke’s voice and the looks they shared in her kitchen over coffee and bagels. And, she can’t keep her lips from curving when remembering their dinner Friday night, the way Clarke’s eyes would gleam and her cheeks would blush when Lexa would say something purposefully flirtatious. She has more-or-less lost all power over the muscles in her face and the control Clarke has on her overall good mood.

She hasn’t allowed herself this much visible happiness in ages. It feels both incredibly unnatural and like enormous relief.

And, because she is smiling into her phone while reading a recent text from Clarke, riddled with profanity about being stuck at work, she doesn’t notice Lincoln approaching.

“Hey, I’ve missed that smile.”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and her smile remains. She’s missed him too.

“Hey.”

They clumsily exchange a hug while Lexa is sat on a wicker bar stool and Lincoln stands beside her at a bright grey bar counter made from swirled marble. The sun streams through the front windows of an upscale restaurant known for their brunch menu, woodfired pizzas, and signature cocktails.

Lexa had, in fact, intended to ask Clarke to brunch at this very establishment. She has been eager to resume their mutual exploration of the attraction that’s been brimming between them since early June. Friday had been a glimpse, a negligible fraction of what Lexa knows they are bound to discover over time. She thinks of her fingers tangling between Clarke’s or the physical distances between them that are gradually vanishing. Her head buzzes with all their potential in the days and weeks to come.

Lincoln unbundles from his wool peacoat and unwinds a striped scarf from around his neck to reveal his thick cable knit sweater beneath. “I just saw the girls,” he announces.

Lexa swallows, torn abruptly from the places her mind had been wandering. “Did you?”

“Yeah, they’re slammed down there.” Lincoln takes his seat and then angles himself comically in Lexa’s direction as if he plans to interrogate her. “So, Clarke says hi.”

Lexa’s chest balloons and her smile expands beyond her control. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“I assume this means you two are on speaking terms again?”

The burn in Lexa’s cheeks is so severe, she’s forced to look away to the sounds of Lincoln’s delighted laughter. He playfully jabs a finger into her bicep while she fails miserably to keep her cool.

“We started talking before I left for New York.” Lexa clears her throat, hoping it will reduce the heat of her embarrassment. “She dropped me at the train station, actually.”

“Yeah, I know. Octavia told me,” Lincoln admits. Lexa backhands him across his chest and attempts to scowl. “Sorry, I had to mess with you a little bit. I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“That’s your one free one.” Empty threats, and they both know it.

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” Lincoln plays along, nevertheless slinging an arm around the back of Lexa’s stool.

The bartender approaches before Lexa can respond, and Lincoln reaches across the bar to slap her hand in a familiar exchange. “What’s good, Lincoln?”

“Hey, what’s up, Taylor?”

“What are you drinking?” she asks him while sliding a coaster in front of him.

He nods to Lexa’s pint of beer. “What’s this?”

“It’s that kölsch-inspired one from Winter Hill,” Lexa answers. “It’s really smooth.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll do the same. Thanks.”

“You guys eating?”

“Yeah, I’d love to see a menu,” Lexa tells her.

Taylor nods, reaching for two rolls of cutlery from beneath the bar. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, so: what happened? What’s happening? Tell me everything. How was your Christmas?”

Lexa can’t help but laugh at Lincoln’s eager requests, rattled off with palpable excitement. She takes a deep breath. “Christmas was definitely interesting.”

“Oh yeah?”

Taylor returns with Lincoln’s beer and two menus. She mumbles something quick and low in Spanish to Lincoln that makes him laugh.

“She’s got some real pretentious dicks on the other side of the bar,” Lincoln informs her once Taylor has left them to tend to her other customers. Because the bar is circular, Lincoln attempts to scope out the situation on the other side of the bar by peering through the rows of bottles, glassware, and flatscreen TVs that create a barrier between both sides.

“Think we should bounce them out of here?”

Lincoln laughs into his first sip of beer. “Let me have another pint and I’ll let you know.” He finishes another long sip before sliding his glass back onto the bar. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why Clarke is suddenly in such a supremely good mood despite working her second double in a row, and why you haven’t been able to wipe that idiot grin off your face since I walked in. Wait—also, what did Anya get you for Christmas?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, hoisting up with disdain an article of outerwear from the stool beside her. “Stupid hat.”

Lincoln swallows his mouthful of beer and laughs, nodding approvingly. “Classic An. Okay so, what exactly happened while you were at home?”

Lexa watches her fingers trace the darker patterns that thread the marble bar top. “For one, Costia and I met for coffee after Christmas and finally had that long overdue conversation I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, you weren’t the only one avoiding,” Lincoln reminds her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And so, it’s over?”

Lexa exhales, reaching again for her pint of beer and taking a low sip. “I think it’d been over for a while, but: yes. In an official capacity, we ended it.”

“And, how are you and Costia? Okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good. We’d been such good friends anyway—I honestly think that was a huge part of what complicated things for us for so long.”

Lincoln hedges his reaction. “I want to be really happy for you right now because you basically look like you just dropped this huge weight around your neck, but … are you okay with everything?”

“I am.” She looks up to meet his eye as if to prove herself. “It felt right. And, I’m—” Her traitorous lips, already pulling at their edges in a smile, will give her away every time. “I’m really good actually.”

“Good because I’m so happy for you, buddy.” Lincoln squeezes her shoulder with the hand resting on her stool. “Okay so, I know you and Clarke are talking again—and, believe me, we’re all relieved as hell about that—but, what exactly have you told her?”

“You mean about Costia?”

Lincoln finishes his sip of beer, pinning her with a look he must have learned from Anya because Lexa feels absolutely transparent. “I mean, I think Costia is just the tip of a pretty substantial iceberg, but sure. Let’s start there.”

At his candid retort, Lexa exhales a laugh and grasps her beer. “I’m fairly certain Clarke knows that my feelings for her aren’t entirely platonic, if that’s what you mean.” Her mind flashes briefly to the lighting and warmth of Clarke’s kitchen, the scent of toasted bagels and freshly ground coffee.

Lincoln claps his hands, as he so often does in moments of triumph, and smiles broadly. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that we are finally having this conversation.”

“I know. Me too.” In spite of her nerves constantly bubbling to the surface, Lexa is also flooded with the acute relief of authenticity.

“Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”

“We spent some time together on Friday.” Lexa ineffectually bites at her lip to keep from smiling. She thinks of slow hugs, soft hand-holding, and timid admissions amid charged goodbyes. Their interactions thus far have been so buffered by innocence, Lexa cannot believe the way her stomach swoops at her memory of them. “I brought her bagels.”

“Suave.”

“Listen, she—I wasn’t attempting to be romantic.”

Lincoln doesn’t miss a beat. “Liar.”

“Clarke has been living her entire life under the misguided assumption that a small, newly established bagel shop in northern Massachusetts is on par with legitimate New York bagels, Lincoln.” The severity in Lexa’s tone has him visibly amused. “I felt it my sacred duty to correct this misconception.”

“You brought her Bergen’s, didn’t you?”

Lexa looks offended at the ask. “Like I would offer her anything less.”

“And, where are my Christmas bagels?”

She rolls her eyes, reaching for her nearby pint. “Linc—”

“Okay, I see how it is. Too hung up on impressing Clarke to remember one of your oldest friends.” He is nodding, self-righteously.

Like a loveable idiot.

“I’m beginning to second-guess your request to hang out today,” she tells him while averting her eyes to the paper menu in front of her.

Lincoln laughs at her stern tone, knowing it’s a bluff, and returns his arm to rest along the back of her stool.

“How are you actually feeling about this?”

“Sharing an afternoon drink with you? I’m of two minds at the moment.”

“Now who’s being a jackass?” Lincoln grins. “So, you’re scared out of your mind about Clarke then?”

Yes. Absolutely. The nervous uncertainty is all-consuming.

Lexa shrugs, ignoring her inner anxieties and recites aloud the mantra of useless facts she’s been telling herself for days.

“Clarke and I have been close for quite awhile. She knows me, maybe better than most people. Despite any potential uncertainties, we’re operating on the foundation of a very sound friendship.”

Lincoln watches her like she’s come entirely unhinged. “Okay, yeah. Do you have any idea how incredibly shook I was at the prospect of kissing my friend Octavia?”

At the thought of kissing Clarke—images painted vividly by her traitorous mind—a breath lodges in her chest, and Lexa must return to her beer for fear of passing out.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m just trying to get you to be honest with yourself. And me, for that matter. I mean, I’m just assuming—knowing how much you overthink every goddamn thing to death—that you haven’t slept with her yet.”

“Jesus, Lincoln.” Lexa swallows her embarrassment through multiple sips of beer.

“For that matter, you probably haven’t even kissed her yet.”

“I can’t think about … that yet,” she manages to say without her voice croaking from the strain.

“Kudos to you for being able to think about anything else.”

“I have, obviously, considered the prospect. I just—more than anything I keep thinking about how I want to be around her all the time.”

“No offense, because I mean this genuinely and supportively as your friend, but are you just now figuring that out?”

“Shut up,” Lexa laughs.

:::

The food, as it turns out, is notable.

Lexa orders chicken fried steak and eggs with chorizo gravy and griddled potatoes, immediately lulled into a state of happy sedation as she clears her plate.

Lincoln groans his satisfaction as well, leaning back into his stool when he’s finished. “Damn. That was so good.”

“I might nap on this stool. Your friend would be okay with that, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.” Lincoln stretches his arms over his head and folds his hands behind the base of his neck. “A good bartender is always looking to have her guests fall asleep at the bar.”

“Okay good,” Lexa answers with a sleepy smile and suppresses an actual yawn with the back of her hand.

“What are you up to for the rest of your day?”

“This meal has completely erased any prior motivation to workout. My couch sounds pretty nice right now.”

The sun is setting and the streetlamps have begun to flicker on along the cobblestreet outside the restaurant windows.

“Not gonna go lurking outside Dockside until Clarke gets out of work?” Lincoln prompts with a teasing wink.

“Why do I feel like this was an actual tactic used on Octavia?”

“An effective tactic, you might say.”

“No,” Lexa laughs. “I’m not planning to stalk Clarke at her place of business, you creep.”

“Suit yourself,” Lincoln shrugs. “If you need any tips, I’m just sayin’.”

Lexa’s laughter is more of a cackle, lost in the increasing din of the Sunday evening bar crowd. “I think I’m all set. Thanks.”

“Oh okay, here we go—two beers later, she is confidence personified.”

Taylor returns to collect their empty plates, and Lincoln, practically gleeful, seizes on an opportunity to embarrass Lexa in a public setting.

“Taylor, help me out here—first kisses with relative strangers versus first kisses with a friend-turned-something-more. Generally speaking, which one makes you more nervous?”

“Why?” Taylor grins, bracing herself across from them with both hands grasping to the edge of the bar top. “Is one of you about to ask me to makeout?”

Lexa smothers a mortified oh-my-god against the palms of her hands where she has covered her face.

“No, no,” Lincoln laughs while shaking his head. “Like I would ever do anything to get Toni on my bad side—your girlfriend might be more intimidating than Octavia.”

“She’s gonna love hearing that,” Taylor smiles.

“The thing is, Lexa here—”

“Would love the check,” Lexa interjects, pinning Lincoln with her most threatening glare while her cheeks still burn warmly. “And, for reasons yet unclear to me, I’ll take Lincoln’s too. You can put us on the same tab.”

“You got it,” Taylor chuckles, and strides off to the kitchen with their empty dishes.

As Lexa signs the tab, leaving an exorbitant tip to somehow assuage her own embarrassment as well as fulfill an unspoken creed between service industry workers, Lincoln warmly grabs her shoulder.

“Thanks. This was a great way to spend my otherwise very boring Sunday while O is stuck at work.”

“Lucky for you, my Sunday plans were also foiled.”

“So glad we could be each other’s second fiddle,” Lincoln grins.

Lexa returns his familiar smile. “Anytime.”

They bundle back into their coats and hats and gloves before Lincoln waves and shouts a quick farewell to Taylor from across the bar. As they push through the front entryway back out into the cold and wind and lightly dusted snowy sidewalk, Lincoln wraps an arm around Lexa’s shoulder and hugs her closer.

“Thanks again—you didn’t have to pick up the tab, buddy.”

“Think of it as your belated Christmas present. Besides, you basically always pay whenever we hang out. I owe you.”

For the drinks and food, yes. But, Lexa also feels indebted to Lincoln’s unending kindness and patient listening as everything between she and Clarke has unfolded.

“You don’t owe me anything, but that food does make for a great belated Christmas present.”

“Well, it’s not pumpernickel bagels and pimento cream cheese, but,” Lexa shrugs, looking up to catch Lincoln’s eye just as his expression creases painfully.

“Aw man, did you have to bring up the pimento cream cheese?!”

Lexa laughs and savors the warmth of Lincoln’s broad frame close beside her.

:::

Sometime between the distance of Lincoln’s apartment, where they had parted after a smothering hug, and Lexa’s front entryway, her phone buzzes from within her coat pocket. When she sees Clarke’s name as the incoming call, she removes a glove with her teeth and swipes to answer.

“Hey.” It’s so cold now that the sun has set, her breath is frozen in puffs, but the anticipation of hearing Clarke’s voice builds a warmth deep in her stomach. “How are you?”

“Oh my god, I’m so tired,” Clarke whimpers.

Always so dramatic.

Still, she has sympathy for Clarke’s long and tiresome hours of unexpected work over the weekend. Lexa shuffles across an empty crosswalk, hurrying towards her street as other pedestrians bustle past in bulky winter wear. “Sorry you’ve been stuck there for two days.”

“I was prepared for Saturday. Today has kicked my ass. Where are you? It sounds windy. Oh my god, please tell me you aren’t running in this weather.”

Lexa laughs as she reaches her apartment and searches for her keys while keeping her phone pinned against her shoulder. “I’m walking home from grabbing food and drinks with Lincoln.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, my brain is fried. Drinks and food sound so nice right now,” Clarke practically whines.

Lexa pushes into the warmth of the stairwell and begins to take the stairs to her apartment. “Seeing Lincoln was really nice, although it was you I was hoping to share a meal with today.”

“Were you?”

She can hear Clarke better now as she unlatches the locks of her apartment’s front door and steps inside a quiet, darkened room. She smiles shyly at Clarke’s surprised delight and lightly clears her throat.

“Yes.”

“And what did these plans entail?”

Lexa used to wonder constantly about Clarke’s intentions—whether or not she was consciously aware of the provocative ring to her voice. Presently, Lexa requires no translation: Clarke’s flirtation is unmistakable.

“I wanted to take you out for brunch.”

“I would have loved that.” Clarke sounds beyond charmed, and Lexa’s entire face warms.

“That’s—that’s good to know,” she responds, exhaling shakily at Clarke’s belated acceptance to a date they never got to have.

“I had brunch plans for us today too!”

“Oh yeah?” Lexa’s intrigue instantly distracts from her spike of nerves.

“Yes! They involved homemade waffles and really nice prosecco I absconded with the last time I left my mom’s and, most importantly, not being at work for over nine hours.”

Lexa clicks on a nearby lamp and shuffles out of her coat but does not bother to remove her absurd winter hat. The idea of Clarke making plans for them—specifically plans that involve home-cooked meals and sharing bubbly wine in Clarke’s home—sets Lexa’s stomach fluttering as she collapses onto her sofa.

“Well, for future reference, I’d be up for drinking prosecco with you any time, appropriated or otherwise.”

“This is good information to have.”

Lexa cozies into the couch cushions at the sound of Clarke’s laugh, wishing desperately that they were sat side by side, filling each other in on their day. She might weave her fingers into Clarke’s hair to help her relax or pull Clarke’s legs into her lap to massage her calf muscles after a long shift at the bar.

“How was your afternoon with Lincoln?”

“He was very upset about being excluded from the New York bagel delivery.”

More of Clarke’s laughter broadens the small smile on Lexa’s mouth. “They were indeed very enviable bagels.”

“I’m glad you liked them. We’ll have to get more sometime.”

A pregnant beat in which Clarke doesn’t immediately respond has Lexa’s heart racing. “In New York?”

The insinuation of taking Clarke to Brooklyn is lightyears ahead of asking her to brunch, and Lexa scrambles to backtrack her overzealous suggestion while pulling her stupid hat over her eyes. “I, um—I didn’t mean—”

“Lexa, I’m sorry—ugh,” Clarke grunts in frustration. “I have to go help one of our servers with something.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. I’ll let you go,” Lexa fumbles to say, grateful that Clarke’s endless string of responsibilities has saved her from more useless stuttering.

“Can I call you when I’m finished here? If it’s not too late?”

Lexa sits up and finally removes her hat. “Call me whenever.”

“Okay.” Lexa can hear the grin in Clarke’s response and indulges in one of her own. “Oh, and if the invitation still stands, I would go with you to New York any time, with or without the promise of bagels.”

Lexa cannot stop smiling. She doesn’t even try.

:::

#a beer bud series #apu #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!#clexa fic

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lizacstuff · 3 years

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I agree with what you said to that anon about appreciating what we have while we have it. Eda and Serkan are so epic and I like all their moments. I would enjoy reading your thoughts on the episode as a whole.

Sorry I’m just getting to this today, busy week!

I loved episode 19! A random hodgepodge of thoughts:

Serkan just... handling Efe. I love that our king eventually, always wins. I mean this story isn’t over, but in ep 19 Serkan showed who’s the boss. From telling Efe straight out that he needed to apologize to the staff to engineering his continent-wide confession, Serkan was in control.

Speaking of Efe, I love that Eda didn’t sugarcoat anything with him. She made it clear she was disappointed in him and gave him honest advice about how to continue. Efe was a bit delusional thinking that Eda deescalating the situation the night before, meant she was on his side. DUDE, you lied and even though you haven’t admitted that it was more than a mistake, SHE KNOWS you did something underhanded. It gave me a weird warm fuzzy the way Eda told Efe that she knows what Serkan is capable of doing and what he would do next. She knows him.

(More under the cut:)

Also love that Engin was so angry and ready to throw down. Apparently, sabotage is what it takes to get the giant teddy bear angry, good to know. I love that Engin is such a good friend and business partner to Serkan. He’s exactly the energy Serkan needs around him. I have no idea why Engin can give Serkan exactly the right advice about Eda all the time, but can’t navigate his own love life at all, but I’m glad he’s been a great wingman to Serkan.

I’m also glad Ayfer has something else to think about other than worrying about Eda going back to Serkan. She gets a little obsessed in that vein, so I’m all for her starting a new catering business. Don’t know what to say about Erdeem and Leyla’s fake engagement, I guess I’m on board if it brings some comic relief, but I still don’t see what Fifi would ever see in him.

Ceren and Ferit were interesting, no? Ceren can’t say she wasn’t warned about Ferit, both Ayfer and Eda tried. However, I have to give him some props for admitting where he was mentally before things went too far. I think that’s a sign that he does really like her, knows he’s not ready for it and doesn’t want to start something that is doomed to fail. Selin really did a number on him and it certainly shouldn’t be Ceren’s mess to clean up.

About Selin, I’ve already talked way too much about her in this post from earlier in the week, but there’s one thing I didn’t touch on that I’m curious about. When Celin is told to take a hike with the chauffeur, she leaves the loft, pauses while all teary eyed and brings up her phone like she’s going to call someone before deciding not to make the call. Who? Who was she thinking of calling? Clearly not Serkan or Eda. Ferit? Was that jackass really going to call Ferit to make her feel better? Or was she going to call her reporter friend? Aydan? Efe? Piril? Enquiring minds want to know. It seems like more than a throwaway moment. Why put it in if it wasn’t foreshadowing something. Or was it just to show she had run through all her friends and realized not one would be sympathetic or approve of what she had done, so she had no one to call when her schemes failed and it gave her a sad?

Aydan and Seyfi as matchmakers is everything I need to be happy. As long as they are on the side of Edser, then I say let them meddle! Also props to Aydan for burning Alptekin’s clothes. That dude needs a huge wakeup call, so any act that might get his attention and bring him to his senses is a-okay in my book.

As for the meddling, that breakfast scene was so bittersweet. OMG. Serkan and the crusts. It was such a perfect detail to add. It showed that he not only knows her, but even subconsciously his default is to do things, big and small, that make her happy. No wonder the sweetness of it all but broke her. With that they ratcheted up the pining/longing/angst to atomic level.

That whole day was fraught for both of them and the audience. Serkan realizing he had to tell her at the same moment that Eda decided she wasn’t going to play his hot and cold game anymore was both entertaining and frustrating. I think Serkan let her get away a few times, because he was putting off the inevitable, but by the end it was like, EDA, JUST SIT DOWN AND GIVE HIM A MINUTE TO PULL HIMSELF TOGETHER AND TELL YOU WHAT HE NEEDS TO TELL YOU. Not that I blame her for her cynicism, he earned that over the last few weeks. I did very much enjoy the merry chase she led him on, the fact that he’s even willing to walk in on that charity dinner meeting is a testament to how much he wanted to find her. You can’t convince me he would ever walk into that nest of vipers without a very strong motivation.

I honestly can’t believe we got them sharing a chair in front of all those ladies. This show! It gives and it gives and it gives. There’s always something sweet or silly or romantic right around the corner. Rarely does it miss an opportunity. As for Serkan attempt at the dinner, he would have had better luck talking to her if he hadn’t gotten hung up on asking her if she still loved him. Duuuuude. You broke up with her and now want to back her into a corner where she would need to be vulnerable with you while you’re trying to get her to listen to you. Tactical error. But I get why he was distracted by that.

Thankfully, it lead to the most romantic phone conversation that was never heard. But I love that even though she couldn’t hear what he said, she sensed it. She somehow knew he might have said he missed her. I also love the way that Serkan was playing along with her about the party. He knew she had been put through the emotional wringer over the last couple of weeks and was trying to make him jealous and he gave her the gift of succeeding. They are so much more compatible that they think sometimes.

As much as they tend to miscommunicate in important moments when emotions are running high and clouding the issue, when they aren’t they seem to fundamentally understand one another.

Which takes us to the biggest misunderstanding of the episode. The morning after. Serkan woke up embarrassed. Not really because he’d been drunk, but because he’d called Eda and she’d come over and taken care of him when he had no right to ask that of her while she’s still in the dark about what separates them. That’s why practically the first words out of him mouth the next morning are that he shouldn’t have called her while drunk. I understand why he felt that way, its all about him not deserving her kindness, especially not until she knows, but I can also see why that would hit Eda wrong. She immediately takes it that he’s sorry she came, that he wishes she wasn’t there. Which is, of course, not remotely the case, but they just talk past each other and her hurt feelings cause things to escalate uncontrollably.

I really wanted to yell at Serkan to just rip off the bandaid and tell her. I did enjoy that Eda’s wound-up emotional state was the thing that pushed him to matter-of-factly yell out how in love with her he is and how in love with her he will always be, thank you show. We needed that. And so did Eda. They’re the words she’s ached to hear since the first moment she realized there was something more to the breakup.

Thank goodness this damn secret will all be over within the first few minutes of the next episode. They, and we, deserve to move on to a world where Eda knows a) why Serkan broke up with her b) that he’s still, and always, madly in love with her.

All in all a very good episode that moved things forward.

#sen cal kapimi #edser #edser discussion #sck discussion #sck episode discussion #sckask #sck 1x19 #asklizac #Anonymous

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okaybutlikeimagine · 4 years

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Since the quarantine started I've been trying to keep myself in shape, and I started to do exercises every day, feeling completely incapable. 😂😂😂 Imagine Billy trying to be some sort of personal trainer for Jonathan, mostly because he noticed that he doesn't move enaugh, but also because it's funny to watch him stuggle while Will and El laugh their asses off.

first of all: i FEEL it!! dude i keep trying to do things and then my mind is like: you’re real funny to think i’m ever doing anything physical ever again

I’M CACKLING i absolutely cannot!! Billy and Jonathan's relationship w/ each other makes me laugh and this??? has me rolling. you just know Jonathan would NOT want this. he'd push so hard against this. (also sorry i kind of gave this a plot WOOPS)

Okay, if this was a modern AU/if i ever could rip my absolute love for the 80’s away from myself enough to WRITE a modern AU, i think this would make the PERFECT ONE. like….. Imagine Billy filming shitty little videos on his camera/phone for social media (snapchat or instagram or like……. Vlogging for his fitness youtube channel or some shit, idk, i don’t use social media enough but you get the idea) and being like: “Alright guys… day one of turning local twig into more than just skin and bones.”

And he’s sauntering to Jonathan’s room as he talks and turns the camera around to find Jonathan’s door open and him laying on his bed like, reading or going through his camera or something looking at and deleting pictures he doesn’t like/need/whatever and Jonathan looks up, just barely perturbed bc it’s just Billy and his door is open so he kind of asked for this and the camera catches the exact moment that Jonathan’s face switches to -oh shit oh no Billy has his camera out- and he just goes: “What are you doing?”

And Billy turns the camera back around to him and you can see Jonathan’s little head and scared little face in the background behind Billy’s shoulder as Billy says: “Training day!” with the biggest, widest, most malicious grin on his face as he fucking trust falls back onto Jonathan’s stretched out form.

And Jonathan starts scrambling trying to get up but he’s really just flailing his limbs, eyes going wide as the camera gets blurry and there’s a thump and an-

“Ooof!”

And then Billy’s cackling.

And Jonathan’s voice is strained- sounds like someone’s practically choking him- as the camera focuses on Billy’s grinning face and skinny hands that are pushing at his broad shoulders and his cheek (which makes Billy grimace bc he doesn’t like his face being touched thank you) and Jonathan says: “Get off, you’re heavy.”

“First exercise! Push me off yourself.”

“What?” Jonathan squeaks. “No! I can’t! You’re like, a million pounds.”

“Million pounds of pure muscle, baby.” Billy says as he lets all that muscle go and becomes absolute dead weight onto Jonathan who is struggling.

“I hate you so much.” Jonathan wheezes, shoving at Billy, pinching him a few times until Billy smacks Jonathan’s hand hard enough to make him whine, laughing about how that’s cheating, jackass

You’re the one who won’t get up, asshole.

Yeah, well maybe after this we need to work on your reflexes, slow poke.

And it goes on like that. At first Billy does it randomly bc it’s kind of just a joke, like: “I think I wanna mess with Jonathan today. Let’s go.”

But then he gets kinda serious about it and it becomes an actual series of videos like: “Day 5, cardio day! If he can do it, then you can do it.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

Billy shrugs, grinning at the camera with an: “I think it’s pretty funny...”

Jonathan shoves at Billy, who in turn shoulders the boy back and makes him lose his balance.

The curly haired boy sends a knowing look to the camera.

“And this is why we’re doing this.”

“Whatever.” Jonathan mutters.

And it’s kind of fun for both of them, honestly!! Jonathan gets into it (even though Billy’s a little aggressive in his ways…) and absolutely does NOT look at any of the comments. Billy does though, and likes to tell Jonathan all of the ones that 1. Playfully make fun of him and 2. Are like…… really oddly and kind of grossly horny for him (bc Jonathan’s face gets red and he always tries to run away as quickly as possible bc our boy is a Shy Lil Bean who does NOT want to hear about how some random girl or guy on the internet thinks Jonathan is “just cute enough to eat the fuck up”) there are also some extremely rude people who shit on Jonathan constantly but they’re bullies and Billy always tells them off right before blocking them completely.

ANYWAY enough of that, let’s get back to the 80’s please!

No vlogging, no comments, just Billy walking out of basketball practice to his car to go hang out with Steve, heading around the back of the gym so he can avoid as many people as possible, when he hears a very familiar sound.

He looks over, out of instinct and curiosity bc yup, it’s a body being slammed into the chain link fence that surrounds the school. And his sauntering slows, curiosity fully taking over because hey, he must know the dudes that’re fighting, and gossip is one of the only interesting things in this town and-

Shit.... Shit, he knows that floppy hair.

It’s Jonathan. Billy doesn’t have a good view of the guy who’s pushing him but the two boys behind him are Jacob and Trevor so he figures the dude acting as the aggressor must be that jackass Zack Olson. The boy’s a punk. Billy keeps a careful watch of the scene in front of him, wondering what the occasion is.

And then the boy, with a hand still on Jonathan’s jacket, reaches his fist back for a punch. Billy does all he can to keep himself from going over there. Something about the need to “fight your own battles” or whatever filtering through his head when-

The boy punches Jonathan’s stomach. Billy’s mind is racing, blood starting to boil, shifting his weight.

C’mon, bud… fight back… I know you can-

He gets shoved back against the fence again, before his shin is getting kicked and-

Nope nope nope-

Billy’s kicked into gear. He’s stalking over there, getting faster with each aggressive move and the assholes are goddamn cackling and Billy’s blood is boiling and it seems like Jonathan’s had enough at this point bc he ducks out of the way quickly and then Billy’s veering for the hole in the fence and he’s stepping through it and he slams his hand against the fence, the rest of it shaking noisily as all 4 of the boys swing their heads over to him.

“Hargrove!” calls one of the boys.

“Get out of here.”

“C’mon… we’re just having some fun-”

“Get… out... unless you want your nose broken in multiple places.”

Fear fills their eyes, but they don’t leave without a scowl.

And then Jonathan is there, coughs a little bit, and Billy’s mad.

“Hey.” Jonathan mumbles, pushing off the fence to walk past Billy but Billy grabs his wrist before he can get away.

“What was that?” He asks, teeth clenched because he’s confused and is trying to make sense of this. “You just let those guys beat you up like that?”

Jonathan shrugs.

“I don’t understand you.” Billy continues, sitting in his hip, still keeping hold of the thin wrist. “Those guys are punks… You beat up my boyfriend, didn’t you? What are you doing letting those guys do that to you?”

“I don’t like to fight.” Jonathan mumbles and Billy thinks he needs to clean out his ears.

“Don’t like to fight?” Billy laughs disbelievingly. “From what I hear you beat Steve up to a fucking pulp and you don’t like to fight? Don’t give me that shit-”

“Yeah, because Steve was saying stuff about Will and… and my mom. So.” Jonathan looks Billy in the eyes but Billy’s too busy being shocked by the words.

He knew Jonathan beat Steve up in an alley. He knew Steve did some pretty shitty stuff leading up to it. He knew Steve incited it. He knew Steve was sorry sorry so sorry... but he didn’t know it got so personal. He didn’t know Steve said shit about the Byers. Steve never wants to talk about it and, frankly, Billy never wants to ask. But this seems important. Maybe he will. Because… well-

“.... He said shit about Joyce? And Will?” Billy’s grip loosens.

“Yeah…” Jonathan mumbles, hanging his head again, shaking his wrist out of Billy’s hand. “But he- he didn’t mean it. He was just mad. He apologized. A lot… it’s fine.”

Billy’s gonna have to ask about that. But for now he’s got a shaking boy in front of him that for some reason he like…. Actually cares about now and it’s weird but it’s not horrible and… and he doesn’t wanna see this boy get hurt when he knows the boy himself can prevent it.

“Huh…. well you’ve got reflexes obviously. Don’t tell me it’s some ‘monster’ side of you or something- you’ve got practice.”

“Yeah well…. I used to….” Jonathan’s voice gets far away. “I used to have to fight my dad off...”

“Oh…. huh.” Billy knew that too. Vaguely. Knows Jonathan’s dad was an absolute asshole and Jonathan used to have to keep him at bay so he wouldn’t hurt Joyce or Will. Still doesn’t make it any less shocking to know that their little family has roots in so much pain and fear. They’re such a good family now. They didn’t let it break them apart. Joyce fought for them and… and Billy can’t think about that too much. “So what, you’re one of those guys? Hero type, won’t fight unless you need to or whatever.”

“You do the same thing.”

“Do not-”

“Most of the time you do.” Jonathan says with an eyebrow raised. “C’mon Billy, you can cut the tough guy shit. I know you now.”

Billy’s not having it. “Yeah, whatever, this is about you. Maybe if you had some more meat on your bones they wouldn’t be able to push you around like that.”

“It’s not that, they’re just jerks-”

“Yeah, and you’re not exactly intimidating-”

“It’s fine, Billy, stop pretending like you care-”

“I do care, you asshole.”

“Then quit worrying. I’m fine, I’ll take care of myself, I can handle it… it’s fine. I just don’t like fighting.”

Billy’s irritated, but he’s too tired to fight because he already knows the two of them could go at it forever. He just watches Jonathan shrug his shoulders harshly as he backs up before he turns, slips through the hole in the fence, and stalks away.

Billy rolls his eyes.

But when he’s with Steve, he brings it up. The fact that he saw Jonathan after school (Steve asked how he’s doing), the fact that he saw Jonathan getting beat up (Steve sat up with concern and asked if he stopped them), the fact that Jonathan told him he doesn’t like to fight (Steve nodded with understanding, like he knew that already), the fact that-

“Jonathan said you said shit about Will and Joyce.”

“Hu-... oh…”

“That’s why he beat you up.”

“I… I didn’t mean it. He knows I didn’t. I swear I didn’t, I was just… it was a lot that was happening and-” Steve is stammering. Billy starts to feel bad about it. “-there’s no excuses. No no, there’s no excuses, I shouldn’t make excuses, I was an asshole and I shouldn’t have said that shit no matter how angry I was because they… they didn’t do anything and Will is such a good kid and Joyce is like… one of the only people that actually ever seems to care and-”

“Babe.”

“And I didn’t mean it, I swear-”

“Babe.”

“H-huh?”

“I know.” Billy says, grabbing hold of Steve’s face to get him to calm the hell down. Steve breathes.

But Billy still doesn’t know what to do about Jonathan. And Steve tries to reassure him that- “He knows what he’s doing. We know he can fight them off he just… doesn’t want to. Can’t make a horse eat the hay or…. Whatever it is. What is it? Can’t get an old dog to… drink from a river?”

Billy rolls his eyes, but his heart beats a little faster.

“You’re such a dumbass.”

Steve tries to be resentful but he’s being kissed so he doesn’t exactly have the opportunity.

But Billy isn’t okay with this!!! He truthfully doesn’t know how Jonathan even has the reflexes he does still bc Lonnie’s been gone for a while and all the boy does nowadays is lay around the house…. Literally that’s it. At any given moment of any given day he’s laying on the couch, laying in his bed, or running around with his camera- and by ‘running’, he really means ‘ambling’ bc the boy has absolutely no sense of urgency.

He likes to say that he had “enough urgency back when I thought my brother was dead. I’d like to take a break now.” but Billy likes to say: “That was two years ago, you lazy fucker.”

So.

And Billy can’t really be lead to believe that sex with Nancy is that much of a fuckng cardio work out. Billy doesn’t know hardly any details of the two and their sex life because he doesn’t want to know but Billy can bet the two of them are the most vanilla people on the planet. And Nancy is tiny, it’s not like lifting her would be that much of a physical strain. For anyone.

So...

He’s like…. upset about this. Jonathans carries himself very differently when he’s at home than when he’s at school but it still bothers Billy bc why. And he figures it must be bc the boy just isn’t physically capable of being confident in a place with so many people. Figures maybe Jonathan just wants to be invisible when he's at school and so he shrinks but Billy just doesn't understand. And now all I can think about is Billy being a really fucking aggressive version of Glinda from Wicked and Jonathan is Elphaba and Billy just stands in Jonathan’s doorway, large and intimidating presence that he is, and says: “Jonathan, I’ve decided to make you my new project.”

And Jonathan, who’s laying in bed eating popcorn and flipping through his photo album as he listens to R.E.M. just gives a very disinterested look in Billy’s direction and says: “You really don’t have to do that.”

And Billy sits in his hip and raises and eyebrow and rolls his eyes and says: “I know…” on a sigh, with a vaguely exhausted and yet somehow cocky “That’s what makes me so nice.” tagged onto the end.

“Think I’m gonna have to disagree-”

“No time. C’mon. We’re going for a run.”

And Billy tries not to give the boy much of a chance, but he makes it so difficult. For as thin and lazy as the boy seems to be, Jonathan has a lot of fucking endurance. He can fight Billy on this forever and Billy really just wants to pick him up and throw him in front of the weights and make him lift them but like… he knows he can’t so he gives up for the day.

But then one day he catches Jonathan asleep on the couch.

So he scares him awake.

“Shit!” Jonathan jerks, sitting up and looking into Billy’s face and sighing harshly. “Billy! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Did that get your heart rate up?”

“Yeah, you nearly scared me to death.”

“Great, we’re going for a run.”

“No.”

“Yes, we are. 5 laps around the house and then we’ll see where you’re at, c’mon.”

“Billy I said no.” And Jonathan pushes himself up and starts heading to the kitchen but Billy just isn’t having this because… because he knows Jonathan was getting smacked around again yesterday. Knows he got harassed after gym class. Billy saw it. He’s mad about it and he thinks he can do something about it so he’s gonna and…

Billy grabs hold of the back of Jonathan’s shirt and yanks him back.

“Billy!”

“You think you’re good? Fine then, fight me.”

“No.”

And Billy keeps hold of Jonathan’s shirt even as he struggles out of the way and Billy knows the boy used to be able to hit and take a punch in return but he just… he needs to really know. If Jonathan can get away from him then he’ll leave him alone but only then.

Jonathan struggles. “Let go of me.”

“You get away yourself.”

“Billy-”

And Billy pulls Jonathan back some more so he can pin him against the wall aggressively and Jonathan shrinks and Billy’s got him against the wall, hand to his chest, arm’s distance away from him, waiting for Jonathan to fight back and-

“Fight back.”

“I don’t want to!”

“Do it. Try and get away.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m at home! I don’t… I don’t wanna fight in my house! Not in the house, just-stop. What if Will walks in?”

And the words strike Billy harshly. Like he’s the one that’s taken a blow, like Jonathan just punched him and-

And suddenly Billy feels like an absolute asshole. Because he’s being a bully. He’s bullying Jonathan in his own home, even when he’s being asked to stop. He’s an aggressor. He’s being their fucking father and maybe the intent isn’t malicious but that doesn’t change a whole fucking lot, now does it? He knows it doesn’t. He loosens his grip, unsure how he could have let himself get this far. He tries to convince himself that it’s not like that... but he knows that Will wouldn’t see it that way if he were to walk in.

He lets go of Jonathan. They stand there in silence.

But Billy’s still just not okay with this.

“I just… I don’t wanna see you get pushed around anymore.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes.

“Then look away.”

Billy growls.

“No, you idiot. Don’t you… you affect Will too, y’know!”

Jonathan eyes Billy darkly. “Yeah, what are you talking abou-”

“What do you think he would think if he saw you getting pushed around? He’s gonna think it’s okay to let people do that to him!” Billy’s getting riled up and really he feels kind of stupid being so affected by these people he gave absolutely zero shits about a little over a year ago but… but now.

Jonathan’s mouth screws up in thought and irritation. Billy’s trying to hit it home.

“He’s not gonna stand up for himself because you don’t.”

Jonathan slumps against the wall. Billy thinks he’s got him.

“I still don’t see why you care.” Jonathan mumbles, eyeing Billy with a curiosity that’s colored with disdain and Billy’s a little sick of that face.

“Because you guys are my family now, jackass.”

Jonathan scoffs disbelievingly. “I really never would have pegged you for being such a ‘family guy’, Billy.”

The words leave something bitter in Billy’s system. He licks his teeth . “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t wanna be like those assholes.”

Jonathan sizes Billy up for a second… and Billy knows he’s got him.

“Fine.”

Billy’s grin becomes shark-like. If that scared look on Jonathan’s face is regret… well it’s too late for that.

And so Joyce comes home from her shift at the store to find her son…. Running…. Around the outside of the house……

“Uhm… Hi honey.” Joyce climbs to the porch, turning around as Jonathan stops in front of her.

“H-uh… huh… huh… huh…h-uh-”

“Don’t stop! Who said you could stop?!” Comes a voice that makes Joyce jump.

Billy jogs up, looking up at Joyce and giving a polite smile.

“Hi!” He says, hands on his hips, slightly out of breath but looking rather unbothered compared to Jonathan who’s currently bent over wheezing.

“Uhhhhhm…. What’s going on?”

“Jonathan’s my new workout buddy!” Billy says triumphantly, patting a large hand harshly on Jonathan’s back and causing the boy to cough in response.

Joyce looks concerned. Billy’s not too worried about it.

“Uh huh. Alright then… well, I’m just gonna start on… dinner…. Then….”

“Sounds good.” Billy pats Jonathan’s back harshly, barking again once Joyce has her back turned. “Alright, 5 more!”

“B-but! We just did 5!”

“Yup, and we’re doing 5 more. C’mon, the longer you stay standing the harder it’s gonna be, now move!”

And Jonathan’s getting shoved and then the two are running, Jonathan flailing a bit more with every step he takes but hey…. All that stuff about Rome and taking time and whatever… Billy thinks that applies here.

And so the two of them work out and Jonathan kind of 100% wants to quit every time they start (esp bc Billy seems to know exactly when it’s inconvenient for Jonathan to start working out and picks that exact moment to bug him) but…. It kind of feels good... he guesses.

And Billy pushes hard at first. And he makes Jonathan eat more. Like… a lot more. So much more, in fact, that the boy vomits and Billy realizes he may need to pull back because: Hey…. maybe he can’t force too much too quickly. He’s just trying to get the boy to carbo-load so he gets some kind of muscle.

He wants to track it too (because maybe this is his calling or something), so he asks Jonathan for his camera and pulls him in front of a wall.

“Uhhh… please just… just be careful with it.” Jonathan insists, holding onto his camera until the last possible second but eventually having to concede to allowing the camera to lay in Billy’s large hands.

“It’s fine.”

“Put the strap on. It can’t fall if you-”

“I’m not putting on the stupid little strap, I’m not trying to look like a loser, I’m just trying to get a picture.” and then he’s twisting and flipping the camera around in his hands, mumbling: “Now how do I…?”

“Be careful.”

“I’ve got it!” Billy barks, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m just looking for the-shit!”

“Ah!” Jonathan cries, moving lightning fast towards his camera and catching it before it hits the ground. His breath is labored from his fear. “What the hell! Be careful, asshole!”

Billy’s heart is racing too, fear flashing in his eyes as he watched the camera start to fall to the ground. He takes a second to collect himself.

“Cool. Good. I was just testing your reflexes.”

“Yeah, it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a clumsy piece of shit.”

“Hey.” Billy growls, reaching to grab for the camera again but Jonathan holds it away. “Keep that up and I break it for real.”

“Yeah yeah.” Jonathan says, completely unconvinced, flopping the camera strap around Billy’s neck and catching his head a bit.

“Hey, watch the hair!”

“Woops.” Jonathan mocks like a piece of shit and Billy’s gonna fight him just for being irritating. Jonathan steps back up against the wall once he’s satisfied that the strap is on properly.

“Alright, say cheese.”

“Cheese.” Jonathan mumbles and the flash goes off.

And the two of them work out every day!! And every week Billy pushes Jonathan to stand against the wall and takes some pictures, some with him flexing (I feel stupid, Yeah well you’ll feel less stupid once you’ve got something to flex, now shut up and stay still).

And Jonathan is sore. Like… all the time. El laughs about it when she tries to mess around with him and he winces in pain. Will is a little worried but it makes him giggle.

One day the two kids are sitting in the room, eating lunch and watching TV, when Billy decides it’s time to lift weights in the living room. And so they do. And Jonathan’s just lifting the bar and it’s difficult. And Billy likes to show off so he’s lifting a shitton and yelling at Jonathan to keep up and it’s hard and the kids start laughing.

Jonathan whines a bit, setting the bar down and asking Billy quietly if maybe they can do this later because…. Well… he’s embarrassed.

And that just won’t do. He’s not okay with that. Because he’s having Jonathan do this so that they can both be good examples for these kids and they’re laughing?

So Billy sets his weights down and walks in front of the kids and El glares him down bc he’s “in the way” and Will seems kind of nervous bc Billy has that glint in his eye and then-

“Ah! Wait! Billy!”

Billy scoops Will up and carries him over to Jonathan and shoves a squirming Will into Jonathan’s arms.

“Weight training.” Billy supplies by way of answer, and Jonathan is laughing bc Will is wriggling and he’s hard to hold like this but Billy’s too busy walking over to El who’s so busy cracking up over on the couch that she doesn’t notice Billy is currently headed towards her on a mission… until he picks her up and then she’s squealing and he turns to Jonathan with a: “Get to it!”

And Billy starts curling with El is his arms and she’s squealing and wriggling and all 4 of them are laughing and Hop is most definitely confused when he comes home in his break between shifts.

But progress is made! And one day Jonathan comes home from work to find Steve lazing around on the couch with Billy, the both of them in crop tops and short exercise shorts, and Jonathan knows this is nothing good. Because there’s a bag next to the couch and Jonathan thinks maybe he should just turn back around and try to hang out with Nancy or something because-

“Finally! We’ve been waiting around for you!” Billy calls out, rolling himself off the couch and picking up the bag and oh no.

“Hey Johnny!” Steve calls from the couch and Jonathan is supremely uncomfortable whenever Steve calls him that but he does it so often and he can’t think too much about it bc the bag is being shoved into his chest.

“Put these on.”

Jonathan peeks into the bag and closes it quickly.

“No.” Jonathan whines.

“Shut up just put them on.”

“Why?”

“Because you wear the same sweats every time we work out and they’re gross, now put them on.”

And now the kids are really laughing…. Like REALLY laughing…. Bc the the three boys are wearing crop tops and short exercise shorts as they work out in the living room and Billy took one of his hair ties and tied up Jonathan’s fringe so there’s a little tuft at the top of his head bc: “We’re doing burpees and your hair is gonna get in the way, dummy.”

And it’s just funny.

Jonathan can’t say he agrees. he also can't really laugh while he’s busy wheezing.

But he’s doing well! And he starts getting some muscle and he didn’t think it’d feel this good but like… gym doesn’t totally suck anymore. And he’s not as tired 24/7. And his body like… starts feeling good when he and Billy start to exercise. To the point that when they take a day off he feels bad... almost empty.

And Billy is so proud of him! And yeah, it’s not like Jonathan’s gonna try out for the basketball team or anything, but when guys try to push him around in the hallway now he’s surprisingly sturdy. He plants his feet and he’s practically a rock and guys are confused by it. When guys try to push him against fences they just can’t. People stop bothering him. They murmur about how “the freak got like… strong all of a sudden”

And Billy couldn’t be prouder. Really, he feels like he should do this professionally.

Although… Nancy is pretty confused when she walks into the dark room in search of her boyfriend (who is absolutely fed up with her nonsense of not listening to him when the light says to stay out) and she hugs him from behind and asks: “Uh… what’s that?”

Bc Jonathan is developing all the pictures they’ve taken and… well…

“Who took those?” She asks, grabbing for them no matter how much Jonathan protests that you’re gonna ruin them, be careful

“Uh… Billy took them.”

“Billy? Hargrove? Took pictures of you… shirtless? And flexing?”

Jonathan’s about to melt to the floor in embarrassment. Nancy is giggling.

“Did you guys take them for me, or what?”

Jonathan’s head is in his hands. He’s gonna die.

“Y’know how I told you we’ve been working out?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“He wanted pictures to... document the progress. He gets a power trip off of it or something.”

“Oh my god, Jonathan, are you wearing a crop top in this one?!”

Jonathan is absolutely going to die.

96 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 4 years

Text

For @imashittalkingmushroom who requested some Tim content. Excerpt from one of the seemingly endless WIPs I toil away at in my downtime because me pace myself, in this economy, hah. This one’s called “The Vienna Game” and is Batfam ensemble versus a new rising threat, which Tim has a revelation about here. This part is just a rough draft for the moment, but you get the idea.

THE VIENNA GAME

Chapter Five: Pawn Storm

Barely five minutes after Tim’s head hit his pillow, he sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering in his throat.

“They’re all connected,” he said, wide-eyed to an empty room. The lack of a response bequeathed by his surroundings was a bit, well, lacking, so he leaped to his feet and raced down to the hall to the Batcave’s nearest access point.

“They’re all connected,” he shouted again as he took the rough-hewn stone stairs three at a time. His words bounced and rattled off the walls of the cave, winging upwards into its darkest recesses and rousing the bats from their nests overhead. They scattered in every direction, deeper into the darkness, as they reacted to his urgency and intensity with shrieking complaints.

If only his actual family could be similarly moved. But no, they had to suck instead.

“Whozit whatzit howzit?” Dick swiveled in his chair, just enough to shoot the younger boy a quizzical eyebrow but not enough to necessitate removing his feet from next to the Batcomputer’s keyboard, where Bruce was currently drilling holes into them with a patented (and thus wholly ineffective) Batglare.

“What is it Lassie? Did Timmy fall down the well again? One bark for yes, two for no,” Jason said brightly. He bent at the waist and braced his hands on his thighs as though actually talking to a dog; it had the unfortunate side-effect of making his stupid brother a stupid firmly planted rock that did little more than shift the merest micro-meter when Tim rolled his eyes and brusquely shouldered past him.

“That doesn’t even make any sense. I’m Timmy,” he said irritably. Too late he realized the trap he’d blearily wandered into as his jackass brother practically cackled with glee. Tim reddened and quickened his pace to the Batcomputer. “Oh shut up.”

Jason swivelled, but whatever his intended follow-up, he abruptly cut off as an apple core arced out of the shadows and bounced off his head. The second eldest pivoted sharply once more and scowled in the direction it’d come from as Tim absently took note of the several other apple cores scattered around Jason’s feet.

“Would you stop that?”

Cassandra, target of his ire, merely contemplated him for a beat before shaking her head.

“No thank you,” she politely declined, and she bit into a fresh apple with a loud crunch.

“You will be cleaning those up, not Alfred,” their father said, wearily enough Tim got the sense this had been going on for quite some time. His sister just shrugged.

“Worth it.”

Bruce exercised the better part of valor and shifted his attention back to Tim. “And didn’t you say you were going to bed?”

“I did say that,” Tim said agreeably as he barreled forth unto the Batcomputer. He batted (hah - oh no, the sleep deprivation was real) Dick’s feet aside and rebutted Dick’s injurious expression with an apologetic one of his own; apparently appeased, Dick just lithely shrugged and lifted his linked legs straight off the desk’s surface and then just never stopped. Instead he kept lifting his legs up, up and away until he’d transitioned into a perfect handstand on the seat of the chair, which he then transitioned out of by gracefully flipping over the chair’s back and onto his feet. Because see, Tim’s eldest brother’s middle name was not in fact ‘John,’ it was ‘Just That Extra.’

“I even did that,” Tim continued as he set his fingers to dancing swiftly across the keyboard. “But then I realized something.”

“You look ridiculous when you pop your collar,” Steph said knowingly.

“What? No. Wait, when have I ever done that?”

“Umm, the last time you were drunk, duh.”

Tim paused just long enough to shoot his ex an absolutely baffled look, over where she was lounging bonelessly next to Cass.

“When was I drunk?”

Steph tilted her head to the side and squinted in thought. “Drunk, concussed....whatever. It was definitely one of those two. I have pictures. They’re not good.”

Perhaps sensing his impending spontaneous combustion, Bruce interceded, raising a hand to quiet the perpetual storm of sibling (and Steph) nonsense.

“What’s this about, Tim?”

“Our newest Rogue, the one we just finally caught last week,” Tim reported, turning his attention back to the Dance of the Keystrokes. “We have a problem.”

Their father frowned. “Desperado? What’s the problem?”

“His name,” Tim said grimly. He finished pulling up the string of files he’d only minutes ago linked together in his own mind. Flashing into existence on the wall to wall screens before them were all the notes the various members of their family had compiled on the new villain in town, as well as a number of other files for a good dozen or so other relatively new or unknown villains scattered across the globe, with these latter documents pulled from the digital archives of various superhero teams and law enforcement agencies worldwide.

Blitz, a speedster located in Southern California, their indistinct form pixelated and blurred virtue of the crackling halo of electrical energy they seemed to wear like a cloak of St. Elmo’s Fire.

A Filipino man and woman purported to be fraternal twins operating out of a number of hotspots throughout Southeast Asia, with a combined name whose translation from Tagalog roughly amounted to ‘Double Check.’

A young brunette woman seemingly barely out of her teens, with eyes hidden behind an overly large pair of sunglasses, linked to a series of crimes in Argentina and Chile and allegedly going by the name ‘Swindle.’

A black man in his mid to late twenties, moving across the Iberian peninsula, with no reported name given, just a strange adherence to a symbol that appeared to be of a windmill, of all things, and that had local press dubbing him ‘Don Quixote.’

King March, a white man in his late forties to early fifties, with black hair and greying temples and a stern but smug disposition in all the files Interpol had compiled on him due to his frequent appearances as a person of interest throughout Eastern Europe.

A short, acrobatic Latino teleporter who offered up only the name ‘Castle’ in his sporadic run-ins with various hero organizations across the globe.

Tempo, suspected to originally hail from Sri Lanka, and last sighted in Hong Kong of all places...and by no means the only one of this assortment of individuals engaged in criminal enterprises in a city known for its Batman Inc presence.

Undermine, a masked man so far content to operate just out of Australia.

Flag Fall, another masked individual largely spotted in the Southeastern U.S.

An unseen person or persons known only by a calling card left in various Saharan regions, identifying them as someone named ‘Tabia.’

And lastly, a mature black woman out of the UK, sporting a wry, enigmatic smile in the only known picture of her, alongside her alleged pseudonym: Zugzwang.

“It was pretty much total coincidence I put it together,” Tim said as his family gathered more closely behind him to survey the assembled files over his shoulder. “I’d come across most these files over the past couple months, just in passing, as I like to familiarize myself with the various players in most Batman Inc. operating cities, and I was just reading this last file before bed, just to kinda wind down, y’know....”

“That sentence makes me so sad I don’t even have the heart to make fun of you,” Jason interrupted. He frowned. “Wait, that implies I have a heart. Hang on, that doesn’t sound right. And is this, what, sympathy I’m feeling right now? Eww, that is not the emotion I ordered. Take it back.”

Tim glared at him briefly, and then foraged on. “Anyway, as I was saying, I happened to be reading this last file before bed, and her name stuck out for me and from there I just started connecting some dots. See, alone, none of these names stand out as particularly significant, but put them together, and what happens?”

“They all have multiple meanings,” Damian said, scowling at the screens with focused intensity. “Mostly innocuous, but they’re also all....hmm. Chess terminology.”

Tim nodded enthusiastically. “Bingo! Ten points to Stabby Smurf.”

He bent over the keyboard again and started pulling up various video files, catching sight of reflections out of the corner of his eye as he did so. Duke seemed to be mouthing “Stabby Smurf” with a kind of horrified awe and Damian himself seemed unable to decide if he was offended or not. Whoops, that part hadn’t been meant to come out aloud. Tim coughed to cover a grimace slash smirk and hastened back to his point.

“For instance, based on geographical location alone, Flag Fall seems to be an obvious reference to an actual flag, but the term also refers to timed chess matches, when a given player has run out of time to make a move. Swindle isn’t just a term for cheating or fraud, but in chess, refers to when a losing player tricks their opponent into falling for a decoy move that ends the game in a draw instead of a loss. King march is a term for when you advance your king up the board, tempo is a single turn or move, a double check is when two different pieces put an opponent’s king in check simultaneously, and undermining is when you capture a defensive piece of your opponent’s and leave their king undefended.”

He stopped for a breath and Damian quickly stepped into the breach and picked up where he left off, seamlessly following the train of thought. “And Tabia comes from the Arabic for ‘essence,’ but in chess is a key point, specifically a point of departure from which you can perform any number of signature moves. The windmill symbol utilized by this individual in Spain and its surrounding regions most likely then does not reference Don Quixote, but rather a looped series of moves, usually brought upon by a rook and a bishop, which forces an opponent’s king to ‘windmill’ back and forth between just two or three squares in order to keep out of check.”

“And then Blitz of course refers to a specific opening gambit, that can bring about checkmate in four moves or less,” Tim resumed. “And while Castle has so far been assumed to be nothing more than a surname according to various heroes who have encountered him, largely no doubt due to the fact that he doesn’t affect any kind of costume or disguise, when you consider that pretty much all his demonstrations of teleportation utilize a kind of ‘switching’ of two persons’ relative placement in space/time, either as a signature or an actual staple of his power, its far more likely his name is a reference to ‘castling.’ Which of course then just brings us back to Zugzwang, which is a German term that loosely translates to ‘compulsion to move’ and specifically denotes any scenario in chess in which a player has no choice but to move, even though all moves available to them are inevitably going to worsen their position.”

They all took a minute to absorb that then, speed-reading their way through the various files with all the quickness that made it an actual possibility one or more of them might someday make it all the way through a read-through of the entire Wayne Manor Library, even taking into account the minimal time any of them allotted to the having of actual ‘hobbies.’

It was Cass who found something new to seize upon next, though she never once flicked her eyes away from where they tracked the movements of one videoed individual to the next, screen by screen.

“It’s not just the names,” she reported, scrutinizing each figure intently. “They move alike. When they fight. Its not a lot. But enough that they probably trained together, or at least shared a teacher.”

Tim nodded again. “I thought so too, but I wasn’t sure. I don’t have your eye for that, but it seemed like they might.”

“Reeet, record scratch,” Steph jumped in then. “Not to be all ‘talk nerdy to me, baby,’ since we don’t do that any more and whoops, totally forgot for a second that your dad is legit standing right here, wow, awkwaaaaaard, but for those of us still waiting to buy a vowel, why is this a problem with that Desperado dude specifically?”

“Because we’ve been operating off of the assumption that he chose his name as a more obvious reference to simply being some kind of outlaw,” Bruce said. “But in terms of chess specifically, a desperado piece is any piece that is trapped or in danger, and then sacrifices itself to achieve some kind of maximum damage or compensation that greatly outweighs the loss of itself.”

Steph nodded and pursed her lips. “Cool, cool. Okay so first off, let me just say how glad I am that it was you in specific that decided to follow up on that. Definitely the best of all timelines there, like just so, so absolutely stellar, that. It in no way compounded the awkwardness of the moment or contributed to my pending death by mortification. Secondly, oh, like. Yikes, so that’s not great, huh.”

“No, its not,” Bruce said seriously, with only the barest of twitches in the proximity of those things other people use to smile, aka lips. “If all of this turns out to bear fruit, as I suspect it will, the relative ease with which this Desperado was captured is nothing short of ominous. But luckily, we now have a chance to get ahead of whatever else might be in the works there. Excellent work, Tim.”

Tim squirmed, digging deep into the well of his bodily mastery and various techniques for exerting mind over matter. Don’t blush, don’t blush, you’re a super cool crime-fighting dude, not a total dweeb. “Like I said, it was mostly just dumb luck.”

“Hey now, none of that, Baby Bird,” Dick said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You still had to spot the pattern and connect the dots no matter how circumstantial you feel happening across the first dot was. That’s all you, kiddo.”

“Dick, I’m almost eighteen,” Tim whined. Ugh, his brother was the worst. He was going to be calling him Baby Bird when he was eighty at this point. And there went all his attempts at bodily mastery. Insult was added to injury when he stumbled to the side, then, though that had more to do with Jason hip-checking him out of the way so he could take over at the Batcomputer’s keyboard.

“Hey! What the hell was that for, Jay?”

“Umm, saving your ass, duh,” his other older brother said. Tim narrowed his eyes.

“That tracks how, exactly?”

“You were well on your way to immolation by way of embarrassment thanks to all the attention, so I’m stealing your thunder, double duh. Like I said, saving your ass. You’re welcome,” Jason said distractedly, busy with whatever else he was doing aside from being King of the Assholes.

Correction. That brother was the worst.

“Gee, thanks ever so much,” Tim intoned acidly.

“Don’t mention it, brat.”

Tim was still working on a return volley when Jason found whatever it was he was looking for and called up some more files onscreen.

“Okay, so check it out. Remember back in March, when we caught wind of some ‘new talent’ looking to establish a foothold in the local underground, and once we routed them, the only head honcho we could seemingly trace all of that back to was someone we assumed to be named Cassie or Cassandra based on what little we could decrypt of her communications? So now I’m thinking what if we filled in the gaps there wrong, and her name actually was Caissa?”

Tim looked around, but the name didn’t seem to be ringing any bells for anyone else either.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who the hell is Caissa?”

“The fictional regurgitation of some plagiaristic hack from two hundred years ago.”

“Jason,” Bruce sighed. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Fine, whatever. So there’s this poem by this untalented dumbass named William Jones back in the 1700s, about a made-up Greek goddess of chess, named Caissa. But really, its just a rip-off of a much older poem from the 1500s by an Italian dude named Hieronymus Vida, in which the character of Caissa was originally named Scacchia. So I mean, I’m just saying, if this chick was going by the name Scacchia, I would have pegged what that was a reference to right away, because like, I have taste and so I’m way more familiar with the original version than the ode of a derivative hack. But I guess you just can’t count on bad guys to default to the superior take,” he lamented with a mournful sigh.

“But wait, aren’t you a bad guy?” Duke inquired, all bright eyes and fake innocence. Jason shot him A Look.

“Not this week, duh. Keep up.”

“Oh, sorry, my bad. I forgot to look at the calendar again.”

“You’re forgiven,” Jason said magnaminously. “Anyway, might just be a hunch, but worth looking into, I’d say. If her name really was actually Caissa, this Desperado could be working for her, and he might actually just be Round Two.”

Cass nodded. “Makes sense. Also restores my good name. Thanks little brother.”

“Any time, little sister. This mean you’ll stop throwing shit at me now?”

“Nope.”

“I hate you.”

“I know. Keeps me up at night.”

“You’re nocturnal, you bipedal asshat.”

Cass just smirked some more and sashayed away. Then flipped into a handstand and started walking away on her hands because clearly, she’d been spending too much time with Dick.

Which reminded him - Tim turned his attention back to his oldest brother, mortification forgotten or at least put on hold for the moment.

“Hey, so, a lot of the files noted that several of these people are likely polyglots,” Tim said. “Since Cass thinks they have some kind of shared combat instruction in their background, I’m thinking there’s a chance we could get a better idea of what regions they all might have been in, in order to get that shared instruction, if we could isolate what languages or dialects or even accents they might have in common, y’know? You’ve got the best ear for languages, what do you think?”

Dick nodded thoughtfully as he perused several of the files. “Its a good idea. I’ll get into it. First though, I’ve gotta make a few calls.”

Their father shot him an appraising glance. “Harper?” He asked.

Dick nodded again. “Yeah, Roy, but also Helena and Tiger. Can’t hurt to have all three of them read in on this. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, and where there’s chess, there’s bound to be Checkmate. I’d find it way too big a coincidence if there’s not a connection there somewhere, and if there is one to be found, I’d say those three are our best chance of finding it.”

Bruce made a sour face. Dick arched a challenging eyebrow. Bruce sighed.

“I’m not disagreeing, I just don’t like it.”

Dick laughed. “Well, you don’t like anything, so really we’re all just in awe of your dedication to your Brand, Pops.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and sighed again, before turning his attention back to Tim. “As for you, I think you’ve contributed enough for one night, don’t you? Why don’t you get back to what you were doing before this....what was that again....oh right, getting some sleep?”

Tim made a face of his own. He was way too keyed up now - again - still - to go back to bed now. And again, must he reiterate, he was almost eighteen, helloooooo.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“Oh good, I’m so glad that’s what’s catching on as the family motto.”

“Don’t see you going to bed,” Tim sulked in a most mature fashion. The absolute height of maturity. Nay, the apogee, the zenith, we’re talking orbital here.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,” Jason interrupted in a thunderous facsimile of their father’s impressive baritone. “This is a Do As I Say, Not As I Do household!”

“This from the son who makes an art form out of never doing either,” Bruce said dryly.

Jason shrugged and buffed his nails against his chest, blithely unconcerned. “I go my own way. Its part of my charm.”

“Oh cool,” Duke cut in excitedly. “Are we playing that game again where we just make up our own definitions that have nothing to do with the actual words we say?”

Jason gasped and pressed his palm flat over his heart. “Et tu, Daisy Dukes?”

Duke nodded gravely. “Et mi, Sweeney Todd.”

“Boys,” Bruce said wearily.

Both stopped and shot him expectant looks.

“What?”

“I actually have no idea, to be honest. It just feels like one of those things I should attempt to say periodically. Never mind. Carry on.”

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes at Duke as the two of them wandered off towards the opposite end of the cave. “As if we were ever going to do otherwise. He’s so weird sometimes, I swear.”

Duke hummed in agreement. “I think its on account of him being an ancient eldritch being.”

“I’m only forty-two,” Bruce called after them, aggrieved. They ignored him.

“Did you know, he was actually there to witness the actual dawn of time,” Jason said. “And yet, wake him up before noon and its like you’ve committed murder. And I would know. I’ve actually murdered people.”

“That’s true, you have.”

29 notes · View notes

the-mighty-jellybean · 4 years

Text

Till The Final Bullet

Series Summary: “In a place where they won't let us feel, In a place where nothing seems real. I will hold you. In a world that’s moving too fast. In a world where nothing can last. I will hold you.”-Last Night of The World- Miss Saigon

From the age of twelve, Y/N Y/L/N, has been trained by Hydra, and used as an assailant for a number of years. She’s been taught not to feel, but when she’s put in a kill squad with the Winter Solider, their partnership is deadly, as their motivation becomes more than just keeping themselves alive.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Warning: Angst, Fluff, Strong Language, Eventual Smut, Dark!Bucky (I think??) (18+ Only)

Part One//

Part Two: Are We Bad People?

Chapter Warnings: Violence, Strong Language, Rumlow gets a bit aggressive

Word Count: 3.1k

“We have reason to believe that Director Fury, has obtained a hard drive containing important information about Project Insight.” Pierce stood in front of you and James, as he began to give details about your latest mission. “Your mission is to remove Director Fury from the picture.”

“He will leave the Triskelion, at fifteen hundred hours, I want him permanently removed by sixteen hundred. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” You and James chorused; saluting, before walking to your weapons lock.

~~~

“You ready for this?” James asked you, as you secured your belt of explosives, and checked your two magnums that were strapped to your thighs.

“I’m sure we can handle it.” You say over your shoulder. You feel James pressing himself against you, and you just smirk and shake your head.

“You’re playing with fire, Sargent.”

“You would never burn me.” He responds slyly. You push him away, grabbing the keys to your armoured truck.

“Get in soldier, otherwise it won’t be me smoking your ass.” You chide sliding into the driver’s seat. James quickly joined you.

~~~~~

You sat in a layby, waiting for your signal. You were watching the people crossing the street in front of you, and the cars that zipped past every now and then. You couldn’t help but feel eyes on you, as you stared out the windscreen. You turned to the passenger seat of your truck, only to be met with the steal blue eyes of your partner.

“What are you lookin at?” you smirk, turning away from him.

“You.” He responds simply.

“Why?” you chuckle.

“Because you’re the only thing worth looking at.” You shake your head at his cheesy comment, your eyes dropping to check the time, on the truck’s dashboard.

15:05

“They should have called us in by now.” You mutter, glancing at your own watch, where it read the same time.

“Aw, what you aren’t enjoying my company?” James pouts at you.

“Not when you’re just staring at me, like some creep.” You laugh, finally turning back to him.

“You like it when I stare at you like this.” James gives you one of his looks that makes your heart flutter slightly.

You don’t have time to respond, as you soon hear the echo of a single police siren, bounce off the skyscrapers.

“Show time.” You sigh, putting the truck into gear, and bursting out of the small alley way, narrowly missing a few pedestrians.

James begins to get a little shiftier, that was always his way, when a mission was starting to get more tense, you knew now was not the time to be flirty, but to be serious. He put his face mask on, and his goggles. Despite his change in mood, he helped you to put your mask on whilst you kept your eyes focused on the road.

“Vehicle 342, this is Red Fox, what is your location?” you press the button of your coms, and the radios response is fuzzy at first, before it clears giving you a location.

You were heading towards the area.

You flicked a switch on the dashboard, which gave you access to all the channels, you now had around 20 people yelling in your car.

“We’ve immobilised the Target.”

“We are using rapid fire on his vehicles plating.”

You role your eyes, before jabbing the button aggressively; “the vehicles got armoured plating you, jackass. No bullets are going to penetrate it. You’re just wasting your ammo, use the pressure canon.”

You swerve through the road, zig zagging in and out of cars, you can still hear the other operatives, over the coms yelling incoherently to one another. Then one clear channel breaks through them all.

“Subject has fire arm, repeat subject has fir-“ the transmission is cut short, before it is continued by a second operative.

“Subject is on the move, heading towards 22nd Street.”

You glanced at your navigation screen, watching the streets passing you.

“Leave it to us. Just steer him towards the intersection.”

You turned the wheel sharply, James grasping the side of the car, you managed to swerve an oncoming truck, and pressed your foot on the gas, the peddle going to the floor, as you weaved your way through the oncoming traffic.

You can hear car horns, and screeching of tires up ahead, and you slam on the breaks, putting the truck into a spin, before it stops just short of a large stretch of road.

In the distance you can see the two HYRDA vehicles persuing the black four by four.

James dove out the car before you, grabbing his rocket launcher, and began to walk out into the middle of the road.

He calmly walked towards the speeding car, firing the disc that skimmed across the surface of the road, then attaching itself to the bottom of the car, before imploding.

The force of the explosion causes the car to flip over, and you hold your breath, as James side stepped out of the way at the last second. You watch the four-wheel drive land on its roof, and skid across the road before coming to a crumpled stop. You join James by his side and begin to advance towards the wreckage.

Your gun is poised in your hands, you hold it up to your face, and nod your head, when James looks to you, asking you silently if you were ready.

Using his metal arm, he ripped what was left of the car door clean off of the frame word. You get ready to strike, but you huff, when you see a large hole, with smouldering edges, through the tarmac of the floor.

“What the fuck?!”

~~~~~

“I thought you said you could handle this, Sargent Barnes and Major Y/L/N.” you lowered your head a little, as Pierce spat at you in disapproval.

“We’re sorry, Sir. We thought we had him, but-“

“But nothing, Major Y/L/N. You failed me!” He punctuates his sharp words with a harsh slap across your face. You can feel James tense up next to you, but try to hold your ground, taking a deep breath through your nose, and looking to James briefly, giving him a calming look. “We have intel that he’s hiding out in a property in Washington D.C.”

“Let me take this one, Secretary Pierce.” Rumlow piped up from the corner, you and James turn to look at the smug agent in the corner. He approaches The Secretary, his chest puffed out. You hear the heavy breath of air that James huffs out, but you just resort to glaring.

“No.” Pierce shot Rumlow’s suggestion down, “I want you two, to redeem yourself. Go to the apartment in D.C. scout it, and then eliminate the target. You fail again, and you’ll both be going back to reconditioning.”

You just about hide the shudder, that Pierce’s threat washes over you. You give him a sharp nod, before leaving the briefing room.

“Sargent Barnes, wait here.” You hear Pierce’s voice echo behind you. You continue to march down the hall towards the weapons room. Your steps are fuelled by rage and your own disappointment, your cheek still stung.

As you round the corner, a force knocks you into the wall, and you gasp, your back slamming against the cold stone. Your met with lifeless brown eyes, and an intense grip is on your wrists.

“What the fuck are you doing, Rumlow?” you growl, struggling in his grip. His fingers curl tighter round your wrists, and you hiss.

“You think Barnes is so much better than me, don’t you. You think that you’re so much better than me.” Rumlow spat in your face, and you could do nothing but tug at his wrists.

“What are you talking about, asshole. Get the fuck off me.” You break free of his grip, but before you can shove him away, he pins your hands to your chest.

“What do you think would happen if I told Pierce, what was going on between you and Barnes?” your eyes flash, you are stunned briefly, but snap from your panic, and you bring your knee up to his crotch.

Rumlow groans, and doubles over.

“I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about, Rumlow.” Whilst Rumlow is bent over, you bring your elbow down on his back, and he buckles onto his knees. You send one last kick to his ribs, before you quickly walk away.

You increase your pace, when the door of the weapons room becomes visible. You dive in, slamming the door behind you. Once you are sure that the room is empty, you allow your body to shake, and your eyes to sting and steam up.

The door clicks, and you sniff hard, wiping at your eyes furiously to get rid of the tears. Spinning round to face, whoever had just entered the room.

You immediately relax, when you see James standing in front of you, a sad smile on his face.

“Hey.” You said, dryly.

“Hey.” James walks towards you, wrapping his strong arms around you, falling against his chest, you let a heavy sigh fall from your lips. “You okay, doll. You’re shaking?”

“I’m okay now.” You hum, reluctantly pulling away from his arms, to grab your sniper. As you turn away, but James catches your wrist.

“Are you sure?” you just pull your wrist free, and nod your head once, before jumping in your truck.

~~~~~~

“Which floor are we supposed to be looking at?” James and you were laying on your stomachs, shoulder to shoulder. Your snipers trained on the walls of an apartment complex.

“There’s movement on the 3rd and 5th floor, but nothing on the 4th.” You explain, looking through the scope of your gun. Your eyes are following along the darkened windows, of a particular apartment on the 4th floor.

“What’s so interesting about that apartment?” James also uses his scope, to look through the blacked-out windows.

“There’s music playing, but there shouldn’t be anyone home.” You look down at the tablet, scrolling through the owners of the apartments. Stopping on a Steve Rogers, who owned the apartment you were looking at. You recognised the name, but couldn’t place it, either way according to the records in front of you, nobody should be home.

You snapped away from the tablet when a light blinks in the window of the apartment. It was as if it was giving you a signal.

“That’s the one.” You grab your sniper, and shuffle along the roof top, so that you could scan the apartment with the heat censor.

James followed you, and dropped to his stomach, scoping the windows of the room.

The navy blue of the walls filled the screen, before the yellow and red outlines of two men appeared on the screen, one of which was facing you, whilst the other had his back to you. The one, who had just entered the apartment, was clutching, what appeared to be a circular shield. The other stood from the chair, he appeared to be injured, and was slightly bent over.

“Target located.” You lifted the scope to your eye, your finger wrapping around the trigger, you line the cross of the scope, with the back of the target.

Without blinking you squeeze the trigger, you do it once more. The gun kicking back into your shoulder, as the shells burst through the wall of the building, you watch the monitor, as they strike the target, causing him to collapse.

“We need to move.” James stands, and looks down at you, but your eyes are trained up on the screen.

“Not yet, we need to make sure he stays down.” You didn’t want any room for error, not again. Pierce’s words still wove their way around your scalp, you needed to protect yourself, and James.

“We need to move, Y/N.” James was pulling at your shoulder, but you didn’t budge.

You were so focused on the target, you didn’t notice the other person enter the apartment, until she knelt by the target.

“Come on, Y/N. We need to go now.”

You had seen enough, grabbing your sniper and the tablet, you stood and took off running, James by your side.

As you crossed the rooftops, you noticed a figure following you bellow. Glancing down through the glass ceiling of a nearby building, you realised it was the second man from before, the one that was clutching the shield.

“Jay, we’re being followed.” James follows your eyeline, and spots the guy chasing you. He grabbed your sleeve, pulling you towards a dead ended roof.

A loud smashing sound from behind you, makes you throw a look over your shoulder; the man that had been chasing you, had broken through one of the windows, and now shared you escape route.

He swung his arm back, and launched his circular shield, towards the two of you.

“James!” you yell in alarm, the shield, flying towards the pair of you.

“Jump!” That’s all James says to you, the last image you see of him, before you throw yourself off the top of the roof; is James stopping and plucking the shield out of the air, like it was a paper aeroplane. He swings the shield back, before he also leaps from the roof.

He looks around him for a place to hide, you grab him by his collar, pulling him into an ally way, and pressing close to one another, until you see the man walk from the roof.

You didn’t realise you were still holding James close against you, until he cleared his throat, and jutted his eyebrows at you.

“Sorry.” You immediately let go, brushing the front of his uniform down, before walking towards your truck, that you had hidden in another ally way a few streets away.

~~~~~

“Were you successful this time, Major Y/L/N?” Pierce asked you coolly.

“Yes, Sir. Target has been erased.”

“Excellent, the two of you may retire for the night, I will speak with you both in the morning.”

You salute him, before you and James leave the command room, and head down towards the basement of the building, where your ‘rooms’ were.

“You okay?” James had been quiet since you got back from the mission, he hadn’t spoke a word to you. His eyes were a little glazed, and colder than they usually were.

“I’m fine.” He says bluntly, turning into his room, and closing the door.

You sigh heavily, but you know there is no point in pursuing the reason why he’s in such a miserable state, it wasn’t uncommon for him to become distant after a mission like this. Once you got to your room, you grab a towel and some cleaning products, and instead head towards the shower, deciding you need to cleanse yourself of the day.

Turning into the shower block, you were relieved to see it was empty, quickly turning the shower on, you stripped, then stepped in. Shivering, as the ice-cold water poured down your back.

You had been in there a while, so long that your body had become numb, and you could no longer feel the iciness of the water, that beat at your back. The water tingled as it hit your scars, it made your back feel fuzzy.

“Can I join you?” you jump almost slipping on the mouldy tiles of the shower floor, but a metal arm held you up.

“Jesus Christ, Jay.” You press your hand to your chest, heart hammering against it.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, steadying you. Your heart was still beating quickly, but your mind relaxed, when you saw the sorrowful look on his face.

“Don’t worry. And yeah, come join me.” You waved him in, you weren’t expecting him to jump in straight away, but he did. Standing under the cold water, whilst he was still fully dressed, in his combat gear.

“Don’t you want to get undressed, my love?” you hold his cheek, he avoids your eyes, and just stares at the floor. The water soaking his hair, making it flop in his face, you smooth it out of his eyes, cupping his chin so he looks at you.

“At least take your boots off, Jay.” Before he can answer, you are bending down to unlace his shoes, and holding them to the floor whilst he steps out of them. You pull his socks off, tossing both the items into the dryer area of the shower room.

You stand, and James’ face is still glum, you give him a sad smile, but soon you notice it’s not the cold water that is causing the trails of water down his cheeks.

“Oh James.” You try to pull him into your arms, but instead his legs buckle, he kneels on the floor, and wraps his arms around your hips, while he sobs into the skin of your stomach. You don’t say anything, as you know, now was not the time for you to speak. Instead, you just comb your fingers through his hair, and shush him quietly.

The two of you stay like that for a while, before James’ sobs turn to quiet sniffles, he stands up, and finally looks at you in the eye.

“Are we bad people?” his voice is hoarse and sounds tired. Your heart breaks at the sight of him, and throbs at his words.

“No James.” You move his hair from his eyes, and continue to hold his face, “we are not bad people.”

“But what we’ve done…what we do…what is it all for?” he searches your face, and for a while you don’t know how to answer, until your face softens, and you squeeze your hands tighter on the sides of his head.

“What we’ve done, and what we do; we do to stay alive. To keep each other alive.” You rub your thumb under his eye, in an attempt to rub his combat paint off, “I wouldn’t take any of it back, if it meant I lost you.”

The more of the black paint you washed away, the more you realised that the darkness under his eyes wasn’t from the paint. You didn’t notice how tired he looked, until you had moments like these, which seemed to be happening more and more.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, sweetheart.” He finally speaks, and you are relieved when he does.

“You’re never going to lose me, Jay. Never.” You press your lips under each of his eyes, before you pull back to look in his face. The ocean in his eyes looked less stormy and more like it was beginning to settle.

You weren’t sure how much longer you stayed under the water, but you didn’t care. The two of you stayed still, in your own little worlds, just holding each other close. Your body heats were providing all the warmth you needed.

Both of you content, in the other’s arms.

A/N: Writing this chapter, with Stan Lee’s voice in my head say: “Bucky’s one of good ones.”

Part Three//

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#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky angst #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #marvel movies #winter solider x y/n #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #civil war #darkbucky #dark bucky x reader

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anubislover · 4 years

Text

Not So Easily Replaced

(Ikkaku is pissed at how idiotic her crew has been while on Amazon Lily, so she does what she's always done - vents about it to Law to let off some steam. Unfortunately, when an argument breaks out between them, she's left to wonder if she's really appreciated by her nakama)

“Ugh!” Ikkaku growled, stomping into Law’s office with his second afternoon coffee and a selection of onigiri on a tray. Normally lunch delivery wasn’t her job, but since all the men had been “too busy” fawning over the women of Amazon Lily outside, the menial task had fallen to her; otherwise their workaholic captain wouldn’t eat. “I swear, Boss, if we don’t set sail soon, I’m going to strangle every guy on board!”

“Hmmm,” Law grunted absently as he poured over his notes. Ikkaku didn’t hold his monosyllabic response against him—he’d spent the past few days fixing up that Straw Hat kid and the Fishman. On top of that, the extensive treatments had basically depleted their medical supplies, Straw Hat’s freak-out upon waking up had wrecked more than half the operatory, and the Kuja had been pretty stingy with letting them replenish their food and water from the island, so she was sure he had plenty on his mind. The dark bags under his eyes attested to that.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to vent, though. Honestly, if she didn’t, she’d probably snap and end up going on a killing spree or something. Only Bepo and Law would be spared; the Mink had no interest in human women and thus hadn’t been an obnoxious Neanderthal, and Law had been too focused on keeping his patients and crew alive to drool over Boa Hancock.

Hell, when her captain was like this, Ikkaku could literally say anything and he wouldn’t even register it. It took a lot to snap Law out of his thoughts, and he’d never really seemed to mind when she ranted at him to let off steam. Mainly because once she was done, she was usually calm enough to take care of the situation herself, leaving Law in peace and with a non-murdered crew. A happy engineer made for a happy submarine, after all.

Setting the coffee and onigiri down onto the desk, Ikkaku continued, “They act like they’ve never seen a hot chick in their lives. I mean, what am I, chopped liver? They should be thanking the gods that they get to look at my gorgeous face every damn day!” The statement was accompanied by a dramatic toss of her curly hair. When Ikkaku felt strongly about something, she tended to gesticulate a lot, and this was no exception.

“Uh huh.”

She leaned against the edge of Law’s desk, hands waving about as she ranted. “Not that I want them to start lusting after me, but it hurts a girl’s pride, ya know? They could at least acknowledge what a hot piece of ass I am instead of acting like I’m some ugly hag.” She clenched her fist as she recalled how, just that morning, Shachi and Clione had basically given a lecture to the whole crew over breakfast about the superior physique the Kuja displayed compared to the average woman. There had been charts and everything, and to her dismay the silhouette for the “average” woman looked suspiciously like her.

“And that’s not the end of it!” she rambled on, smacking her hand against the desk for emphasis. “When I’m not ignored or insulted, they try to convince me to go out into the jungle to talk to the Kuja for them! I mean, I’m probably the one least likely to be killed outright, but it’s not guaranteed! They might fill me with arrows just for being affiliated with men! Are they really willing to risk my life like that?”

Her question didn’t get an answer—not because Law wasn’t paying attention, but because at that moment, her emotive gesticulating accidentally smacked her wrist into his coffee mug, knocking it over.

“Mother fucker!” Law shouted, scalding coffee spilling all over his crotch and papers.

“Oh my god, Law, I’m so sorry—”

“Will you shut up?!” he snapped, grabbing his nearby lab coat to frantically soak up the scalding coffee that had spilled across his crotch. “Don’t just stand there—get some towels!”

Nodding mutely, she ran to the en-suite bathroom and snatched up every towel she could find in the cupboard. “Here,” she said, trying to hand them to him so he could clean himself up.

“My desk, damn it! Save my notes!”

Immediately she swept the pile furthest from the spill to the floor and began patting down the desk, but she knew it was already too late; the coffee had completely soaked through several of the papers that had been strewn across the stainless steel surface.

“Law, really, I’m so sorry!” she apologized hoarsely, flinching as he turned the full force of his sleep-deprived glare upon her.

“Maybe if you’d fucking been watching what you were doing instead of ranting on and on, none of this would have happened!” he shouted, well and truly pissed. Not that she blamed him—a week’s worth of important medical and inventory notes was now a brown, sopping mess. On top of that, first-degree crotch burns would sour anyone’s mood, especially when they were only running on an average of three hours of sleep.

“It’ll be ok,” she assured, assessing the damage. To an average person, the mess was a disaster, but while the charts and notes that had been in the immediate spill zone were soaked through and ruined, many of the others could be salvaged thanks to Law’s powers. “Just Room the coffee out of the papers—”

“Do you have any idea how much time and effort you just flushed down the toilet?” he snapped, even as the familiar blue bubble filled the office. Drops of coffee were pulled from the sheets of paper like magic, but to Ikkaku’s dismay, much of the ink left behind was still smudged beyond recognition. “You’re lucky that wasn’t Mugiwara-ya’s medical file you just destroyed!”

“Law, really, I’m sorry,” she said, trying to calm him down. Her usually chill captain was far more volatile when stressed and sleep-deprived. “It was a stupid accident on my part. I’ll help you rewrite all of this.”

“Hell no,” he growled, gold eyes narrowing furiously, the tendons in his thin neck tightening as he ground his teeth together. “The last thing I need is you going on another stupid rant and ruining my notes again. Get the fuck out—I’ve got more important things to do than listen to you bitch and moan about how the guys aren’t paying attention to you.”

“Tha—that’s not what I’m angry about at all!” she snapped.

“Then what is your fucking problem?!”

“My problem is that the guys were being jackasses and I’m not appreciated around here!”

“Well if you don’t like it, leave!”

Ikkaku’s back stiffened, each syllable cutting into her heart like Law’s sharpest scalpel. Those words…it was the exact same thing her old boss would say whenever she complained about her asshole coworkers’ creepy leers or “accidental” groping. The greasy old mechanic was a sexist pig, but still the only one in that shit port that had been willing to take her on as an apprentice. It had always been an unspoken threat—if she left, no one else would hire her, so she could kiss her dreams of becoming a world-class engineer good-bye.

Trafalgar Law had changed that with his offer to join the Heart Pirates.

And now he was telling her to leave, too. To give up her dream, her nakama, and her home because she wasn’t willing to put up with a little sexism.

As if he could replace her in a heartbeat.

The thought hurt more than expected. She’d worked her ass off aboard the Polar Tang. For five years she’d toiled in the heart of the engine room, maintaining every little piece. She kept the gears turning, the motors humming, and the propellers running. Just from sound and the slightest vibrations through the ship, she knew exactly what was wrong with the engine at any given time.

Ikkaku had never asked for praise or recognition for her hard work—it was just her job. But she was as knowledgeable about the mechanisms of the submarine as Law was of the human body. She had always assumed he’d quietly acknowledged this fact and respected her for it.

Clearly, she’d been wrong.

She nearly screamed all this at him, but before she could open her mouth, the blue light of Law’s Room encased her, and in a blink, she was out in the hall, the cabin door slamming shut in her face.

Knowing better than to try and force her way back into his quarters, Ikkaku instead stormed down the steel hallway, fists clenched and muttering furiously to herself. Maybe she would leave. March right up to Boa Hancock and ask to join the Kuja. That would show them! She didn’t need Law, or the Tang, or men at all! She’d get along just fine without those jerks! Sure, Amazon Lily didn’t have any of the high-tech machinery she was used to, and working for a shichibukai wasn’t exactly something she was thrilled about, but at least they’d appreciate her, right? She had other skills—she was a hell of a tattoo artist, and was a damn fine shot, and could kickbox, and…

Her pace slowed as her heart forced her brain to accept the truth—she didn’t want to leave. She’d go crazy without machines and engines to work on. And sure, she was no slouch in a fight, but the Kuja were warrior women trained from birth. Ikkaku would look like a total weakling next to them.

And no matter how much the crew pissed her off, she wouldn’t trade her nakama for anything. Sure, they could be thoughtless jerks sometimes, but they could also be really sweet. Bepo may not have been much for girl talk, but he was always willing to lend an ear if she needed companionship. Her fellow engineers, Malamute and Skua, were dependable and shared her love of machines. Shachi was always down to help her pull a prank, and when he wasn’t drooling over the Kuja, Penguin could be counted on to talk her through her problems.

As for Law…by this point, he was more like her big brother than her actual brothers had been. They shared a similar devious sense of humor, was discreet about any feminine issues she might have that, as the ship’s doctor, he was forced to deal with, and he’d even played wingman for her a few times at the taverns they’d stopped in.

Had she just ruined all of that? Was Law just angry, or had this been coming for a long time? Law had threatened to fire her plenty of times in the past, usually in response to her back sassing him, but he’d never been serious about it. This time had been different—he’d been legitimately pissed at her. Maybe those teasing threats hadn’t been jokes, but subtle warnings, and her ruining all those papers had simply been the straw to break the camel’s back?

Ikkaku was deep in thought, mentally going over every encounter she’d had with Law with a fine-toothed comb, searching for any clue whether he seriously thought she should leave, when she quite literally bumped into Bepo.

The Mink took in her flushed, angry expression and asked, “Are you ok, Ikkaku?”

Oddly enough, it was that simple, gentle question that shattered her composure like a bullet through a bone, and without even thinking she buried her face in his soft fur and just broke down crying. “He told me to leave, Bepo,” she sobbed, scared and hurt and frustrated. For all the grief her crewmates had given her and all the dangerous positions being a pirate had put her in, Ikkaku loved being a Heart. Where would she go? She’d never find another ship like the Polar Tang. Another crew like the Heart Pirates. Another captain like Trafalgar Law.

Bepo, though shocked that the normally fiery and confident engineer was using his fur as a tissue, didn’t say anything—he just carefully rubbed her back and hoped that letting her treat him like a massive teddy bear would calm her down enough to explain what had happened.

XXX

“Ok, real talk—has anyone noticed anything…different about Ikkaku lately?” Penguin asked as he sat down to lunch.

“You’d have to actually see her to notice something,” Shachi replied, brow furrowing. He glanced over at Uni, raising an eyebrow behind his sunglasses. “You been giving her stealth lessons or something?”

Uni frowned behind his bandana. “No, but she’s definitely avoiding us. It’s been a week since we left Amazon Lily, and I can count the number of times I’ve seen her on one hand.”

“Same,” Ermine said as they finished molding Law’s onigiri into the perfect triangles the captain liked. “I actually thought we left her behind for a minute—nearly asked Jean Bart to turn the ship around to get her.”

Malamute rubbed his chin, mouth twisting in concern. “Nah, she’s here, but she’s mad at us about something—barely leaves the engine room most days, and she basically refuses to talk to me and Skua.”

His fellow engineer nodded. “We thought it might just be her time of the month, but that ended over a week ago according to the calendar.”

“You guys keep track of her menstrual cycles?” Clione asked, weirded out. The rest of the crew wore similar expressions of disbelief and disapproval.

“Out of self-preservation!” Skua shouted defensively. “We’re in a hot, confined space where she has easy access to heavy tools—of course we wanna know when we should have emergency placating chocolate on-hand!”

“We tried the chocolate anyway, though,” Malamute added. “She just…waved it away and kept working.”

The cook’s frown deepened at that bit of information. “Ikkaku never turns down chocolate,” Ermine said, “and she hasn’t shown up to lunch, dinner, or breakfast all week.”

“She’s been eating, though, right?” Penguin asked, concerned. He didn’t care how mad she was; it was no excuse to skip out on meals. It was bad enough Law was an insomniac that got most of his nutrients through coffee and onigiri. It would be a cold day in hell before he would stand for an anorexic engineer.

A large, white paw shyly raised in the air as Bepo interjected, “I’ve been bringing her meals so she doesn’t have to come by the galley. She’s…wanted some time to herself.” He dropped his head gloomily. “Sorry.”

“But she’s talked to you?”

“Ummm, a little bit,” he muttered, twiddling his claws. After she’d stopped crying, Ikkaku had spilled her guts about everything—her issues with the crew, her argument with Law, and why his words had affected her so badly. Though sympathetic, Bepo was certain Law hadn’t meant his thoughtless words—underneath his casual persona, he cared deeply about his crew and would never let any of them go for such a silly reason.

At first, Bepo’d tried to get her to go back and talk to the captain, but she’d shot that down quickly—with the mood Law had been in, it would do nothing but start another argument. The Mink had hoped that, now that they were sailing away from Amazon Lily and Law wouldn’t have to worry about Straw Hat’s injuries anymore, they’d both cool down and the whole thing would blow over.

Unfortunately, the past week had proven otherwise. Ikkaku had taken to hiding deep in the bowels of the ship, and Law had been so focused on redoing all those notes and charts that he hadn’t left his quarters in days. Bepo wasn’t a Mink who liked confrontation, and he certainly didn’t want to choose sides between his oldest friend and his favorite engineer, so he’d relegated himself to supplying food to both parties, hoping one of them would finally get tired of the oppressive silence and breach the topic.

As the crew frantically gathered around him, hoping to finally have an answer to the Mystery of the Missing Engineer, Bepo began to wonder if he should have just locked both humans in an empty room and made them talk it out.

Not that such a plan would have been very effective with Law’s powers, but it was better than nothing.

“Talk, Bepo,” Shachi growled, pulling a flashlight out of his pocket and shining it directly into the bear’s black eyes like he was in an interrogation room. “What’s up with Ikkaku?”

“Why’s she hiding from us?” Clione interjected.

“Why are you the only one she’s talking to?” added Jude.

“Is she pregnant and going through weird mood swings or something?” Skua asked loudly.

Bepo blanched at that last one. “No, she…she’s just kind of upset about…how you all acted on Amazon Lily.”

Exasperated, Ermine rolled their eyes. “What, was she jealous about all the attention we gave Hancock’s crew?”

“No, but…you guys were really insensitive. Like, that presentation—”

“It was a joke!” Shachi defended, though a guilty blush rose to his cheeks.

“And asking her to venture into the jungle to talk to the women for you—”

“Hey, she was the only one who they wouldn’t kill on-sight!” Jude sulked.

“And then she had to bring Law his lunch because you were all too busy staring at the Kuja.”

“Wow. Having to do that one menial task must have been such an inconvenience,” Malamute scoffed.

At the back of the grumbling crowd, Jean Bart awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. He hadn’t been on the crew long, so he didn’t really think it was his place to get involved, but he had the feeling Ikkaku had taken whatever had been said and done a little more personally than they thought. “Look, regardless of how we feel, we should all apologize to her. I mean, I don’t know her great, but does she usually give the silent treatment for this long?”

“Well, no,” Clione stated, looking a bit nervous. “Typically, she yells at us and smacks us around a bit, or maybe pulls some embarrassing prank, but she’s never quiet.”

“So, what’s this mean?”

“It means this is serious.” Penguin frowned at Bepo, who was looking around anxiously as if hoping to escape. “Ok, spill. You’re the only one she’s talked to, and you clearly have a better idea of what’s going on than we do. What’s Ikkaku really upset about?”

The Mink hung his head sorrowfully. “Sorry.”

“Damn it, don’t apologize! Just tell us!”

“It’s just…”

“Are you guys bullying Bepo again?” came a voice from the doorway. The crew turned to find Law strolling into the galley, looking thinner and more exhausted than usual, but he was at least out of his room and among the living.

Still shining his flashlight in Bepo’s face, Shachi yelled, “Captain! You gotta help us—Ikkaku’s basically been AWOL all week and won’t talk to anyone, and Bepo won’t tell us why!”

Law plopped into his chair and grabbed an onigiri, scoffing as he took a large bite. “She bitched at me for a while about how you all were being sexist pigs. Figured she would have gotten over it by now.”

“She complained to you about it?” Jean Bart asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah, and then she managed to spill hot coffee on my crotch and ruin the inventory list for the infirmary that I’d spent hours compiling.”

The crew unanimously gave a sympathy wince.

Taking another large bite of his lunch, Law continued, “We’ll be making port in a few days—she’ll come to her senses once she’s spent some time off the ship.”

“You…you want her to leave the ship?” Bepo asked, voice raising an octave in disbelief.

“Time apart will do us some good,” he replied with a shrug, activating his Room for a moment to remove the flashlight from Shachi’s hand.

“How…how much time?”

“Well, we’re not making port any longer than necessary. If she hasn’t gotten her shit together by then, that’s her problem.”

Bepo’s heart dropped into his stomach. What did Law mean “get her shit together”? Was he talking about packing her things? Was he really kicking her out over a silly argument over spilled coffee and ruined paperwork?

“Law!” the Mink shouted, jerking to his feet so quickly his knees knocked the table. “Please reconsider!”

Dark blue eyebrows rose at the normally soft-spoken navigator’s outburst. “There’s nothing to reconsider. Ikkaku’s a big girl—I agree that the sexism she faced was unacceptable, but she’s never had a problem handling that kind of shit herself.” His face twisted into a scowl. “And considering how I only just finished redoing all the work she destroyed, my tolerance for temper tantrums is at an all-time low.”

“She offered to help you rewrite it!” Bepo argued, slapping his paws down on the table. “Is some soggy paperwork worth losing your best engineer over?” Pausing, he glanced at Malamute and Skua. “Uh, no offense. Sorry.”

“None taken,” the duo said in unison, though their jaws dropped a second later as they registered the Mink’s words. “Wait, what?!”

“What do you mean ‘losing’ Ikkaku?” Penguin snapped, grabbing him by the orange collar of his boiler suit.

Shachi grabbed the flashlight again and climbed onto the table to shine it into Bepo’s face. “Talk, bear! Is Ikkaku quitting or something?”

“Because we won’t let her!” several of the crew shouted.

“Everybody calm down!” Law snapped, his deep voice silencing the rambunctious crew. “You all acted like idiots around the Kuja—I don’t blame her for being annoyed at you. But if your petty acts of sexism could drive her off that easily, she wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes at her old job. You’re blowing everything out of proportion.”

“You’re the one who told her to leave over a spilled cup of coffee!” Bepo angrily stated, only to immediately shrink back when he realized just who he’d yelled at. “Sorry.”

“Whoa, wait, Law, did you fire her?” Penguin asked, genuinely horrified as he numbly released Bepo’s collar. Of all the things that could have been bothering Ikkaku, that hadn’t even made his list. Sure, she could be tempestuous, but that had never bothered Law before—on the contrary, Penguin had always assumed his old friend liked trading snarky barbs with.

“I didn’t—why would I—I was just pissed because she spilled hot coffee all over crotch!” Law defended, even as he inwardly cringed at the way his entire crew had turned to glare at him judgmentally. Shachi had even turned the flashlight’s intense beam on him.

“But was that worth actually firing her over?”

“I didn’t fire her! Yeah, we argued, but I never said she was fired. At most, I told her to get the fuck out of my office.”

“That’s not all you said,” Bepo mumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Flinty gold eyes narrowed at the sulking Mink. It was extremely out of character for Bepo to snap at or sass anyone—least of all Law. His brow furrowed as he thought back to his fight with Ikkaku—the memory was a bit hazy due to the lack of sleep he’d gotten. “Then what exactly did I say to her? What could have possibly been so bad that it could make her think I’m firing her?”

“You said…she told me…” Bepo took a deep breath. He hated scolding his captain, but he hated the idea of Ikkaku leaving even more, especially if this really was just a big misunderstanding. “You said to her ‘if you don’t like it, leave’.”

A sour taste worse than umeboshi filled his mouth as Law realized the full implications of what he’d said and done. He clearly remembered her old boss, a scowling, greasy man who’d shouted at her when she’d argued that she deserved to be respected as the talented engineer she was and not just seen as eye-candy.

If you don’t like it, leave, he’d sneered through crooked teeth as the other mechanics sniggered. Good luck finding anyone else willing to hire an inexperienced chick, though. Law could distinctly remember the hot surge of outrage he’d felt on the woman’s behalf; in less than ten minutes, she’d managed to identify what was wrong with the Tang’s engine and exactly how to fix it. Yet because she was the sole female in the shop—because she was a little bit different—she was overlooked and scorned, with her boss refusing to check for himself.

It had reminded Law a little too much of how quickly he’d been rejected from every hospital Cora-san had taken him to, the so-called “expert” doctors refusing to believe that Amber Lead was not contagious, or even examine the white patches across his skin.

And maybe—just maybe—the way her curly hair fanned out around her shoulders and down her back reminded him just a tiny bit of a certain black, feathered jacket.

Law hadn’t even bothered to consider whether or not the woman might want to become a pirate before he’d activated his Room and cut her boss to pieces. He’d then turned to Ikkaku, whose dark eyes had been wide with shock but not fear, and told her that if she could fix his engine as easily as she claimed, she was welcome to join his crew.

Now he stood to lose her due to his own sleep-deprived stupidity.

“…fuck.”

XXX

Down in the engine room, Ikkaku lay on her back underneath the ship’s engine, tightening the bolts that secured the freshly-cleaned cooling pipes. Since her argument with Law she’d basically spent every waking hour disassembling, repairing, and reassembling every piece she could. She trusted Skua and Malamute to take good care of the sub after she was gone, but the Polar Tang deserved nothing less than a thorough inspection and tune-up as thanks for carrying her so far.

She’d give the crew their own goodbye once they reached port. She hoped they were still too blinded by the hearts in their eyes to notice she’d been avoiding them. It wasn’t out of anger anymore; instead, she was scared she’d start blubbering. Admitting that Law had decided to toss her out on her ass was humiliating and heartbreaking, and she honestly wasn’t sure how the others would react. They could just as easily stage a mutiny as shrug it off as her overreacting.

Perhaps she was freaking out over nothing—Law hadn’t even left his room since their fight. Surely if he really wanted her gone, he could have marooned her back on Amazon Lily. Then again, he was a sadistic bastard; luring her into a false sense of security, then dumping her and her belongings onto the next port they landed on wouldn’t be entirely out of character. Or maybe her years of service had earned her enough mercy that he was willing to wait until they were at an island where Ikkaku could potentially find work instead of stranding her in the Calm Belt.

Whatever it was, she had every intention of confronting him about it after dinner. If this was all just a big misunderstanding, she planned to give him a good smack upside the head. If she was really fired, she wanted at least enough time to pack her things and say her proper goodbyes.

Until then, all she could do was stay busy to pass the time and hope that the knot of anxiety that twisted in her stomach would loosen up by the time she talked to him.

She didn’t want to leave, but if Law decided she was really that expendable, there wasn’t much she could do but try to hold onto at least a shred of dignity.

Reaching over to her tool kit, Ikkaku fished out her screwdriver, silently lamenting over the sad state of her tools. She’d planned on picking up some new ones back on Sabaody, but with all the chaos that had taken place, she’d missed her chance, and she wasn’t sure she could justify the cost now that her job was in jeopardy.

The sharp click clack of heeled boots against the metal floor startled her out of her thoughts. Glancing towards the sound, she immediately knew from the spotted jeans that filled her vision that, for better or for worse, the mystery of her termination was about to be solved.

She watched as Law turned around, and she knew from the barely-audible creek of the pipes that he had chosen to lean against them. Ikkaku had yelled at him for doing that more than a few times in the past, but this time she kept her mouth shut. Most likely he’d done it to provoke such a reaction out of her, but why? To break the viscous tension that filled the room by establishing a sense of normalcy, or so he’d have another cause to fire her?

Whatever his reason, Ikkaku refused to be the first to speak. Whether he wanted to kick her out or extend the olive branch, he’d have to make the first move.

After a few minutes of silence where Law merely stood there and Ikkaku continued to tighten the bolts, he finally sighed. “Penguin tells me that you haven’t been eating dinner with the crew,” Law’s low, nonchalant voice rumbled through the pipes.

If Penguin had to tell you, that says that you haven’t been eating with them, either, she thought sourly, though opted to stay quiet. She didn’t want to turn this into an argument if he intended to apologize. And if he planned to fire her…well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of riling her up.

Noting her unusual silence, he continued, “I understand their behavior has been…upsetting as of late. They were acting like idiots, but that’s no reason to isolate yourself.”

“Haven’t been isolating myself,” she lied, fiddling with a bolt she’d tightened ten minutes ago. “I’ve just had work to do. The Tang needed some maintenance, so I thought I’d get it done now that we weren’t being chased by Marines.”

“Sure. And the fact that Bepo’s been bringing you your meals this past week?”

“Going to the galley would have wasted time. Eating in here was more efficient, and Bepo offered.”

“Why didn’t you ask Skua and Malamute to help?”

“You doubtin’ my abilities as an engineer, Trafalgar?” she asked in a clipped tone, growing sick of tiptoeing around the point. “Whether you like it or not, I know how this ship works better than anyone. If you don’t trust me, tell them to get their asses in here and do it instead!”

There was a deep sigh from above her, and Ikkaku could easily picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows that formed when he was tired and frustrated. “Bepo told me you’re thinking of leaving.”

Ah. The moment of truth. Heart in her throat, she forced her herself to take a deep breath, ready for whatever judgement he saw fit to pass. “You’re the one who said I should if I didn’t like how I was being treated.”

“Are you?”

“Leaving or enjoying how I’m treated?”

“Leaving.”

“…I don’t want to.”

“Good.” It was subtle, but there was an unspoken “I wouldn’t have let you if you’d tried” in his tone. There was another long moment of silence before he continued, “Engineers as skilled as you are hard to come by—finding a replacement would have been a bitch. Plus, the crew would have been upset; they were practically interrogating poor Bepo about why you were avoiding them.”

“And of course you stepped in and played hero, rescuing the helpless Mink from an angry mob?” she snipped, tightening another screw. It didn’t sound like she was getting fired, so it was a little easier to let her natural sass creep back into her voice.

Law let out a faint tch above her. “I wouldn’t say ‘helpless’ considering how he then yelled at me about allegedly firing you. After that, the mob was on his side.”

A proud grin curled the corner of Ikkaku’s mouth. Who would have thought that Bepo would yell at his best friend for little old her? She’d have to come up with a nice thank you gift for her favorite shipmate. With luck, Law might actually apologize for his behavior if even Bepo was calling him out.

Of course, that might take a while, so it was best to keep busy. Reaching out her hand, Ikkaku felt around blindly for her socket wrench. She jerked slightly in surprise when she felt long fingers wrap around her hand before the tool in question was placed firmly in her palm. She pulled her arm back, only to stare wordlessly at the brand-new wrench that practically gleamed in the light.

Clumsily she slid out from under the pipes, jaw dropping as she found Law crouching beside a new, expensive, top-of-the-line tool kit. “I was saving this for your birthday but given the chance that you wouldn’t be around to receive it…” he trailed off, adjusting his hat so the brim cast a shadow over his face.

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, immediately recognizing the gift for the chrome apology that it was. Plus, it was hard to stay mad at Law when he was like this—honestly, it was so dang cute how awkward he was when forced to display actual human emotions like caring and guilt. “You bribing me to stay, Boss?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

She laughed, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him in for a hug. “Then I accept, along with a twenty-percent bonus on my next paycheck.”

He grumbled slightly but didn’t refuse, nor did he pull away from her embrace, even if he stubbornly refused to return it. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t technically said “sorry”. Actions spoke a hell of a lot louder than words with him, anyway, and Law was practically groveling for her to stay.

When she finally let him go, Law stood up and cleared his throat before nonchalantly strolling towards the door. “Well then, since you’re not leaving, unless the engine room is actively on fire and no one but you can put it out, you’re eating with the crew tonight. They’ll formally apologize for their behavior, and they’re all going out of their way to show you how much you’re appreciated. Ermine’s preparing your favorite meal. Clione and Shachi have put together a presentation detailing exactly how stupid they’ve been while Penguin has one extolling your virtues. Malamute and Skua have volunteered to take on your cleaning duties for the next two weeks.”

“What are you going to do?” Ikkaku teased, though he could have said “nothing” and she’d be fine—she knew he’d never make the mistake of discarding her again.

Law stopped at the door and threw his trademark cocky smirk over his shoulder. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ll be standing by your side all night to make sure you can’t run off when you realize just how obnoxiously sentimental those idiots can be.”

Ikkaku’s grin fell a bit as she realized he was right—the Hearts were an infamous band of pirates led by a fiendishly dangerous captain, but when it came to their nakama, they could get downright sappy in extreme circumstances. Jude was probably preparing some hippy-dippy song. Cousteau would inevitably name some weird sea creature after her. Seiuchi would probably find a way to scatter confetti all over the galley and she’d be picking it out of her hair for days…

Getting up, she chased after her devious captain. “I don’t suppose there’s still time for me to quit and join the Kuja, is there?”

Gold eyes glinted sadistically at her as Law replied, “Nope. Welcome to Appreciation Hell. Population: you. Don’t try to run, either—I’ll Shambles your ass into the galley if I have to.”

Ikkaku punched his arm in retaliation, though she was careful not to hit him too hard—if she annoyed him too much, he’d go out of his way to rile the guys up even more. God, he’d probably propose they all get tattoos of her face or something just to make her suffer.

“You’re an absolute bastard,” she said, affection creeping into her voice despite her best efforts.

“Yes, but a bastard that appreciates his engineer,” Law replied, and out of the corner of her eye, Ikkaku could have sworn she saw the barest hint of a genuine smile flicker across his face.

Despite the knowledge that she’d be stuck with a crew of idiots and a captain who had the emotional range of a teaspoon and a truly frightening sense of humor, Ikkaku felt happier than she had in weeks as she playfully knocked her shoulder into his. “I guess that’s not so bad, then.”

The End

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solynaceawrites · 4 years

Text

Promise Me Forever [9]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 9/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante frowns at his reflection, adjusting the collar of his shirt as he tries to tug the tie a bit looser. He can't even remember the last time he wore a get-up like this . . . Hell, he might never have worn a suit and everything. He leans in to examine his face, clean of any stubble and pizza sauce, before straightening up so he can smooth his palms down the jacket.

"Hmm," he says to himself. His hair hangs in its typical messy-but-totally-intentional strands, and he wonders if he should gel them back or something. But then he'd look like Vergil, and Dante snorts, wondering what he would think of all this—of course, if Vergil was around, he'd be the one about to marry Lir.

"Whatcha laughing at?" Nero asks from the bed, where he is bent over tying his shoes.

"Nothin'." Nero snorts, but doesn't press, and for that, at least, Dante's grateful. Today is going to be enough of a pain without dredging up the kid's trauma—not to mention his own—and any reprieve, however slight, is more than welcome.

He eyes the decanter of whiskey set on the dresser. Lir had sent it up with Nero when the kid arrived, alone with her hopes that he would enjoy it, but he hasn't been able to bring himself to touch the stuff. The last meeting with her family had been disaster enough without alcohol involved; he'd hate to hear their bitchin' if he showed up with liquor on his breath.

"Right." Nero stands, running a hand through his hair, which is far shorter than it was when he and Dante met. "You ready?"

"I don't know," Dante admits. He turns and puts his arms out, glancing down before frowning at Nero. "How do I look?"

Nero laughs and shakes his head. "You want my honest answer?"

"Sure."

"Like you're about to piss yourself," he chuckles. "But grooms are supposed to be, right?"

Dante makes a face. "No? I don't know."

Nero shrugs. "I don't know, you look like a guy who hunts demons and had to put on a suit. So I'd say, you look like yourself."

Dante sighs. "Let's just get this over with."

"That's the spirit," Nero teases, followed by another laugh.

He starts towards the door, still fussing with the tie at his throat, only to be stopped by Nero. Frowning, he tilts his head, and the kid shrugs and reaches up to fix the mess he'd made of the knot. "There," he mutters, stepping back and studying him with a squint. "Least now you look like you know what you're doing."

". . . Thanks," Dante mutters.

Nero nods and moves to open the door, holding it open until Dante has stepped through. Then they descend the stairs towards the main floor, from where the sounds of laughter and excited chatter echo. That makes him feel worse, somehow: so much on Lir's shoulders, forcing her here to marry a jackass with nothing much going on for him, and those people are having fun?

By the time they get to the bottom, Nero is looking at him funny again. "You okay, man?" he asks. "Never seen you that color before."

Dante nods, and they head over to where Morrison is waving at them. The shop has been transformed into a party area, chairs lined up in rows before the little foyer in front of the door, where the two of them will say their vows. He spies Lir's parents trying to get his attention, but Dante ducks down and makes a beeline for Morrison. "Thanks for doing this," he mutters when they reach him. "Can we get started?"

"Just waiting on the bride," he chuckles. "You doing okay? You look pretty pale."

"He's nervous as fuck, that's why," Nero offers.

"Lir's family is here, can you cool it with the swears?" Dante hisses. He nods over to the two dozen or so people who occupy most of the space, chatting excitedly and sending sideways glances towards Lady and Trish. They are the only ones sitting on the groom's side, and Dante grits his teeth to see that neither of them are dressed like normal people.

Lady is in the same all-white ensemble she'd worn in Fortuna, while Trish's black corset is drawing more than a few scornful looks, but neither of them seem to care much. At least they aren't all over one another. He has no idea if the conservative values of Lir's family extends to personal relationships and has no desire to find out. He levels an unimpressed stare their way, one that Lady returns with a poisonously sweet smile. 'Don't faint,' she mouths, and he turns back to Morrison with a growl.

"Where's Lir?" he asks lowly.

"Upstairs with Kyrie," Nero answers. "I think a couple of women who might have been her sisters went, too. Something about prepping her for tonight, whatever that means."

"Oh, God," he groans. Dante wipes his brow with the back of his hand, then on his pants. Lir's parents have finally started over, and he considers hitting the fire alarm as he watches them approach.

Her father puts his hand out, which Dante takes weakly. "Very exciting!" Augustus says, nodding to the others. "Are we just about ready?"

"About time, too," Lorenna huffs. "Can't put this off forever." She narrows her eyes at Nero, looking him up and down, frowning when she spies his right arm, partially hidden by his coat. "Who is this?"

"Nero," Dante replies quickly, cutting off whatever profanity was, judging by how sharply Nero scowls, about to come out of his mouth. "He's a business associate. Runs the Fortuna branch of the Devil May Cry."

"Oh!" Lorenna perks up a bit. "Were you familiar with the Order, perhaps?"

Dante watches Nero visibly swallow his anger, and his voice is stiff when he says, "Yeah. I knew 'em."

"Interesting business that was," she says. "You must know a lot about Sparda, being familiar with the Order."

Nero shrugs. "Some I guess? Who knows if he was even real though, right?"

Internally, Dante winces. That was the entirely wrong thing to have said, and he realizes then that he should have warned Nero about how devoted these people are to Sparda as a mythical protector of humanity. Before things can devolve further, Kyrie appears at the bottom of the stairs and hurries over to Morrison.

"She's ready," she announces.

Augustus drags his wife away, who looks as though she has more to say, and Nero snorts. "These people are weird," he says before kissing Kyrie's cheek and watching as she goes to sit next to Lady.

"Yeah," Dante answers. Music starts from somewhere, and Nero frowns at him, grabbing his elbow and positioning him the other way.

"Stand here," Nero snorts. He looks over Dante's shoulder and nods. "She's coming down the steps, don't you want to look?"

Dante blinks. His palms are damp, the small of his back clammy, and he's nervous, more so than he's ever been before. Makes sense, he supposes; like Nero said, grooms are supposed to be, right? Yet he feels like his body weighs tons as he turns, the world swimming around him in slow motion, and the sight of Lir nearly sends him running.

She's fucking gorgeous, and she's making a terrible mistake.

The dress she wears is the one he knows she's spent weeks carefully sewing, and it fits her like a damn glove, hugging her chest and hips before flaring into a train at her thighs, and her neck and shoulders are left bare. Dainty lace gloves cover her hands, clutching a bouquet of white and red roses, and, while he can't see much of her face due to the veil covering it, he already knows that she's going to be stunning. She already is, every single day, in jeans or a ball gown. Christ, his eyes are burning, and next to him Nero mutters, "You can cry. Most guys do."

"I'm not crying," he hisses, smiling at Lir when she reaches him.

Lir beams up at him through the veil, and holds out her hand to him, which he takes eagerly. "This is exciting, isn't it?" she whispers.

Dante nods, feeling his nerves start to settle as she grins.

"You look very handsome," she murmurs.

He swallows thickly. "Yeah. You look . . . Uh. Well. I've never seen anythin' prettier."

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante wrinkles his nose as he knocks back a sip of champagne. The taste is a bit weird, definitely preferring beer, or whiskey. But champagne was needed for the toasts, Lir had insisted, so he sighs as another one of her relatives or sisters or friends or whoever this seemingly endless parade of people are gets up to give them another lecture about Sparda and Ler disguised as a toast.

"You okay?" Lir whispers, patting his arm.

"Right as rain," he answers, returning her smile. She sits on his right, their table actually his desk, covered with a long linen cloth.

He feels a nudge on the shoulder. "How much longer is this?" Nero hisses in his ear. "I'm starving and these people are starting to freak me out."

Lir gives him a sheepish, almost embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry, Nero. It should be over soon. They're just waiting for . . . for the sun to go down."

Dante frowns, glancing towards the windows. The sky outside is taking on the burning hues of evening, and the sun is barely touching the roofs of the buildings across the street. "Sunset? Why sunset?"

"Well, it's . . ."

She closes her mouth as a woman with Augustus' dark hair and Lorenna's shrewd eyes approaches. There's a band on her finger with a large diamond set in the center, but that doesn't stop her from eyeing him in a way that feels far too intimate. "Lirael," the woman coos. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"You know who he is, Irene." It's the first time he's ever seen something akin to dislike settle on Lir's features, and he wracks his brain at the inkling of familiarity the name brings. "Dante, this is my older sister, third daughter of Augustus and Lorenna, 59th in the line of Ler."

She sticks out her hand, which Dante takes. "Nice to meet you?" he says uncomfortably.

"Mm-hm." She looks around, holding onto his hand so he can't pull away. "This is your place? Not much to it. You'd think the son of Sparda would have something . . ." Her voice trails off as she slowly drags her eyes up and down him. "Bigger," she finishes.

Behind him, Nero makes an odd sort of noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and Lir's brow pinches. "Irene," she says, warily.

Irene releases him with a smile and lifts the flute of champagne in her other hand. "A toast to the newly wed couple. May your union be satisfying too all, your joining full of delight."

"Thanks," Dante says, putting his arm around Lir for good measure. "Same to you," he continues, nodding towards the rock on her hand.

"Oh, this? It's nothing," she laughs. Then her eyes flicker over to Nero. "Another son of Sparda?"

Nero makes a face. "Hell no, I ain't a Sparda. And I'm taken, lady."

"My mistake." She smiles at Lir again, taking a thoughtful sip of her champagne before saying, "Interesting ceremony you have here. Our sister was married on the beach, but an office building is nice too, I suppose. And pizza? You are living well."

"Dante likes it," Lir hisses.

"Does he?" One perfectly shaped brow arches. "Well, then I suppose it's alright. Though I must say, sister, I'm very surprised to see how well you've adjusted. What was it you said when you were chosen? That you'd rather die?"

Dante goes cold. She never told me that. But Lir is already lifting her chin. "That was before I knew him."

"I see." Irene taps the rim of her glass against her lips thoughtfully. "Did you know," she says to Dante, "that the only reason Lir was sent was that my engagement was announced two weeks before we learned of your existence?"

"Sounds like you had a lot of reasons to celebrate," he replies. His voice sounds steady, despite how numb his lips feel. Is she still miserable with this?

"Just think," Irene says, as if he hadn't spoken, "it could be the two of us sitting here right now." She laughs and takes another drink from her glass. "That would be interesting, wouldn't it? We wouldn't be eating pizza at a wedding, that's certain."

"Hey, back off." Nero steps up, his voice angry , putting out his left hand as if to keep her away. "Why don't you go find your table and leave them alone?"

She gives a simpering sort of smile before turning on her heel, her hips swaying more than Dante thinks is natural as she saunters back over to her parents. "I'm sorry," Lir murmurs. "She's . . . She wasn't happy to be passed over. I thought that wound would have healed by now, but . . ."

"It's fine." Dante sips his champagne and wrinkles his nose. Too sweet. "Believe me, I understand sibling rivalry just fine."

The speeches finally over, food is served, which seems to settle everyone. Dante is amazed at the dishes served, a combination of pasta dishes that does include pizza. He eats his fill as Lir discreetly points out who everyone is among their guests, keeping one eye on the table that sits his friends, hoping they don't get too rowdy. He notes how Lir seems to be getting fidgety, and after the caterers take the food away, she seems to be stiff as a board.

Dante spots some of Lir's family getting ready to swarm, so he leans over and murmurs, "Is it, uh . . . time?"

She jumps, but then nods. Dante frowns to see the bit of pinching in the corner of her eyes, but Lir tries to visibly relax. "Yeah. We’re going to need to go upstairs."

"Sounds good." Dante stands, putting his hands up and calling for attention. If Lir is this nervous, it's up to him to take charge, he decides. Least he can do after all this mess.

Everyone stops talking and looks at him in surprise, and he ignores the whoop that comes from Trish. Lir whispers his name in the silence, but Dante's mind is made up. "Everyone, uh, I guess it's time for me and Lir to do the thing we need to do. So make sure to leave me some pizza, and don't drive if you get too trashed."

The expressions of their guests ranges from surprise to delight, but their stunned reaction to him is made worth it when he hears the little laugh that escapes Lir before she smothers it, and he offers her his hand. She takes it with a smile before addressing the crowd. "Thank you all for being here. I know the road has been . . . strange, but I'm happy, and proud, to be where I am. To be by his side."

He doesn't quite know what to make of that or the knots it sends his stomach into, so he merely nods, moving to rest his palm against the small of her back and guiding her to the stairs. Whispers erupt behind them, easy enough to ignore given his own inner turmoil. Dante is actually looking forward to this, and that makes him feel guilty, which only confuses him. Lir, at least, seems steady, climbing to the second floor with an easy grace.

Dante follows her into his bedroom, and he lets out a surprised noise when they get inside. It's the cleanest he's ever seen it, a completely new bedding set on the bed, fresh flowers placed around on the furniture. He looks around with a smile as he shuts the door, putting his hands on his hips as he takes it all in. "This place looks great," he says. "Did you do this?"

"Some of it." Lir moves to the window to open in a bit, and he watches as she takes a deep breath when the curtain sways a bit. She glances over her shoulder, but when their eyes meet she quickly turns away. "Can you help me with this veil?" she asks. "There's like a million pins in it."

"Sure," he murmurs, shrugging off his jacket as he walks over. Dante tosses it onto the chair in the corner, cleaned off of the pile of dirty clothes and even a new pillow fluffed on the seat, and steps up to Lir as she turns away from him. He frowns for a moment but then finds the first hairpin, pulling it out and tossing it on the top of the bureau. Carefully he works until he takes out a couple dozen and is able to work the comb attached free from her hair.

Lir sighs deeply, reaching up to help him. "My scalp thanks you," she chuckles, tossing the veil to join his jacket on the chair.

On impulse he slides his hands in her hair, giving her scalp a gentle massage, and Dante grins when she gives a little groan. "That's nice, thank you," Lir sighs.

"Mm-hm." The scent of her shampoo wafts gently every time his fingers brush through her hair. It's sweet, light, like the strawberries he loves so much, and he wonders if she'd chosen a new one just for him or if he never noticed it before. "I'd say you've earned it."

"Earned it?" He can hear the confusion, and it's cute enough to make him laugh.

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he carefully presses his thumbs against the nape of her neck. "Yeah. You had to put up with me an' Nero an' all of your family for the entire day. Keep it up, and I'll think you're going for sainthood."

Lir doesn't respond right away, her head dropping as he massages her skin. Then she turns and looks up at him with a shy smile. "You did pretty good too," she says. Then she licks her lips, a little gesture that sends a jolt through him, and she reaches up to undo his tie. "Let's, uh . . . let's get you comfortable, okay?"

"Right." His voice cracks, so he clears his throat and tries again. "Right. Okay. Think you're a bit more, uh . . . I mean, the dress seems . . ."

Her fingers brush his throat as she carefully undoes the knot and pulls the fabric from beneath his collar. "I'm okay," she replies quietly. "It's not the worst thing I've ever worn." Before he can ask what was, she sets to work on the buttons of his shirt; Dante can feel her hands trembling, and he covers them with his own when she reaches the third.

"Take it easy," he murmurs. "It's just us."

Lir glances up, her cheeks turning a bit pink. "I'm just so scared I'm going to screw this up," she whispers.

Dante can't help but chuckle at that. "Don't worry, I got that covered I think." He pulls her hands away and finishes the buttons on his shirt. "I can do this. Do you need help with your dress?"

She shakes her head, watching him for a moment as he takes off his shirt before glancing away. Lir turns a bit as she reaches back to pull her zipper, and the two undress silently. Dante doesn't take his eyes from her as he takes off his belt and pulls off his shoes, breathing deeply when she lets her dress slide to the floor, leaving her in a white slip, the satin clinging to her body. He is nervous as hell but seeing Lir just as unsure has given him a weird boost of confidence, and before he removes the rest of his clothes, he reaches out and grabs her wrist. "Come here," he murmurs, tugging her gently.

Lir blinks up at him, and Dante leans in, smiling as her eyes widen when he gets closer. Slowly he wraps his arms around her, his skin warming when her palms go to his arms and gently settle against him. "We can do this," Dante says.

She exhales slowly with a nod. "Yes." Her gaze drops to his mouth, and a flush stains her cheeks as she looks away. "I know I don't . . . I mean, it might not be proper or correct, but . . . may I kiss you?"

His mind flashes to her underneath him on the couch, her thighs cradling his body, and he swallows thickly. "If that's what you want."

Like then, her hands cup his face, her thumbs smoothing carefully over his cheeks, and his heart is pounding in his chest as she goes up onto her toes to press her lips to his. It's the same tentative brush she had used the first time, like she's afraid to ask for more, that she's doing something wrong, and he holds her firmly, forcing himself to be patient. If he moves too quickly, he could scare her again, like he had when he'd torn the couch trying to keep himself under control.

His hands fist into the slip, but he holds back, letting her lead the kiss. Lir presses her lips to him twice, three times, and then Dante follows the tilt of her mouth, returning her slow kiss with soft pressure. After several moments she starts to grow bolder, and he feels her tongue flicker against his lips; they curve into a smile as he opens for her, Lir sighing into his mouth.

She hesitates again, and Dante tugs on her lower lip before moving down her jaw and to her throat. He shivers at the little catch in her breath as he leaves a trail of kisses down her neck. "You know I have . . . some things I can do . . ." she whispers.

"You do?" Dante nibbles on her shoulder, kissing along the strap of her slip.

"Yes, I was . . . I was taught how to . . ." He presses his lips under her earlobe, cutting her off as she sucks in another breath. Her fingers dig into the muscle of his arms as she tilts her head, exposing more skin to his kiss. "I'm supposed to be making you feel good," she whimpers.

"Mm, think that's supposed to go both ways," he murmurs, more than half-distracted by the softness of her throat. "Ain't fun if only one of us feels good."

"Fun?" she mumbles. She strokes him lightly, sending a shiver up his spine, and he groans and teases her pulse carefully with his teeth. "Oh," Lir breathes, the sound erotic and sweet and making him twitch. "Oh, do that again, please."

Dante complies eagerly. He kisses her neck, teasing her with his tongue as his arm slides around her waist, holding her tightly against him. The other hand moves to her hip, and slowly he walks her backwards towards the bed. "Is it okay if I touch you?" he whispers.

"Y-yes," she stutters.

He drags his palm down her thigh, and then grabs the fabric, pulling it up until he can feel her skin. They hit the edge of the bed, and Lir sits, pulling Dante down on top of her as she slides back to the center of the bed. Their eyes connect as he strokes her thigh, and she moves her touch up his arms and back down his chest, carefully tracing the outlines of his muscles.

"I wasn't lyin' earlier," he says, quietly, and her hands pause on his stomach. "I've never seen anyone prettier than you. Don't think I ever will."

He strokes the crease of her thigh as her gaze softens. Then Lir grabs his arms and tugs. "Sit up on the pillows," she says, quickly scrambling back.

Dante smiles and crawls up on the bed, flopping over with his back propped on the frilly pillows at the head of the bed. "This good?"

"Perfect." He grins as Lir straddles his lap, and then his eyes almost fall out of his head when she pulls the slip off over her head. Underneath is a lace set that is barely more than a triangle between her legs and over her breasts, and Lir reaches back to undo the bra, taking it off and tossing it onto the floor.

She settles back to sit on his hips, and Dante swallows as he takes her in. Her hands press on his stomach to steady herself, and as his gaze hovers around her chest, her nipples soft and pink against creamy skin, his own body starts to rapidly stiffen. Her kiss had already gotten his blood pumping, but his heartbeat is at full speed ahead with Lir now perched nearly naked on top of him, her hair falling over one shoulder as she chews her lip nervously.

Dante clears his throat as she shifts a bit, certain she can feel his erection inside his pants and now pressed against her backside. "I guess I should . . ." she murmurs, her fingers tracing down his stomach and towards the little trail of hair just visible above the waistband of his dress pants.

Still gathering his wits, or what little of them he's ever had, he doesn't realize what she's intending to do until the button is unfastened and the zipper eased down, and, even then, it doesn't really click until her her hand eases beneath the fabric and her touch grazes the base of his cock. Both of them freeze, and what he thinks is alarm flickers briefly across her features. "Oh," she says, then again: "Oh. You're bigger than . . ."

Lir trails off, her cheeks scarlet now, and there's another of those strange boosts to his ego, though it's dulled a bit by concern. She havin' second thoughts? "You okay?"

"Huh? Oh! Yes." She gives her head a little shake. "I'm sorry, I only. I mean, they told us—told me about the anatomy and used props to demonstrate how things could be done, but nothing was . . . as large as you are."

Dante's burst of pride is quickly dampened as she starts to stroke him, her hand exploring his length, but her expression one of confusion. "This isn't . . ." Her voice trails off, and now it's his turn to frown as she yanks down the fabric, his cock springing free as she examines him closely.

"Uh, easy there," he chuckles nervously.

But Lir only stares at him, expression deep in thought. Carefully she wraps her hand around him, and Dante bites back a groan as she slowly drags her fist up and down his length. It's pretty much the most erotic thing he's ever seen—only, really—and her beautiful face and perfect body and delicate hand now jerking him almost experimentally have him gripping the blanket beneath him tightly. Her other hand strokes his pelvis, the touch of her fingertips almost featherlight and in stark contrast to the firm grip she uses to pump up and down his length that is now aching and throbbing.

"Lir," he grunts. She stops, peering up at him from beneath her lashes, and he tries to think of a polite way to tell her that it she wants to have sex she better get a move on because he's not sure he can last with her doing that. But the words won't come, and he curses as her brows furrow.

"Was I doing it wrong?"

"What? No!" He pushes himself up onto his elbows. "Christ, no. Just, uh . . . Seems unfair that you're getting to touch me but I can't touch you."

"Oh!" She giggles, a slight blush creeping over her features. "Sorry, I was distracted."

Her smile is lovely as she leans over him, her free hand pressed to his shoulder as the other continues stroking him. Lir gazes at him sweetly, her long lashes making her look almost sultry, and the mix of innocence and sexiness makes his heart skip a beat. Dante reaches up to feel her thighs, and then slides his hands over her until he carefully covers her breasts. He can feel her nipples grow hard against his palm, and he gives her flesh a gentle squeeze, swallowing a groan at how soft she feels and how small she seems in his large hands.

She bites her lip, and he leans up to kiss the plump flesh, sucking on it softly while he cups her breasts and uses his thumbs to rub small circles over her nipples. The little noise she lets out as she arches into his touch has him panting, rocking up into her hand; nothing could have ever prepared him for the sensation of her body against his, of her skin brushing his. He feels almost drunk, and he releases one hand to drag it down her stomach, groping over her waist and hip just to feel her tremble.

Lir is still stroking him, her hand feeling like a slice of heaven, her skin so soft as it drags up and down his length. Occasionally she pauses to rub her thumb on the tip or tease the head, and Dante groans. He would love nothing more than to take hold of himself and hurry up the end his body is craving, but her touch is so sweet and sexy that he wouldn't stop her for anything.

She moves closer, his erection now pressed against her thigh, and Dante pulls her down to kiss her eagerly. Lips and tongues slide together as his hands roam her body, and then he tilts her back so he can place a kiss to her breast, using his tongue to roll around her waiting nipple. Lir gives a little gasp that sends a shot of pleasure right through his dick, and he pulls her nipple in his mouth, wanting more. Her hands move into his hair, his cock straining for friction where it presses to her thigh, and when she lifts her hips slightly to press her chest closer to him, he feels the lace drag against the head of his cock, nearly driving him crazy.

"Dante," she murmurs, her nails scratching lightly over his scalp, and it's damn near over right then. Then she asks, shyly, "Should I . . . finish undressing?" and he goes lightheaded at just the thought of it.

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs. "You got me so worked up, angel . . ."

Lir presses a quick kiss to his lips and climbs off, and Dante stares as she stands next to the bed and shimmies out of her panties. When she turns he quickly pulls the rest of his clothes off, grabbing the base of his cock and giving it a squeeze as he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. Keep it together. Keep it together!

Warm silk wraps around him, and with a groan he peeks an eye open. Lir is spreading lube along his length, coating him well before she straddles his hips.

She holds his shoulders and rocks her hips, and Dante hits his head back against the pillows. He watches with widening eyes as she grips his length, and then angles it between her legs. Lir grabs onto his chest for leverage as the head of him parts her folds, and Dante wonders what to do, if he should help, when the first couple of inches enter her body, and his cock is wrapped in the most delicious tight heat he could ever have imagined.

He digs his fingers into the quilt, a faint ping of remorse making itself known when the fabric starts to rip. But it's easy enough to ignore that when the alternatives are either losing control or hurting her or both, and he does his damndest to keep himself still while she works. His thoughts jumble together the more of him she takes: christ she's so small is it gonna fit is she okay oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck.

"Dante . . ." she whines, bringing him back from his own overwhelming thoughts. "Dante, I can't . . ."

He sits up, wrapping his arms around her waist, and kisses her. Lir freezes in his hold, her hands on his shoulders, and Dante kisses her as passionately as he knows how, ignoring the insistent throbbing of his cock. He rubs her back in slow circles until after a minute, she begins to relax, sinking further onto him.

"Lir," he groans, pressing his face to her neck. She starts to rock her hips, easing him in and out of her body, but still far from taking him completely inside her own; but it doesn't matter, the movements still erotic and incredible, her sex squeezing him tightly. He remembers the spot below her ear that had her trembling earlier, so he lavishes her skin with his teeth and tongue, letting Lir work at a pace that is comfortable for her but nearly torturous for him.

He's so caught up in keeping her comfortable that he doesn't realize how dangerously close he's getting until his sac starts to tighten, and he pulls from her skin with a stuttered groan, grabbing at her hips even as ecstasy starts to overflow. She lets out a startled noise as his seed fills her in pulses that mimic his hammering heart, going still with her hands braced on his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin with her surprise.

Dante can't take it anymore and he thrusts upwards, another pulsing wave of pure bliss wracking his body, the friction silky as he slowly rocks up and down. He falls back on the pillows as he catches his breath, staring at the ceiling as it finally begins to fade, Lir a comfortable weight on his lap.

Sleep is already tugging at him when she carefully climbs off of him, and he tugs her down next to him with a yawn that makes his jaw crack. Belatedly, he realizes that she probably hadn't gotten off—not that he'd noticed—but her hand is drawing lazy, soothing circles on his chest that only serve to lull him deeper into slumber, and his last bit of awareness is focused on the soft brush of her lips over his shoulder.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dante x oc #dmc oc #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #collab #promise me forever #pmf

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foxtophat · 3 years

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(still trying to figure out how i link these but whatever)

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!! i decided to just sit down and hammer out the last edits for this lil one-shot so i could get it out today!

i’m gonna be real with you: the only reason i wrote this fic is because i couldn’t get the idea out of my head. you weren’t supposed to see mercyverse for another month, honestly!!! but it’s been cold as fuck here and it’s made me fantasize about classic bed-sharing tropes, and so here we are!

this is a bit of a slice of life, to sort of give an idea of how day-to-day these guys all interact, especially now that carmina doesn’t have to pretend john doesn’t exist. plus, i’m starting to see how the caches might be involved in the overarching plot???? awesome!!!

as usual, the full text is below the cut for my friends who don’t wanna leave tumblr. i hope you enjoy -- feel free to leave a comment, i loooove hearing from readers. likes and reblogs are also great! kudos are fantastic! adding to the hit counter is just fine by me!!! anything you do to show support for fanfic is a good thing imo. i hope y’all have a happy wintereenmas or whatever and i will see you guys in 2021 with more mercyverse :)

The best thing Nick can say about the blizzard currently sweeping the county is that he could see that it was coming. They'd gotten almost a foot of snow the night before, which gets him worried about getting snowed in, and as the day progresses, the sky grows an ominous gray that Nick recognizes from a lifetime of living in the area. He knows that they probably only have a few hours left before they're going to want to get inside and avoid the worst a winter storm has to offer.

Nick and John spend the entire morning hauling wood into the house, while Kim does her best to clean out the broken chimney and ensure they won't die of smoke inhalation. They also pull in some pre-made stock that Kim had left in the freezer after it had gotten cold enough to use, as well as a few smaller pieces for miscellaneous projects. But with the storm rolling in overhead, they don't have long; they end up leaving a lot of things for later as the wind whips up around them and turns the snow sideways.

By two in the afternoon, they've closed the doors to officially bunker down for the rest of the blizzard. They have enough wood to last them three days, plus their military rations and plenty of coffee, so Nick isn't particularly concerned about their safety. The only thing he's really got to contend with is boredom, which is easier to stave off in the first few hours of captivity than it is later in the evening.

For the most part, Nick passes the time by sharpening their knives, cleaning their guns, and checking the radio every hour for any emergencies. The blizzard ensures that not many people are on, but at least he gets to check in with Jerome and make sure that Grace is safely in her bunker. It's unlikely they'll get in contact with the trailer park until after the worst passes, but that just means Nick's gonna worry about those jackasses all night.

Kim is probably the only one comfortable with the downtime, making the most of things as she chews on the radio's instructions. When the technical jargon gets to be too much, she switches to entertaining Carmina, who gets bored quick when her only job is to keep the fire going. The easiest distraction comes from card games; the deck they'd had in the bunker had shrunk to only 32 cards, but now that they've got a full deck to work with, Carmina is eager to relearn and master games like Go Fish and Old Maid. Nick doubts Jacob planned to be entertaining kids with his survival gear, but it's not like the guy's gonna complain.

Carmina isn't the only one that Jacob is keeping busy beyond the grave. Ever since they found that cache of his, John has been borderline obsessed with figuring out what the point of it could be. He'll go all day without mentioning the puzzle plaguing him, but any available downtime has him staring at the map and its coordinates. Nick and Kim have both been keeping an eye on it, just in case it turns into something worse than his usual tunnel-vision, but so far it hasn't gotten out of hand. If anything, John seems more aware and alert now that he has something to focus on, and now Nick can even pretend he's a normal guy for conversations at a time before being reminded otherwise.

Of course, the blizzard's making it impossible to find alternate distractions. John does spend part of the afternoon in his room, but eventually, he can't help but come downstairs to mull over the map. There's only one problem with that — they've hung the map up in the radio room, so there's about ten minutes every hour where Nick has no choice but to sit in John's presence. It probably wouldn't bother him so much if there was somewhere else either of them could be, but they're stuck for the foreseeable future. John's looming is just going to be part of Nick's life until the storm passes.

In the interest of keeping the peace, Nick reluctantly tries to have the same level of interest in the random dots that John shows. His attention, however, is distracted by the penciled-in changes that he, Kim and John have all been making to the landscape. The river's wider in some places now, and there are doodles of trees in spaces that were once open fields. A few X's mark places where bridges have collapsed, and Kim's circled anywhere they've made radio contact with. Their notations have scattered across the valley, and have even spread over to the river region thanks to Hurk and his raider gang, but they still don't know anything about the mountains, or even the spaces that are supposedly occupied by bow-wielding religious nutjobs. It's going to be a while before any of them get the nerve to go poking that particular hornet's nest.

John has his little notebook open, but he's not writing anything down. Nick's not sure what he would even put down, since they haven't gotten any more leads since early autumn, but he's always got the thing tucked in a pocket nowadays. Maybe Nick should be mad he outright stole that resource from the rest of them, but — well, come on. He can't yell at the man for taking up journaling, not without flying in the face of every therapist Nick had pretended not to listen to. It's just... well, what the hell is there for him to write down?

"Are you staring for any particular reason?" John asks, because of course he does.

"That's rich, coming from the guy lurking over my shoulder all day." Nick flips off the static-ridden radio frequency, leaning back in his chair so that he can get a better look at the map push-pinned to the wall. "I hear if you look at it just right, you can see a sailboat."

John's clearly not much of a Kevin Smith fan, because he only sighs heavily at Nick's flat joke. "If you have something better for me to be doing, I'm all ears," he says, revealing to Nick at last just how bored he really is. Weirdly enough, being in the same boat as John is somehow reassuring.

"Okay, fine. At least tell me what you're staring at, so I know what to fake interest in."

Even though it's mostly a joke, it lands softly enough that John doesn't take offense. Stuffing the notebook in his back pocket, he shakes his head, gesturing at the map. Getting John to explain himself is usually like pulling teeth, but right now he seems relieved to have someone to bounce his thoughts off of. It's a long way away from the guy Nick remembers saving, enough so that it almost catches his full interest.

"It's nothing in particular, really. I've already spent hours staring at this thing, but I'm... still looking for a pattern, I guess. Jacob was paranoid and secretive, but if there's a hidden code buried in these coordinates, it's beyond me to see it. And the snow was already keeping us from traveling too far — now with this blizzard, we're likely stuck with no new information until spring ..."

John sighs, rubbing his forehead as the pretense finally abandons him. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do until then."

That's certainly a feeling that Nick can relate to. Nick is less of a workaholic than John might be, but that doesn't mean he won't go stir-crazy without his own set of chores. Hell, that's why he's been hanging around the radio in between games of cards with the girls and cleaning whatever he can get his hands on. It must suck extra for John; the guy's been spinning his tires in the dirt for years, probably, and being this close to having a purpose beyond doing whatever chores Nick sets him to must be irritating.

Nick props one leg up against the wall, tapping his boot against the wood as he ponders the dots scattered around the map. There are a few still in the valley, but there's no driving until they thaw out. The points in the mountains are probably inaccessible to anybody, and who knows when they'll get to investigate the old vet center or find the Wolf's Den. There are a couple points nearer the trailer park, though, and not for the first time Nick tries to measure the distance from Hurk to the various red dots. There's one near the lumber mill, and one near where that godawful statue was, and of course one right smack dab in the middle of the original Peggy compound.

Nick can't imagine his truck making it all the way there and back, not without more information about the roads. Hurk might not have the same trouble. "I could send the trailer park a couple coordinates," he points out. "They might get to search before us, and it could cut the work in half."

Despite John's scowl, he only sounds tired as he replies, "I've considered it, but I don't trust them. Then again, I hardly trust myself, so who knows."

"I guess you're shit outta luck, then," Nick says. John takes obvious offense at Nick brushing him off, but hey, what else is Nick supposed to do? "God's giving you a freebie with this blizzard. Maybe you should try catching up on your sleep, or something."

"And ruin the precarious schedule I'm keeping?"

"Jesus, then go read a book! Just — you know, quit hovering over me all day. Don't you know how to entertain yourself?"

John seems unphased by Nick's half-hearted outburst. "This is how I entertain myself. Maps, resources, legal documents — that's probably the only decent outlet I've ever had." He stares at Nick's boot, unwilling to meet his eyes. "At least, it's the only one healthy enough to keep."

That is probably a safe bet, Nick realizes, quickly trying to backpedal away from the open scab that is John's history. "Uh, well, what about before the cult?"

John surprises them both with a brief laugh. "If I could source some coke, then yes, I would be entertained."

"Jesus, John."

"I'm not known for my healthy self-care habits," John points out, a little too smug to be truly self-deprecating. At least he seems to understand what Nick had been getting at originally, deferring with a vague hand-wave. "Is my loitering in the kitchen going to be too smothering for you, too, or is that okay?"

Nick rolls his eyes, flipping the radio back on to scan the channels once again. "It's fine, whatever. Just as long as you've got something better to entertain yourself than snaking the whiskey Jacob left."

"I'm more of a gin guy," John admits.

"Of course you are."

It's still a relief, though, knowing they aren't keeping an alcoholic too near his fix. On top of that, John's relaxed disregard for his past vices settles nerves Nick hadn't even realized were rattled. Sure, there's probably a whole other box of American Psycho- esque worms waiting to be opened up from John's time before Eden's Gate, but at least he seems to have comfortably packed that part of his life away for now. Unlike talking about the cult, John has no trouble dropping the conversation, just as casually as he'd brought it up. He retreats into the kitchen to mull over whatever he's written down already, leaving behind no traumatic story or sad-eyed stare — just the casual admission that he would really like to do some drugs.

Weirdly enough, that is probably the most respectable thing about John to date.

Nick spends another fifteen minutes checking the radio, scanning the channels he knows people use most. He winds up with nothing to show for it — either the storm is making radio communication impossible, or everybody else has given up on their radios. It's only after he's cleared the range twice that he flips the radio off and escapes back to Kim and Carmina, leaving John in the kitchen with a broad, somehow-sarcastic gesture towards the now unoccupied radio nook.

Carmina ropes Nick into a game of Go Fish, which Kim seems keen on losing. Nick isn't surprised — Carmina is a wily player, which is to say that she tries to bluff her way through hands with all the grace of a sledgehammer. Kim's not as willing to put up with cheating as Nick is, but neither of them are capable of even pretending to believe Carmina's poker face. It's going to be a problem one day, but Nick isn't exactly ready to teach his daughter how to lie to his face.

Well, that is until she and Nick are on their third round of Go Fish, and Nick has had to pretend not to see through all of Carmina's gambits.

He asks her if she has any threes, and she scrunches her nose up as she glances meaningfully at her cards. "Go fish," she says, making Nick regret not having Kim sit right behind their daughter as a referee.

"Fine," he grumbles, "If you say so."

Kim blinks skeptically at the pants she's fixing, but she doesn't offer Nick any out. If it weren't for his clumsy hands, maybe he could use darning socks and patching shirts as an excuse to quit playing, but as it stands, the only thing he has other than getting trounced is staring at the map with John. And since he already tried that and found it to be mildly aggravating at best...

"You know, this would be more fun with more people," Nick says, desperately glancing at Kim.

Kim, of course, gives him no quarter. "Why don't you ask John," she suggests rhetorically.

"John," Carmina calls out, "Do you wanna play Go Fish?"

Nick opens his mouth to chastise Carmina, but he realizes there's nothing to discipline her for. Especially not when John flippantly replies, "I think your father's looking to play with fewer cheaters, not more."

"I'm not cheating!" Carmina exclaims, not-so-surreptitiously pressing her cards into her lap to ensure nobody's looking at them. Between that and her guiltily furrowed brow, there's no hiding it. Her poker face needs a lot of work.

"Go Fish isn't even worth cheating at," Nick sighs, gesturing for her cards. "If that's the way you wanna play, at least do it the right way. Here, gimme your cards — John, come over here so I can teach my daughter how to lie to your face."

As if playing a game of cards with John wasn't enough to excite Carmina, she's doubly over the moon when he tells her the rules. After all, a ten-year-old girl is the prime demographic for the game Bullshit, especially when she's given carte blanche to shout cuss words at her dad. On top of that, it seems like bluffing really is half of the fun for his daughter — which is a little intimidating, sure, but at least he knows she's smart enough to understand the utility of lying.

John is... unenthusiastic, to say the least, but that only makes the prospect of humiliating him that much better. A few weeks ago, Nick would've thought John was too fragile to be messed with, but now there's a bounce in his step that will make taking him down easier. He's got to do something to remind himself that this nearly-tolerable man is usually a miserable sonofabitch.

Unfortunately, John has a fantastic poker face. Nick figured that from the get-go, but it's still daunting to play against a bored, uninterested party. That's probably why Carmina avoids John in favor of hounding Nick, calling out "bullshit!" with delightful glee whenever she thinks Nick has dropped the wrong face card or played a nine instead of a King. On the one hand, Nick appreciates that he can read her as well as she can, but on the other hand, he'd really like a chance to beat John. So far, he's the only one who's called John out, and all he has to show for it is the extra six cards in his hand.

Although Kim is on standby for this round, she keeps flashing Nick amused grins whenever Carmina calls bullshit. Nick almost hopes John can hold it together to be mundane for two entire rounds of cards because he wouldn't stand a chance against Kim.

Case in point, John lays down two cards that are meant to be threes, and Kim clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Carmina frowns up at her mom, who only shrugs and suggests, "I would call him out, if I were you."

John's neutral frown doesn't change. "Last I checked, you weren't playing," he says.

Kim only shrugs in response. Nick furrows his brow at Kim while Carmina squints suspiciously from the discard pile to John and then back again. Of course, encouraging a ten-year-old to swear is always going to win out, and so Carmina wrinkles her nose and calls John out with a slightly uncertain, "Okay, bullshit."

Without so much as a grimace of defeat, John lets Carmina flip his played cards — one three, and one dirty, rotten, lying, bullshit seven .

"That's what I thought," Kim says, flippantly triumphant. "Guess you're not as hard to read as you thought."

Nick sure can't tell what John's thinking as he lifts one shoulder noncommittally. "I stand corrected."

"Wait," Nick asks, "What gave it away?"

"I'm not helping you too , Nick," Kim laughs. "That wouldn't be fair."

"It's not exactly fair to help Carmina," John points out. Nick bets he's just as interested in what tell Kim noticed, although he manages to be less obvious about it. At least he can't crack Kim's smug smile any better than Nick, which is some small compensation.

Nick manages to win this hand, if only because his play strategy involves lying as little as possible. That seems to work against Carmina no problem, but Nick suspects John threw the game out of personal disinterest. If it weren't for the howling winds whistling through the roof and second story, John would probably excuse himself from another hand by retreating upstairs, but as it is he manages to sit through one more round of cards, this time with Kim joining in.

Carmina's poker-face doesn't improve by leaps and bounds, exactly, but she manages to fool Nick into picking up a fat stack of cards, so that's something. Too bad he'd been trying to teach her to lie to John , not her parents. Well — at least she's a nice enough kid to only do it for fun. He hopes, anyway.

Kim makes John's loss look more organic, at least, and she doesn't rub it in too badly when she wins. It's extra kind of her considering Nick is the one who called her last play bullshit, leaving him to rot in miserable third place after both his girls. Well, fine . At least Carmina seemed to have fun, even if Nick is now sitting with nearly half a deck in his hands. If the blizzard keeps up for too long, they might have to graduate to poker.

Before they can play any more card games, though, they take time out for dinner. It's almost normal, sitting around the fireplace with their military rations and some hot broth — if they were eating Marie Calendar pot-pies and watching Christmas movies, Nick would even be able to ignore John's presence sticking out like a sore thumb.

The next best thing to watching movies is talking about them, which has become something of a tradition between the Ryes. It all started in the bunker, where Kim and Nick ran out of normal Christmas stories and began taking turns narrating whatever holiday movies they could remember. They've run through all the memorable Rankin & Bass flicks, as well as a couple more contemporary ones, so they're starting to reach for their personal favorites or the very bottom of the barrel plots.

Nick intends to be paying Jingle All the Way a tribute tonight, but as soon as he mentions that the Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle is one of his favorites, he's interrupted by John snorting derisively.

"Let me guess," Nick snaps, "You're one of those jackasses who pretends Die Hard is a legitimate Christmas movie just so he doesn't have to watch good, family-friendly content."

"It is a legitimate Christmas movie," John responds, just petulantly enough to tell Nick he hit the nail on the head.

"Look, Kim and I have already had this discussion — just because it takes place during Christmas doesn't make it a Christmas movie . Set dressing alone isn't enough!"

John raises his eyes towards the ceiling, which is as subtle as his eyerolls can get. "Whatever you say, Nick."

"What's Die Hard about?" Carmina asks, excitedly guessing, "Does Santa get to shoot people in it?"

"That would be a good Christmas movie," Nick replies. "No, it's just about some guy who has to fight bad guys in a building."

"During Christmas," Kim points out.

"Okay, fine during Christmas. But nobody's dressed up like Santa, nobody sings any carols, and there sure as hell isn't any Christmas magic that saves the day, so it doesn't count!"

"So what does happen?" Carmina asks.

Damn it — Nick should have known that talking about an action flick would immediately disinterest her towards any sloppy story about consumerism. She doesn't even know what a mall is — but she knows how to shoot a handgun, and now that Nick's thinking about it, she might need to use the duct-tape shoulder holster trick one day. It would be pretty bad-ass if she knew how, anyway.

"Okay, fine, I'll do it real quick. I don't remember all the parts, so Kim, you gotta help."

Real quick turns out to take almost as much time as the movie itself had. Kim interjects whenever Nick forgets a plot point, but at least he remembers the core conflict. Sort of, anyway — by the time he's done recounting John McClane's tale, John looks visibly dissatisfied, and Kim has a "well, sort of" expression on her face that implies he didn't quite nail the execution. Well, who cares what they think? All that matters is that Carmina is entertained, and of course she is. After all, narrated or not, it's still Die Hard . Just so long as she doesn't ask about the sequels, they should be okay.

The wind is still whipping overhead, and Nick can see nothing beyond the windows. There's no telling how late it's gotten. Although his internal clock insists it can't have been that long since sundown, Carmina has been yawning for a while now, and the fire's gone down again. It looks like sleeping through the storm is the only pastime left for Nick to try.

Carmina takes over stoking the fire for the final time before bed, while Kim makes her way upstairs to gather as much of their bedding as she can carry. John follows reluctantly behind, clearly unhappy with the prospect of facing his own cold room, but Nick figures he can deal for five damn minutes. For his part, Nick busies himself checking the radio one last time, just in case there's an emergency. He doesn't know what they'd be able to do if there was one, but that doesn't stop him from checking anyway.

With the radio situated just under the stairs, it's easy to listen in to Kim stomping around in the room above, desperate to keep her temperature up. Nick had put off too many attic repairs before this winter — he's going to have to make up for that in spring, when he and John can worm their way into the rafters and ensure that their next winter won't turn the bedrooms into a cold wasteland. Of course, even if they did patch up the gaps in the floorboards and do their best to insulate the attic, not much can beat a genuine fire in the middle of a snowstorm.

Nick isn't even paying attention to the radio, so he flips it off and trusts that everyone can keep themselves safe for another night. He hears the whump of fabric as Kim tosses their two biggest, least moldy blankets down for Carmina to start with, and the creak of footsteps on the landing overhead. Kim's voice isn't raised, but it carries down to Nick clear as a bell.

"John, you'll freeze if you stay up here," she says. "Get your stuff and come downstairs."

"It's not that cold," John says, attempting to deflect from one weak excuse with another. "I doubt Nick approved that suggestion."

Well, not technically, no, but Nick had sort of assumed they were already all on the same page. What does John think Nick's gonna do, force him to freeze upstairs so he can hog the fireplace all to himself?

Kim doesn't give the excuses a chance to breathe, replying with parental exasperation. "He and I both agree it's too cold to sleep upstairs." Nick can hear the teasing plain as day when she adds, "Just don't be weird about it."

Sure enough, suggesting John might be making things awkward is enough to get him to shut up and follow orders. Nick briefly longs for the days when John would mutely nod and do as told without any additional goading, but only for a second. Even that is long enough retrospection to remind Nick of how creepy and genuinely alarming it had been. Sure, John might get argumentative or exasperated now, but at least there's an actual person to communicate with. Nick might want to kick his ass more now than before, but he absolutely hated dealing with the hollow-eyed monster John had been.

Besides, it's way more satisfying being a dick to him now that he actually gets offended.

Despite John's furrowed-brow glares, Nick doesn't comment whatsoever on him trailing downstairs after Kim, clutching two actual blankets and a tarp that's weather-worn enough to pass muster. He stands and waits for someone to point him in the right direction as Kim and Carmina do their best to bundle together a soft place on the floor, but Nick studiously ignores him until he makes a decision himself. John takes a spot close to the fireplace, off to the right of where the girls are setting up. It's still plenty removed enough, so that nobody will get the wrong idea and think John is supposed to be welcome down here. Nick wonders who he's trying to convince, but there are so many damn demons in the man's head, it's anybody's guess.

With the fire roaring for the last time that night, all the blankets arranged and everybody looking exhausted despite not doing anything all day, Nick finally gets to crawl into bed and put this whole goddamn blizzard behind him. Hopefully, the weather has the common sense to clear up tomorrow — for now, it's time to shut out the cold entirely.

He must be tired. Nick barely stays conscious as Kim and Carmina climb under the blankets, the cool air rapidly warming as they begin to shift around and get comfortable. He rouses a few times at first as Carmina kicks his leg and Kim bumps into him, but eventually, he finds himself dozing in the silence of a quiet house. Far above them, the wind is whipping through the attic, but from down here, it sounds like a generic white-noise machine; coupled with the crackling fire, Nick is lulled to sleep by the sounds of peaceful normalcy.

Who knows how long it is before Nick finds himself conscious again. Even then, he only wakes enough to hear the dying fire popping by his feet. Maybe he should stoke it. But that would mean moving, and Nick is weighted down on either side beneath warm blankets, so that's a hard no. He tries first to roll towards Kim and Carmina, ready to curl into a ball and conserve even more heat, but his right arm is stuck. It takes a few bleary-eyed blinks to realize what's pinned him down, but he's barely coherent enough to make sense of it.

Sometime in the night, John must've migrated from the no-man's-land he'd made for himself towards the Rye's pile of blankets. Unsurprising, really — but more than a little awkward, given how he's pressed into Nick's side, pinning Nick's arm in place. Worse yet, half of his blankets have been absorbed into the mess that Nick's been using to keep warm, which is going to make extracting himself tricky if not impossible.

While he tries to figure out how to avoid making this mortifying situation worse, Nick watches John for any signs of consciousness. The guy usually sleeps light, but Nick watches his breathing for a solid minute and doesn't catch anything. Either his poker-face is just that good, or John is actually asleep. Deeply, peacefully asleep. Nick had assumed that was impossible.

If Nick were a better person, he'd probably be thankful to see it. Glad to know that John's insomnia might finally be coming to an end. But Nick is mostly just an exhausted, anxious mess, and now he's just wondering how to get out of the situation he's found himself in.

John shifts, and like a guilty ten-year-old, Nick immediately closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. If he's lucky, John will roll away of his own volition, or at least move enough to let Nick roll over himself. If only he'd decided to sleep on Kim's side — she wouldn't have the same trouble Nick has. She'd just kick him away and be done with it.

Slowly, John moves away from Nick. The relief is short-lived as John pulls back the covers enough to send a cold chill down Nick's side; it's a split-second decision that John immediately regrets, hissing under his breath and letting the blankets fall back into place as he recoils from the freezing temperatures.

Nick can't help his quiet huff of amusement — which is enough to break the illusion that he'd been asleep in the first place. He could probably still fake it, but if he does, John will definitely try to move his blankets, and that is going to be a much bigger problem than tolerating John in his personal space.

"Quit squirming so much," Nick mutters. "Gonna let in the cold."

John is silent and tense beside him, but he does stop squirming. It's like lying near a tense bar of iron. After a brief struggle to figure out what to say, John's embarrassment catches in his voice as he apologizes. "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I — must have been tired."

Nick sighs. "Just don't crush my arm again."

Even though John moves as though Nick threatened him, he stops short of retreating from the blankets entirely. Nick can only imagine how cold it must be — every breath of his that makes it above the blanket-line comes with a faint puff of visible air. No matter how humiliating it might be to cuddle up to Nick, it doesn't seem like John had much of a choice in the matter.

Before John can decide to try escaping again, Nick repeats, "Whatever you do, don't let in the cold."

In for a penny, Nick decides, worming deeper into the makeshift bed so that John can have more room. Rolling over is the easiest way to avoid the mortifying process of finding a comfortable sleeping arrangement. Eventually, they wind up back-to-back; Nick normally wouldn't be able to stand John touching him, but the additional body-heat does a lot to soothe Nick's reservations. Who knew all he needed to tolerate John's physical presence would be cold weather and exhaustion?

The Deputy, probably, which only makes Nick grin in tired relief. At least they would be glad to know that Nick's grown as a person. They'd probably be glad to learn he's finally gotten on-board with not murdering the Seeds in cold blood — even if it took an apocalypse to get there. If they could see the shit he's gotten himself into now, they'd probably...

He sighs. It must be a heavier sound than he imagined, because John whispers, "What?"

"Nothing," Nick says immediately, as default an answer as John's yeses are. But that's not fair, he doesn't think, because they never let John get away with his obvious deflections. As late as it is, it's easy to blame his guilt on his exhaustion. "Just thinking about Rook," he admits.

"Oh."

John is clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but he doesn't react when Nick continues sleepily, "They'd get a kick outta this, is all."

John hums. It's a quiet noise, but Nick can feel it vibrate through John's shirt. If there are two people Nick hates bringing Rook up around, it's Sharky and John. Sure, Sharky's crush was the one that was reciprocated, but Dep had always treated John's flat-footed overtures like creepy compliments instead of outright threats. They'd probably figured John's crush was superficial, whereas Sharky's had been more real than probably anything else Nick had seen the poor sap go through. John's infatuation had been about power, control, and Joseph goddamn Seed. Still, Nick can't help but wonder just how much of it might've been real to John at the time.

"They had a bad sense of humor," John finally responds, quietly enough that Nick almost misses the hurt.

"Terrible," Nick agrees.

When John sighs, Nick recognizes it as a sign of defeat. Whatever he's debating with himself, he's clearly lost. Although he doesn't speak up again, Nick isn't sure he's gone back to sleep. He sure hopes he didn't just instill another restless night in the guy, but that's John's burden to bear. Maybe he can use it to finally find some common ground with Sharky.

Nick isn't even sure that he can fall back asleep, but that doesn't seem to matter. Before he knows it, he's being woken up once more — this time by a glance of sunlight coming in through the upper part of the windows. It's just enough light to wake him, but he spends an exhausted minute staring at the wall over Kim's shoulder as he debates whether or not he's really committing this time. He's going to need to use the bathroom sooner or later — and just thinking that is enough to tell Nick that he's not getting back to sleep again.

John's back is still facing Nick, and Kim rolls away as soon as Nick starts to squirm, which leaves his path to escape much more open than it was a few hours ago. He manages to pull himself free without waking anyone else, but as soon as he does, John worms into the warm spot left behind. Nick should probably be upset, but mostly he just needs to pee. He can kick John out of his spot after he takes care of himself.

Nick leaves the rest of them to sleep as he tiptoes across the living room to the front door. Unfortunately, the door only wedges open an inch before it hits a wall of snow. Unwilling to wake anyone else up with catastrophic noise, Nick heads upstairs, going for the broken window in John's room. It's freezing up here, cold enough to keep meat until spring, and Nick pulls his flannel closer as he crosses the room, trying not to take too much stock of his surroundings. He doesn't care about the tallies John used to carve in the wall by his bed, and he definitely doesn't care to snoop through the pile of clothes that John's been growing in the corner. What he does care about is how easy it is to crawl out onto the roof from the window — after all, this isn't the first time Nick's been snowed in, and he's made escaping his childhood home an art-form.

There's a good three and a half feet of snow on the ground below, blocking any exit from the first floor. At least the gray sky above is calm, and the weather seems to have calmed down some. They'll have to prepare for another couple of inches before the week's out, but Nick bets the worst of it is over. Now he can think about breakfast — more specifically, coffee — and debate the best way to clear the doorways. They need a path out to the hangar, although they can wait another day or two before they'll need to press the matter. Nick's still convinced there's a set of tire chains hiding away in there, but it's not like the roads will be in any condition to drive on for a while yet...

Nick spends so much time thinking about what he's got to do, he forgets to consider how willing the rest of the house will be to pitch in. The top-of-the-snow sunlight isn't enough heat to make up for the lack of a fire, and getting Kim out from under the blankets is gonna be like pulling teeth until he does something about it. Worse yet, John's rolled into the spot Nick had occupied — not exactly sprawled out, or anything, but the guy is irritatingly close to Kim's sleeping back. If he decided to roll one more time, he'd probably end up smacking his face into her shoulder.

Nick considers throwing a fit on principle, but honestly, that's too much work. It's much easier to sulk, glowering at the bed he's definitely not getting back into before getting some logs to stack in the fire. He drops them noisily by John's feet, although he makes every effort not to accidentally pull a Misery on the guy.

The sound of hollow wood clattering on the ground is enough to stir John, who wakes with a sharp inhale, and cause Carmina to groan and turn away from the noise. Kim has probably been awake for a while now, but it won't make a lick of difference until the fire's on.

He turns away to toss the logs semi-haphazardly into the fireplace, then remembers the kindling and turns to get it. John has propped himself on his elbows, but his half-waking confusion causes him to overlook Nick entirely as he stares around the room. Seeing Kim and Carmina asleep next to him is initially met with confusion. He barely seems to recognize the shapes bundled in the blankets, but when he does he recoils in shock. All the nasty comments Nick had thought up take an abrupt backseat as he stops to marvel at the physical repulsion John shows. He's not sure if he should be offended or not. Probably not, but this apocalypse has got Nick wired all wrong.

"She's not gonna bite," Nick says. John whips his attention back to Nick the moment he raises his voice, only for Nick to realize that looming over the guy with a thick block of wood in hand might send the wrong message.

Sure enough, John catches sight of him, jerking back with a startled hiss. " Jesus !"

"Shit, sorry." Nick turns and drops the log, wincing at the noise that he'd moments ago been deliberately making. "Well, judging from that reaction, looks like this isn't the first time a man's caught you in bed with his wife."

John's withering glare is enough to lift Nick's mood right up. He turns his attention back to starting the fire, listening as John slowly shifts his way free of the blankets. Part of him wants to make a few more jokes at John's expense, but that can wait until John's coherent enough to be snide in return.

Nick gets the fire going and turns to follow John, who's made his way into the kitchen to peer out the window. "Completely snowed in," Nick tells him as he gets the instant coffee and the beat-up kettle. "But it looks like the worst of it's over."

"Seems to be," John agrees, adding, "We forgot the shovels in the truck. It's going to be difficult digging them out now."

"Not a lot of other options, unless you wanna stay inside until the big thaw. Don't worry, I'm sure Carmina will be excited to help us dig."

John hums in assent, although his mind seems to be somewhere else. Nick can't help but notice that John's pensive states seem damned near reasonable nowadays. He has plenty to think about, and he seems to be keeping one foot in the here-and-now. He's aware enough of his surroundings that he stops Nick before he can leave John to it.

He tries to stare Nick down, but he can't quite manage it. "Thank you for not..."

John gestures vaguely as the rest of the sentence fails to generate. Nick could probably wait it out, but he's just as embarrassed as John apparently is, and he would rather move past the whole thing.

"Don't worry about it," Nick says. "Just don't get too comfortable cuddling up to me."

Rolling his eyes doesn't hide John's faint smile, but he turns away before Nick can see if it lasts. "That won't be a problem, trust me."

Nick is surprised that he does, even for something as small and inconsequential as a joke. "Grab the mugs when you're done looking for Santa," he says, turning back for the warmth of the fire. A few months ago, Nick might've resented how eroded the line has become between John and his own family, but it's honestly too much work to keep up. At a certain point, they're just going to have to include John in their daily routines — Nick just hadn't expected that point to be made by sharing blankets during a blizzard.

Well, there's one good thing about that, Nick supposes — it means that somewhere up there, the Deputy is watching over them. After all, there's no way in hell random chance has the same shitty sense of humor as Rook had.

#fcnd #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #christmas fic #mercyverse #my fic #i don't even use that tag any more wtf??? whatever #love you guys have a safe holiday <3

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