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maybe-your-left · 3 years

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ASK FRIDAY - CREATE A SCENARIO: roommates trope with Kylo

Due to some last minute room swapping and late registering Reader and Kylo end up in the same dorm but they're mad about it and hate each other (cue intense sexual tension)

Dorm room, Snowed in, evening time like 6

The heater/power has just gone out and Kylo knows a few ways to get warm...only if Readers up for it...

been working on this for FOREVER ANON.

I loved it!

Crushed

TW: NSFW, dirty talk, dom/sub vibes, exhibitionism, kinda fluff, Kylos not that nice and is an entitled man.

Oh yeah, you fuckin’ slut.

Yes-Yes-Yes!

‘M gonna cum all over your fucking tits.

You slapped the wall next to your bed, hard.

“Can you guys keep it down! It’s 1 in the morning!”

Muffled voices came through the paper-thin wall, sounding like bodies moving to the floor. Good, you thought, at least he will get rug burn from the shitty carpet, might keep him from fucking everything that moves.

A hard knock on the wall pulled you from that thought.

“Go read your fucking Bible! I’m trying to get my dick wet!”

“Please!”

“Why don’t you go get fucked!?”

Some giggled came through next, followed by more muffled whispering. You whined loudly, trying to ignore the sounds of him fucking whatever bimbo your dormmate had in his lair. Shoving your face into your pillow, muffling your tears and wails.

You turned on your TV, drowning out the final act of his performance. Fingers poised over your keyboard to file another noise complaint with the RA… not like they ever helped you. The last time they intervened they left with a black eye and broken nose, shrugging for you to sort it out yourselves.

A door slammed shut, you let out a sigh of relief.

At least he wasn’t a cuddler.

You climbed out of bed, tip-toeing to your door to take a peek of whatever slut found her way into his room this evening. The special lady was a new cinderella every fucking week, he didn’t even try to know their names. You heard him admit it once in class to his friends, saying he called them all ‘baby’ so he wouldn’t have to learn.

You peeked out the door, blinking from the harsh fluorescent lighting of your dingy dorm halls. The walls were a screaming white, yellowing from years of shoddy cleaning. You tried to clean your room when you first came to school, but it was too disgusting.

A non-smoking dorm, ha. Everyone smoked, especially your neighbor.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed creeper?”

You jumped at his voice, exhaling harshly through your nose. You steeled your features, caught red-handed looking for his latest prey. Crossing your arms defensively, not that there was anything to hide. You were in your ratty pj’s, they were on sale at Old Navy a few years ago and you never threw them away even though they barely fit anymore.

“If you’re so interested in being a cuck,” he grinned at you, flashing his crooked teeth, “I would love to have you over for an encore, I’m sure you’d love to watch me in action.”

“Buzz off, Ren.”

“Ooo, angry tonight,” he smirked, now stepping out of his door frame. You choked a little at his appearance, no shirt on, basketball shorts barely hanging off his hips. Dangerously low, seriously, if he took one wrong move they would be on the floor. His chest was covered in fresh scratch marks, no doubt from his latest victim, a sheen of sweat glistening under the lights.

Fuck, he was good-looking.

But he was terrible.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, daring you to stare back at him.

You gulped, caught again. You were better than that, you were just tired from being kept up since ten with his version of ‘love-making’.

“My eyes are up here cupcake,” he stepped forward. Pushing you back into your doorframe, almost inside your sanctuary. “If you ever decide you want to break your vow of chastity, I’m right next door.”

“Step away from me, Kylo.”

He cocked his brow, “I love when you’re mean, come on. Let’s see if kitty has claws.”

You bared your teeth, fists balling under your underarms, “Not even if you were the last man on Earth.”

He shrugged, backing away from you.

“Deal, bitch.”

You moved to shut your door on him, “Go away.”

“See you in class, bright and early.”

------

When you imagined leaving for college, it was different.

Saying goodbye to your parents, packing your car with whatever small valuables you owned. Determined to make a name for yourself all the way across the country, no friends or family, truly on your own. You imagined everything would be different, the dorm would be filled with new and friendly faces.

RA’s greeting you as you parked outside, giving you a tour and maybe a group lunch with all your floormates. Getting to know each other, maybe even going to some new-student orientation event they planned for the newbies.

Classes were smooth, acing all your major requirements. Professors were kind and ready to help you at any moment, letting your artistic vision flow through your body every morning with your 8 AM yoga class.

But no.

Instead, you registered late.

Your classes all at the worst times, bright and early.

Second rate dorm, COED even… smelly dudes between your single bedroom which would be better defined as a broom closet. Burping and fucking on both sides of you while you tried to study. Your major requirement classes were boring and filled with pretentious art students who thought they were the next Picasso.

Professors didn’t care if you lived or died, only focusing on the bell schedule because they couldn’t control what the freshmen did in their classes.

Your options for clubs were limited, either join a sport or a cult.

And worst of all.

Kylo Ren.

He was your neighbor, signed up late just like you. You actually arrived at the same time, he pushed you down on your ass in the lobby so he could be checked in first. Calling you a clumsy bitch, only for you both to be handed keys to the same floor. Right next to each other, sharing a flimsy wall.

On top of that, he was an art major like you.

And since he registered late, he was in almost every class.

Even yoga!

He took your mat the first day, leaving you in tears in the hallway. He apologized afterward, handing it back to you before storming off to be with his beefy upper-class friends. Any moment he could, Ren would humiliate you. Trying to push your buttons, whistling at you when you had to cross the hallway to the showers. Tripping you when you had your hands full, making fun of you for hanging out with your sparse group of friends.

And when he found out you were annoyed with him making noise, he latched onto it.

One week he decided to recite the entire Phantom of the Opera, just because you mentioned in class that you loved that play.

He did every part, even the musical scores, you could’ve sworn he did it with a megaphone on the wall, just to spite you.

Your parents told you ‘he just likes you, he’s a boy.’

No!

That’s not how people express feelings, at least not healthy people.

Your alarm clock blared on your nightstand, you didn’t sleep so it didn’t bother you. Letting out a heavy sigh of defeat, Ren ruined another night for you, a night you’d never get back. Of precious, precious sleep that you desperately deserved.

Slipping on some plum leggings and a sports bra. No one gave a fuck about your outfit in your early morning class, as long as you went with clothes on. You popped on your headphones, trying to drone out the noise of Ren’s music through the wall. He liked to blast some god-awful music every morning.

Today, it was an old Black Veil Brides album!

You made it out of the dining hall, snatching a muffin for breakfast. Smiling at some guys you knew, waving at your friend Rose as you stormed off to the gym. The cold chill of Winter biting at your nose, it was too cold to not wear a full outfit. But there was no time, with Ren keeping you up all night and classes back to back, you didn’t have time to fuck around with dressing up.

Ren ran in after you, laughing with his friends. Big nose all red from the frost, his hair looked frozen to his scalp, probably showered beforehand. You rolled out your mat, trying to stretch while he bragged about the pussy he got last night. Making a big show of your complaining, saying you were desperate to fuck him based on your whining.

You rolled your eyes when he planted next to you, “Good morning, you ran out in a hurry.”

“I didn’t want to be late,” you sneered, not giving him the time of day, still stretching your back into child's-pose.

“How are we supposed to walk together if you run away from me, cupcake?”

You scoffed, shooting him an icy glare. Despite him grinning at you like the happiest man on Earth, god, you needed to stop giving him a reaction. That would shut him up if you didn’t give him the attention he is clearly lacking from his parental figures.

“Good morning class,” your teacher greeted you calmly, “I hope you’re all doing well. As you all know, this next week is finals week, I’m offering makeup classes to those of you who need to make up some credit hours. We are also hosting some meditation if you need time to relax between classes.”

Next to you, Ren leaned towards your mat, setting his hand right behind your back. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was hovering. Ready to devour you like a piece of meat.

“Hey,” he chuckled.

You stayed quiet, pushing back into his arm so he would move. Ren stayed put, purring in your ear, “Did you sleep well?”

“Move off my mat, Ren.”

He smirked down at you, “You seem stressed, do you want me to help by fucking your brains out.”

You shot off your mat, effectively knocking him onto his back. Laughing loudly in a relatively silent room of students trying to center themselves. He grinned from the floor, hands up in the air in defense, “I’m just offering to help you, Jesus!”

“Just,” you pointed in his face, hair falling out of your ponytail. Everyone was staring at you, even your instructor. Shocked you were yelling, you barely spoke in class, at the scariest person in your class.

“Just, leave me alone.”

------

Ren avoided you for the rest of the week, mostly.

Still had his nightly fuck-more subdued though, you had on noise-canceling headphones to try and focus on studying. There were still so many classes to get to, and you wouldn’t be finished until the day before Winter break… you were desperate to get this over with.

You missed your family, the plane ticket itself cost you a whole month of meals.

Of course, you would do fine in your classes, it was just the motivation to get there. Every morning you glared at Ren when he greeted you in yoga, still standing next to you like a menacing shadow.

This morning was no different, only you skipped class to study in the library. Bundled up in your winter coat, long black scarf, hair in a lazy braid, and thermal leggings on. The wind had picked up last night, bringing on an ice storm that wasn’t expected until late next week. You walked on treacherous sidewalks, dodging all the other students who were seeking the warmth of the library.

You settled inside, sprawling your books and laptop on an old desk. Grabbing out a few sketch pads so you could finish up some pieces that were due in a couple hours. Most of your finals in art were ‘unconventional’ which meant the professor wanted to see what you were motivated to work on during the year.

For yours, you had decided to draw the people you saw on campus.

Studying their faces, mannerisms, languages while they were in an organic environment. It was a great piece, and one of your professors was very interested in showcasing it in a show. You were proud, it wasn’t large but it was important for you and you wanted it to be perfect before turning it in.

Your pastels were spread out, fingertips smudged and stained from charcoal, a few lines on your face and brow from forgetting about the streaks. There was this one person you couldn’t finish, it was one of your friends from last week. She was laughing and holding a drink, the expression wide and full of emotion but it was hard for you to capture without her being there.

But you steeled yourself, you weren’t leaving this spot until you finished her.

“You smudged that dude's face,” a low voice rumbled behind you. A finger pointing down at the top left corner, “Stop-don’t touch it.”

You moved to swat the hand away, not wanting some random guy to ruin your piece with their grubby fingers. Recentering yourself, he wasn’t smudged, he was just in the corner so it looked like it wasn’t finished… what did he know, anyway?

“You didn’t draw me?”

Now you stopped, why you didn’t recognize the timbre of his voice was ridiculous.

You let out a long sigh, “Please, don’t touch the canvas, Kylo. It’s not ready, yet.”

The chair that housed your backpack slid out next to you, your things tossed on the ground carelessly before Ren sat. You scooted away from him, he smelled like he just showered. Judging by his wet hair you were probably right… “What are you doing?”

He shrugged, fiddling with one of your notebooks. Flipping through pages carelessly, “I don’t know-you weren’t in yoga so.”

“So,” you gave him a weird look, “You stalked me to the library?”

“There’s no reason to go to yoga if I can’t bother you,” he flashed a smile, dropping it slightly when he saw you weren’t playing back with him.

Silence fell over you both, the only noises the heat kicking in around the scuffling of boots and shoes to face the weather again.

“I like your piece,” he gestured to your work, “For drawing, right?”

You nodded stiffly, not enjoying his friendly tone. Like he wasn’t your demon neighbor who made it his job to annoy you and had for the past four months of your life. Ren shifted again, now leaning on the table with his cheek resting on his forearm. Looking at you with wide eyes, you never took the time to look at his face.

He had very large eyes that betrayed his emotions. Swimming with flecks of auburn, gold, and some streaks of green, blinking slowly as he studied your canvas. You looked away from him, trying to ignore the urge to draw them, how his long lashes rivaled your own. How his skin was freckled with beauty marks, creases from frowning lined his forehead and nose. You could even make out his stubble, some pieces he must’ve missed the last time he shaved.

You went back to drawing, no longer focusing on it. Just trying to understand what was happening, your tormentor was a foot away from you. Breathing calmly like a cat laying in a patch of sun. Hunched over the edge, torso too long to rest like a normally proportioned human being, had he always been this big?

“Wanna get coffee before class?”

“Huh?”

You blinked slowly, not registering that he spoke to you.

Ren leaned off, letting out a big yawn and scratching the back of his neck.

Yes, definitely a cat.

“Do you want to get coffee,” he stared blankly, “Before we head to English?”

You looked down at your mess, then back up at him. Shaking your head softly, voice quiet as a mouse, “No-thank you.”

He exhaled harshly, “I’m not gonna burn you with it, it’s just coffee.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said firmer, “I wanna work on this some more.”

Ren stayed still, probably trying to think of a way to get you to agree with him. You had known him long enough to know he doesn’t like people disagreeing with him. Didn’t have to be a college graduate to see that the man had issues with control, hence terrorizing you all semester. You didn’t want to offer him an olive branch, because he was just doing it as a joke. Probably, waiting until you were calm around him to do something cruel.

You went back to drawing, listening to him get up and leave you. Mumbling something under his breath about ‘trying to be nice’ before walking out. You shook off the awkwardness, not willing to break down and let him do something nice for you, just because he didn’t ruin your final piece didn’t mean he wouldn’t do something in the future.

The day was still young.

------

Oddly enough, Ren didn’t bother you that evening.

Not even a door slam!

You almost thought he was dead, but you saw him in the hallway when you were walking to the bathroom. Wrapped in your robe, caddy in hand, he didn’t whistle or try to touch your ass like he normally did. Just a stale smile before closing himself back in his room.

Not to waste the precious quiet, you went to work packing your bags for your trip tomorrow. Deciding to do a quick load of laundry, your hall was almost empty, so no one would be down there while you waited.

Piling up your hamper, you threw your pj's and slippers on. Remembering to grab a blanket and your laptop so you could hang out down there while you waited.

Your friends back home were all excited to see you, ready to hear all about your time away. The boys you met, friends you made, classes, all that. So excited to get home and see your cat, Gremlin, he was all alone without you. Your mom sent you pictures earlier of him curled in your blankets, saying that he knew you were coming home soon.

Maybe next Fall you could get an apartment, you didn’t want to leave him for another year.

A washing machine door slammed shut next to you, causing you to jump from your perch atop your own. Faced with Ren, who was doing his laundry in his pjs, or his version of pjs. Giving you another tight-lipped smile before leaning against the far wall. Yawning loudly before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.

You ignored him, turning back to your laptop that was playing a crime documentary. Texting some friends to keep your mind from wandering to Ren and why he was in such a mood.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” Ren called from his wall.

You pretended to not hear him, refocusing on the documentary, there was something very interesting happening and you weren’t about to miss how they found the killer's shoe prints in the mud just because Ren was trying to talk to you.

Then something was thrown at you, and it smelled awful.

“Oh-my-god!”

You shot off the washing machine, throwing down the offending garment. Ren was laughing loudly, “Chill out! It was just an old shirt!”

“How old was it?!”

He smiled at you from the ground, propping an elbow on his kneecap. One leg stretched out on the tile, you tried to regain a sense of calm, he was just messing with you again. Just take some deep breaths… in-out-in

“Are you leaving tomorrow, after our final?”

You let out your deep breath, sitting back on the washer. “Yeah,” you paused your show since mister meanie wanted to have a tea party. “I have to get to the airport right after.”

He hummed, “Same.”

The washer beeped loudly, echoing in the otherwise empty room. Ren watched you hop off, fixing your shorts which definitely rode up too much. Trying to not flash him your underwear as you bent to move your clothes to a dryer. You cursed when a sock fell from your pile, great.

“How come we’ve never fucked?”

Now all your clothes were on the floor.

Along with Ren, who was staring at you like you were an art exhibit.

You dragged your clothes back to the washer. There was no way you were finishing now that they touched the dirty floor, no one cleaned down here and just because it looked clean didn’t mean-

A whistle, “You good over there?”

“Yup.”

“Okay,” you heard him stretch, popping his joints as he lifted off the floor. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he closed in. Almost touching you, no escape, “As I was saying, how come you’ve never let me steal your virginity?”

You scoffed, “I am not a virgin.”

Ren pressed into you, pushing you against the washer now. Grinding his hips into your own, you squirmed, trying to dispel every fantasy flooding your brain. Every night you spent listening to him through the wall, imagining just once that it was you. If he weren’t such a monster, you would have gladly laid on your back and let him do whatever he wanted.

“Nothing?”

You took a deep breath, placing both palms on the top of the washer. Biting your lip as you silently pleaded for him to let you go, but also continue. You could smell his cologne from this close, how it complimented him so well. Mixing in with his dark aura, you wanted nothing more than to spin around and…

Soon you were doing just that, but not on your own violation.

Ren had his hands grasping your hips, thumbs slipping under the fabric of your t-shirt to caress your soft skin. Lips capturing your own, you froze in his hold. Unsure of what to do, a part of you wanted to scream and smack him, but the other part loved the smell of his toothpaste.

He relaxed when you relaxed, your lips still awkwardly locked together. Not opening and allowing for more, but not moving away either. You stared at him, startled to see him looking back at you. Pulling back slightly, you watched his face chase yours. Bringing your lips together a few more times, kissing at the seam.

You felt his tongue flick for entry, trying to pry your mouth open so he could explore. When you didn’t move he finally huffed in annoyance, “I know it’s your first kiss, but you’re supposed to open your mouth.”

You groaned, bringing both hands to cradle his cheeks. There was no way he was going to make fun of you, he initiated this so.

Ren made a muffled noise when you pressed your lips back together. Probably of shock and surprise, because, no. This was not your first kiss, not even your fourth or fifth kiss. Working your tongue skillfully into his mouth, you moaned softly at his taste. Just like you imagined… not that you put much stock into this but… it was wonderful.

Bringing your fingers to the nape of his neck, tugging on his dark brown hair. Just like you always wanted to, whenever he walked past you with it tied in a bun you dreamt of tearing through it. Ren returned your affection in kind, his left hand moving to the small of your back. Fingers dancing under the waistband of your pajama bottoms.

You heard him swear when he felt the lace underneath, nestled between your cheeks. Ren slid a hand over the globes of your ass, moving his hips in time with his tongue. Tasting every inch of your mouth, even growling in approval when you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip.

Petting and groping each other against the washing machines, the sound of you swapping spit barely heard over the rumble of your clothes. Ren had gotten sick of grinding against your hip bone, pulling away from you for a moment. Shushing your pathetic whimpers, he hooked the hand not cupping your ass behind your left knee.

Hiking it over his hip, opening your legs up. Allowing him to assault your center with his straining erection, oh you could picture it now. How easy it would be to just let him slip inside you.

Right here, in the laundry room.

*Beep*

You pulled back roughly, barely able to unsuction your lips from Rens' own. A string of spit connecting your kiss-bitten lips, he looked at you with pleading eyes. Grinding himself against you harder, pulling a few soft mewls from your throat.

“I need to switch my clothes,” you croaked.

He nodded, shakily setting your limb back on the floor and backing away. You watched through your own lust-filled state as he trembled. Walking back to his far wall, a hand cupping his cock through his sweats. Your throat clicked as you took in a much-needed breath, doing what you said you would.

Setting them in the dryer, all the more aware of his eyes watching your every move.

Not sparing him a glance when you sat back on the washer.

Turning on your laptop once again to watch your crime documentary.

Ignoring the throbbing between your legs, his deep breaths, and your shaking limbs.

------

The TV’s at the airport all said the same thing, “Record snowfall this winter, right before the holidays! Experts say that we will be lucky to keep power until it passes. Our friends on the west coast are enjoying a white Christmas, while we’re stuck in the North Pole.”

All flights have been grounded until further notice.

Stuck.

You could barely make it back to your dorm without crashing.

Bursting into tears several times when you realized you wouldn’t be home until it was over. Wouldn't be able to safely leave your dorm room until it passed, leaving you utterly alone.

You had emailed your RA letting him know your bad luck, he let the staff know you’d be there so they would have food and water running still.

But other than that, this was your holiday.

You slipped on the walk up to your room, sobbing loudly in the halls as you clutched your luggage. No going home, no seeing your friends or family, no Christmas dinner, no personal shower, no Gremlin to sleep on your face.

Collapsing on your bed, curling yourself in the multitude of pillows and blankets that adorned it. The room had shitty heating, the entire building had shitty heating. The entire month of December you’d been freezing, and no amount of personal heaters could fix this kind of cold.

You drifted off to sleep after crying for a few hours, letting your parents know what was happening. Setting alerts for earlier flights, anything you could do to get home. You were so tired in fact, that you slept through a power outage. Leaving the entire building to shut down, no backup generators.

And no heat.

It wasn’t until you felt yourself being lifted that you woke up to the commotion.

Squirming in the kidnappers' arms, limbs aching from freezing for a time in your bedroom. The window must’ve cracked open because it was much colder than when you arrived. Your attacker didn’t let you go, growling in your ear to be still.

Dragging you out of the building, towards a car you didn’t notice when you pulled in. With the snow swirling all around, it was a miracle they could see their own vehicle. You were thrown in the front seat, followed by your luggage tossed in the back. You stayed still, every time you moved it hurt, hypothermia. Common in the New England storms if you were foolish enough to be outside…

You about passed out when the driver's side door opened, Ren climbed in. Looking just as frozen as you, slamming the door shut and mumbling something as he started his car. You could’ve cried when the engine turned, heat blasting between the both of you.

“Hands,” his teeth chattered, holding his own out. He nodded for you to do the same, grasping your pink fingers between his own and blowing on them. “Power went out,” Ren took a shallow breath, “I was leaving and I saw your car. You were almost frozen to your bed, the window broke.”

“Th-thank you-u-u.”

Ren cringed at your fingers, slowly gaining back their normal color. “I tried to grab everything I could, like your backpack and luggage. But we can’t stay there, we’ll fucking freeze.”

You nodded, tugging your hands away to curl into your chest. Thankful that Ren had enough sense to grab blankets, stuffing them in your lap from the backseat. You thought about grabbing your phone, but you could barely make a fist so it would do you no good.

“My plane g-g-got ground-d-ed.”

Ren shivered, nodding sharply, “Mine too, my mom got me a hotel room not far from here to stay until the storm passes. So, I’m taking us there.”

“Okay.”

You didn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract him from the treacherous roads. Thank god he had a Jeep, or else you would’ve died. You couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, less than that when you were on the highway out of the city.

Ren kept mumbling things like it’s okay, I’m sorry, I know it's cold, whenever you shivered and took in sharp breaths. You must’ve been out for a while, to get this bad. A quick look at the clock in his car said you’d been asleep for three hours, who knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t noticed your car…

He helped you out, more carried you, towards the check-in desk. Too worried you would pass out in the car if he left you for too long, the front desk lady was quick and sweet. Making sure to send up extra blankets and pillows to your suite. Ren had you walk up with him, so he wouldn’t have to carry you and the luggage on separate trips.

You clutched his hand like a child, tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. But he was so warm, it’s all you could think about. All you wanted was to be warm, nodding blindly to whatever Ren said to do.

Plug your phone in, check.

Let him talk to your mom, check.

Draw a bath for you, check.

Climb in the bath with you, double-check.

It wasn’t until you were defrosted in the clawfoot tub that you realized you were naked with him.

Rens chest against your back, holding you like his life depended on it. Judging by his shaking, you both were probably suffering from acute hypothermia. You had been silent for so long your voice spooked him a little, “Thank you.”

He hummed into your hair, which was sitting on top of your head in a messy bun. “Are you okay?”

You nodded slowly, “Can we go lay down?”

“Yeah,” Ren hastily got out of the tub, draining it and wrapping you in plush towels. You were still too cold to blush from your nakedness, not how you pictured this going. You imagined you would finally give into him on some drunken party night, barely remembering his reaction to seeing you nude.

But now he had seen you half-frozen, forced to cradle you back to life.

------

You squinted from your cocoon, greeted by a dimly lit room.

One spare lamp on a dingy-looking nightstand, well it wasn’t terrible. It was better than your nightstand in your dorm room… where was your dorm room anyway?

Something vibrated behind you, followed by a heavyweight sprawling against your back.

You held your breath, you were in a hotel.

With a stranger.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Okay, you could wiggle out of here. You took a moment to study the room, there was the lamp from before, and some curtains on a metal rod in the far corner. If you managed to get out without being detected you could knock out the assailant.

“You smell so good.”

More weight settled on you, now you were trapped. This bear was closing in, who knows what happened while you were asleep! All you could remember was falling asleep at your dorm after the upsetting trip to the airport, then being dragged away.

Your fingers burning when you tried to use them, being shoved in a car…

Kylo.

“Kylo?!”

“Mhm.”

You threw your arms up, successfully throwing him off you and the covers. Your limbs screaming at the sudden movement, you were still suffering from the cold. Next to you, curled in a ball, totally catlike, was Ren.

A sleepy smile gracing his lips, hands curled under his cheek, and legs moving towards his chest, Like a child under a blanket. You gasped when you saw he was naked, “Fuck!”

You were too.

“What the fuck, Ren!?”

“Stop yelling,” you watched his hand bat his nose like an animal, “Come back, you were warm.”

You huffed, flailing off the bed in search of your bags.

Memories flooding back to you, he took you here after saving your life.

The bath.

Ugh, bad time to remember your kiss the night before.

Ren sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and blinking slowly. You flushed red when you looked between his legs, shit. How does he walk around with that? Is that why he has bad posture? You choked on your spit when he spread his legs out.

Sprawling completely on the mattress like he wasn’t in a room with a stranger.

“Snow hasn’t stopped,” Ren yawned, snapping a hand and pointing between his legs, “Come back.”

“I’m not doing anything until you have clothes on.”

He rolled his eyes, now looking you up and down. Focusing on your bare tits, swinging around with your erratic movements. You watched him lick his lips, wagging his eyebrows, “Come on, don’t you want to sit back on the bed?”

You shook your head, crouching down to your bag. Trying to not flash him more of your goods, but that didn’t work. Not with him leaning to the side of the bed to make a show of him peeping on you.

A wolfish grin splitting his face, “You have a nice ass.”

“Can you stop,” you huffed, tugging on some sweats you found.

Ren made a pouting noise when you stood, pushing his bottom lip out while you threaded your arms through a t-shirt. You shivered a little-it was still freezing in the room. Probably from the weather, it sounded like it got worse… hopefully this place would keep power.

You looked back at the bed, Ren was still manspreading. One of his large paws crawling towards his cock, watching you with the same smirk. He let out a soft sigh when he touched himself, eyes momentarily shutting in bliss.

“Do you have to do that with me here?”

He cracked an eye open, “Do you have to be that far away?”

You scoffed, moving to the corner of the room. Shivering since you were near the window, you plopped down in the cheap armchair. Ignoring the sounds of his fist gliding along his cock, you tucked your feet under your body. Humming a tune to ignore the arousal growing between your legs, there was no way you were caving to him.

What kind of man does that with a complete stranger present!?

More importantly, why was it turning you on?

“Come here,” he whistled, you spared a glance at him. Blushing profusely at the sight, his cock was now fully erect. Standing tall and proud, tip flushed almost purple from want. You quickly looked away, trying to swallow down the drool that gathered in your mouth.

What would happen if you gave in?

Not like it would hurt you… he looked so delicious.

“If I come over there, what's gonna happen,” you whispered, determined to stay put.

With a deep breath, the mattress groaned under his weight, probably leaning back to get comfortable. He seemed to love you being there, watching him, or trying not to. Ren made a small non-committal scoff, “Whatever you want to happen, baby.”

“Don’t call me that, you know my name.”

“Meow.”

Your head snapped towards him, met with his grin. “Come on-you really want me to do this by myself?” he waved his cock, fist tight around the base. You rolled your eyes, training your eyes to focus on the least attractive part about him.

You were coming up empty, all you could stare at was his cock.

The prominent vein along the underside thrumming in time with his heartbeat. You could practically feel it along your tongue, rigid and stiff. Slowly, you stood from the chair, met with a soft whine from Ren. Eying your hungrily as you sauntered over, you planted a knee in the mattress.

Between his legs, which were spread obscenely wide, he licked his lips in anticipation.

“If I help you, are you going to be nicer to me?”

He nodded, chest taking in sharp breaths. You slowly leaned back on your heels, stripping your top off, despite him seeing you naked earlier. Surprised when he bit his bottom lip, watching you play with your tits, rolling them in the palm of your hand. Just to make him squirm a bit, “I’ll be nicer, whatever you want.”

“I’m really cold still,” you spoke softly, making sure to lean in close enough to graze his lips with your own before pulling away, “Can you help warm me up?”

“Yes,” Ren's hands shot out, kneading your flesh a few times. Debating to grasp your tits or the small of your waist, like a kid in a candy store. So many options, but you didn’t want to wait. If you were doing this, it would be about you.

“Eat me out.”

He stilled, cocking a brow, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you exhaled on his neck, being sure to drag your kitty claws along his chest. Briefly grazing his nipples, savoring the way he gasped. “Eat me out, if you make me cum, I’ll let you fuck me. Like the desperate slut you are.”

Ren scowled for a moment, nudging your face from his neck. Eyes dancing across your face before capturing your lips, moaning softly in your mouth, “I can make you cum so hard you’ll never want another man again.”

You placed a soft kiss, rolling onto your back dramatically. Splaying your legs wide, “If that's true, why do you fuck a different girl every week?”

He growled at you, actually growled.

Hands no longer soft in their quest to memorize your skin, instead Ren pinned your legs hard enough for them to pop. Making you squeal from the stretch, “How fast do you think I can make you cum? Hm?”

Before you could answer, he dove in.

Lips wrapping around your clit and suckling fast, tongue flicking out every few seconds. You were already bucking up to meet him, but his firm hold kept you flush. While his tongue began to lap thick stripes along the seam of your pussy. Briefly hooking the tip into your entrance, both of you moaning when he tasted your wetness.

“Shit-Kylo!”

“Mm,” his voice vibrated against your clit, continuing his assault until you choked on your spit. You buried your fingers in his hair, keeping him in that right spot. “I’m so fucking close,” you cried out, pleading his name over and over and over.

“You know,” he popped off, smacking his lips that were glistening with your cum, “I’d rather you cum on my cock.”

“Wait-”

Ren flipped you onto your chest, yanking your hips into the air. You barely had time to take a breath before he shoved his cock inside you. His breath hitched as he sank to the hilt, you groaned at the stretch. Now this, this you could get used to.

He pulled out slowly, you heard him swear under his breath. Leaving just the tip of his cock inside and ramming his hips into yours. Pulling a loud scream from your lungs, Ren chuckled at that. Pumping his cock at a rough pace, “Shh-you’re going to upset our neighbors.”

You huffed, cheap shot, angling your hips a little so his cock would rub up against your front wall. Moaning when he picked up the pace, skin slapping skin. Ren leaned over your form, planting a hand on the headboard to keep it from knocking. You weakly lifted your head, clenching at the sight of his knuckles turning white.

All you could do was sit and take it, revealing in the bliss you’d denied yourself for four months.

-------

Ren dropped you both off at the airport two days later.

You spent three days together, fucking each other's brains out.

Choking on his cock while he was brushing his teeth, eating you out while you read through your newsfeed. Bouncing on his cock while he fed you breakfast, you didn’t need to change clothes the entire vacation.

But you wanted to go home and were thankful for the storm ending so you could head home. It was a little awkward, Ren wasn’t very excited about the snow stopping. It felt like he was trying to stall you leaving but reluctantly listened to your desire to fly home.

“Got everything?” he mumbled, hitching his backpack over his shoulder. The two of you were waiting in the TSA line, about to part ways to head home. You nodded, giving him a tight smile before stepping up on your own.

Ignoring the feeling of his eyes on the back of your head.

Both of you stood awkwardly after making it through, “Well-my gates over here,” you pointed behind you. Ren hummed in acknowledgment, kicking at the ground instead of looking at you.

“Thanks for letting me crash with you,” you tried again, still nothing.

You groaned, spinning on your heel. Back to being an asshole, you were kicking yourself for thinking he would be nicer. All he wanted was some pussy, and you willingly gave into him when you should’ve remained strong.

Your parents picked you up back at home, lots of tears and laughs were shared. Thankful that you made it home without freezing, your mom was grateful for your friend who saved your life. She wanted to call him and tell him how much she appreciated it but you shrugged it off, he was just being nice. He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything, you left out the part that he was the neighbor you always complained about.

Collapsing on your bed felt surreal like you would wake up and be back in the hotel room at any moment. It was odd not sleeping next to him, you had grown accustomed to his clingy arms. Circling you in the middle of the night when he thought you were dead asleep, smelling your hair before tucking you into his naked chest.

You tossed and turned all night, groaning when you were woken by your siblings to get up the next morning. Barely sleeping a wink, you resolved to take a nap later to try and not spoil your trip back home.

At breakfast, your mom yelled at you from the kitchen.

“Hey hon, someone’s calling you!”

“Just answer it,” you groaned through a mouthful of cereal. Briefly hearing your mother answer in a typical chipper tone, stalling mid-sentence before she yelled again, “It’s someone named Kyle?”

Shit, you shot to the kitchen.

Snatching the phone and escaping to the living room where no one was hiding.

“Kylo?”

Hey, didn’t think you’d answer.

“How’d you get my number?”

Took it while you were napping the other day, I knew you wouldn’t give it to me willingly.

You rolled your eyes, “Alright creeper, what’s up?”

Just wanted to talk or whatever, felt weird not to.

Silence.

Are you gonna let me buy you coffee when we are back?

“You were being serious about that?”

A scoff.

Yeah-or we could just fuck again if that’s all you want from this.

“Coffee sounds good.”

Cool. Cool.

It’s a date.

-------

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads @onlykyloscenes @candycanes19 @historyandfandoms50 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @ghoulian13 @mrs-kylo-ren @millenialcatlady @relationshipwithmybed @dancingmicrobes @wayward-rose @contesa-lui-alucard @daydreamsofren @insufferablelust @ohdamnadamm @mariesackler @caillea @safarigirlsp @jalexunderthestars @shesakillerkween @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch @jynzandtonic @roanniom @celestiasin @glassbxttless @cornmousequeen @driversmutbucket @blowthatpieceofjunk

#adamdriver #adam driver #kylo ren #anon asked #create a scenerio #modern kylo ren #college kylo ren #roomates trope

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honeyapplepi · 3 years

Text

The Fall of L’Manberg pt.3

warning: angst, swearing, violence, descriptions of injury, this one is a lot more lighthearted and is mostly just to put an end to the story, not proofread

Dream SMP realistic au

a/n (I put another one at the end so read that too): This took a lot longer than i initially planned, but I just couldn’t find the inspiration to write, but here it is. This does contain the headcannon that Techno is Phil’s son which is not cannon. Also sorry this is mostly dialogue, but hey character development yk.

(PLATONIC) Dream SMP x gn!reader

masterlist | part one | part two

You felt the wind against your body as it fell through the air. You were convinced this was the end, but were quickly proven wrong when your back hit the hard rocks of the ground beneath you. Looking back up at the place you fell, it was only a few feet above you, but while you fell it felt like a long drop to your death.

You felt a sting in your arm, but you were more worried about getting up. Once you stood, you looked around. You were deep in a trench and soon enough more TNT would come falling down. You needed to get out there quick.

You looked around looking for your bow and sword. Your sword was fine, but your bow laid crushed in the spot you fell to. It was still in one peice it was just broken in the handle.

“So, that’s what broke my fall,” you muttered quietly.

You looked around again before seeing a part of the rock you could climb. You quickly ran to it before started to climb up the rock. Once you were up and back onto the, for now, safe parts of the ground you gripped your sword.

Mostly everyone was gone. The battle had ended pretty quick especially when TNT was falling from the sky. Finally taking a moment you looked at your arm and noticed the bloody gash that was in your arm. Ripping apart your sleeve you wrapped it around your arm and tightened it. Once you were back in your village you could get it properly treated.

Finally, realizing it was time to go home you started to wonder which way you would take. No matter what it was a long ways away, but it was either through the nether or across the water. You didn’t have a boat or wood so nether it is.

You began walking towards where the community house was. You made sure to be careful not to fall again. Once you reached the portal you noticed Technoblade and Phil standing there.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted as you reached where they were standing. You were about to walk past them and i it the portal when Phil stopped you.

“Are you okay? you’re bleeding like badly,” Phil said revering to your makeshift bandage that was stained red.

“I’m fine. Look at him, he’s got blood all over him,” you said looking towards Technoblade.

“Not mine,” Technoblade said. “Maybe you should come with us, I can help patch you up,” Phil said.

“Nahh, i’m sure she’s fine, Phil,” Technoblade said not really wanting to house one of his enemies.

“Yeah, I’m good. There’s a doctor in my village i’ll be fine,” you said about to step through the portal.

“No way your village is way too far. Techno and I’s home is closer,” Phil insisted.

“why do you know where my village is?,” You asked knowing the only people who had ever been were Technoblade and Dream.

“Techno told me,” Phil answered.

“Awww, Technoblade. Are you talking about me to your dad,” you said mockingly with a smile on your face.

“I just complained about the long journey,” Technoblade answered.

“It’s settled. Y/N, you’re coming with us,” Phil said.

Now you were sitting in a chair in Technoblade and Phil’s kitchen with your arm on the table. Phil was cleaning up your cut while Technoblade stood in the corner watching you.

“Didn’t your father ever tell you it’s rude to stare,” you said looking towards the piglin.

“I’m making sure you don’t do anything,” Technoblade said continuing to keep his eyes on you. Phil grabbed a bandage and wrapped it around your arm.

“There, all set!,” Phil said. You stood up and grabbed your sword and bag of arrows.

“Then i’ll be on my way. Thank you, phil,” You said ready to leave, but not before being stopped by Phil again.

“No way, It’s late. You can stay the night and then you can leave after breakfast tomorrow,” Phil said. You’d don’t even have a chance to say no before Phil was leading you to an extra bed they had despite Technoblade’s complaints.

You had been trying to fall asleep now for the past hour and a half, but you just couldn’t. Your thoughts were too preoccupied with what had happened earlier.

Picking yourself up from the bed you quietly tiptoed downstairs and out the home. It was cold out, but you lived in a village that, although didn’t snow, did get pretty cold during the winter, so you weren’t to bothered by the weather. Plus you had put on an extra layer of clothing, so you wouldn’t freeze to death.

Sitting on Technoblade’s front steps, you placed your head on your hand. You wanted to apologize to Quackity, truly, after what happened. Seeing Quackity, and thinking back to everything that happened in a clear mindset you started to what you had done wrong. Though you had no idea how you would.

Not long after you came out, you heard the door behind you open. You looked behind you thinking if it were anyone it was Phil, but were surprised to see the 6′2 piglin man standing behind you.

“Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep,” you said turning back to look at the snowy plains.

“Haha, very funny. What are you doing out here?,” Technoblade asked walking down the wooden steps.

“Concerned are we?,” you said mockingly looking at Technoblade as he struggled to sit on the step right behind you. You looked towards Technoblade waiting for a witty response, but were met by nothing.

“This isn’t as fun if you’re just gonna sit and mope around while I make fun of you,” you said frowning.

“Shut up,” Technoblade rolled his eyes.

“”shut up” okay what’s wrong?,” you asked completely directing your attention to the man behind you.

“And you care because..?,” Technoblade said setting his eyes on the cobblestone tower which stood a good walk away.

“Surprisingly, undue to popular belief, I’m actually a decent person,” you said being as genuine as you could with someone who you recognized as an enemy.

“You’re a tyrannical maniac,” Technoblade answered sharply.

“Was. Was a tyrannical maniac. Is it about that tower ‘cause no offense it kind of ugly, and aren’t you supposed to be hiding,” you said looking at the cobblestone tower.

“Tommy built that tower,” Technoblade answered.

“Oh,” you muttered. It didn’t take too much brain power to dissect the situation. Tommy was Technoblade’s brother and today Tommy was fighting for L’Manberg not against. “I’ve been there. Familial betrayal I mean, and I learned a while ago sometimes blood isn’t thicker than water,” you said.

“Was there a moral to that statement or..?”,” Technoblade said clearly trying diffuse the awkwardness that was the situation. It was obvious neither you or Technoblade were good at comforting or talking about how you feel.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that,” you said looking at him.

“Also, it’s freezing can we go inside or do you wanna mope at the tower more?,” you said meaning it less as an insult and more of joking banter.

“Yeah, we can go inside,” Technoblade said.

a/n: I know that is is like really bad, but honestly I just wanted to get it done because it was stressing me out sm. So if you like hate it just imagine that it ended last chapter and Y/N died or something.

#dream smp x reader #dream smp #technoblade x reader #technoblade #quackity x reader #quackity #dream #philza #tommyinit mcyt #mcyt x reader #mcyt

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toomanyrobins · 3 years

Text

a little birdie told me pt. 3

Summary: Y/N “Birdie” Parker left New York and her family three years ago in the middle of the night. Now, a call for help to her best friend brings her back into the fold of the Three Families and their “business”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Parker!Reader

Content warning: physical abuse, miscarriage, allusions to fertility issues, cursing, mentions of forced marriage

Word Count: 1.3k

Notes: comment if you want to be tagged!

Series masterlist // next part

Virginia Pepper Stark may have married a mafia boss, but she was no ordinary mob wife. She didn’t just stay home and raise children. Tony had involved her from the moment of their engagement and Pepper had become powerful in her own right. When she got the call from Tony that Y/N was back, she quickly had her assistant cancel her entire week. One of the maids had been sent to get a bath ready as soon as they hung up. The moment Becca pulled up, someone had taken her car and they had helped Y/N up into the house. She hated all of the fussing around, but one look from Pepper had silenced any complaints.

The four women gathered in the bathroom as Y/N sunk into the steaming hot bath. She had undressed behind a divider and tried to hide beneath the bubbles, but it was impossible to cover everything. Bruises in various stages of healing covered her torso and upper arms. It was clear that whoever had done this had been strategic in how he had abused her. “Oh, stop looking at me like that,” Y/N snapped at them and then sighed, rubbing her brow, “I’m sorry. I just don’t like being the sad, pitied girl in the corner… or bath, in this case.”

“I don’t think you realize how awful it looks, Birdie,” Becca explained, “I didn’t realize it was so bad at the hospital. ”

Pepper brought her chair up beside the tub and started running a brush through Y/N’s hair, her mind churning. “Tell us what happened. Every detail. What’s said in here will never leave this room, but I need to know everything.” So… Y/N did. She shared every gruesome detail of the past three years. How life had been suffocating her, how lonely she had become, and the whispers of an arranged marriage. That last fact had been the final push for her to run, the hatred that she didn't have a say driving her. And then her life from the past three years including the final moments.

All three women, especially Pepper, were surprised to hear about the arranged marriage. She was angry that such an important thing about one of her kids had been hidden. Her anger was put aside when she heard about Y/N’s miscarriage. She was well aware of the struggles and sadness that pregnancy and loss could bring. When Y/N finished her story, everyone was in a hailstorm of emotions. They all sat in silence in the steam-filled room. A knock at the door startled them all out of their musings, “Mrs. Stark, your husband called and said he and Mr. Parker are leaving the office now.” That spurred the group into action. No one had realized how much time had passed. Nat and Becca rushed to go back to their homes and Pepper helped Y/N get dressed. They put her into a turtleneck and pants, thankful for the winter weather.

By the time they were ready, the front door opened, and they heard Peter calling for her, “Y/N! Y/N! BIRDIE!” She flew down the stairs into her brother’s arms. He wrapped her up in a tight hug and they stayed that way for a minute. Peter pulled away and dragged her into the living room. Tony went to follow after them, but Pepper held him back. The siblings needed a moment together. “Where the hell did you go? Why are you back? Why does your face look like it exploded?”

Y/N punched him on the shoulder, “It doesn’t look that bad! This whole thing isn’t that bad.”

“Rogers said you have a handprint wrapped around your neck.”

“Steve has always been dramatic.”

“Is he lying?” Y/N bit her lip and dropped her gaze. That was all Peter needed and he tightened his grip on her. “I knew it. What the hell happened to you? Why did you leave in the first place?”

“Because, for all the love you men claim to have, no one actually seems to care. It’s always your thoughts and your feelings that dictate things. I got sick of it. Unfortunately, I’m so fucked up over it all that I seem to fall into similar patterns. This time it was a different kind of control. That’s what happened to me and that’s why I left. That’s the only answer I am willing to give.”

Y/N got off the couch and went upstairs and closed the door, flipping the lock. Once she was sure that everyone was asleep, she wandered out into the walled garden at the back of the house. The house was suffocating her and she needed a break. Y/N sat down on the bench and pulled the pack of cigarettes that were in her jacket. Her head fell back to rest on the bench, the stars overhead a calming sight. When she lifted her head again, there was very little surprise that a certain blond was in front of her. “Was waiting to see if you’d come out here.”

Her head fell back again and refused to look at Steve, “Thought you might be here, skulking in the shadows. Guess the years don’t change much.”

“You’d be surprised, sweetheart.”

Y/N laughed bitterly, “No one has called me that in a really long time.”

“Scoot over.” He stole the cigarette from between her fingers, exhaling slowly. “What are you doing, Birdie? You’ve been gone ages and you show up looking like this.”

Y/N shifted her weight on the bench, “Honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing. I wasn’t planning on any of this. I’ve spent four years living according to someone else’s rules. Now, I have almost every opportunity in the world and all I want to do is curl up in a ball under blankets.”

“Why didn’t you call someone?”

“I know how difficult I made life for everyone before I left. I was so awful that you guarding me was punishment. At first, I figured it was best to stay away and eventually I didn’t have the choice.”

He mulled over his next question, “If you hadn’t ended up in the hospital would you have come back at some point?” Y/N shook her head as she stole the cigarette back. The two sat in silence, the only noises being the wind through the trees. Eventually, he cleared his throat and forced her to turn her head, “I thought this was clear, but apparently not. I’ll come for you whenever you call.”

“You’re too good of a guy, Steve. Now help me up.” He grabbed her forearms, making her suck air between her teeth.

He tugged at the fabric, “Take off your shirt.”

Y/N smirked up at him, “You’re pretty forward, Rogers.”

“I’ll take it off of you. Don’t think I won’t”

“If you want to see the damage, you’re going to have to. My ribs make lifting my arms hard.” Steve’s eyes drifted over her torso before pulling her top off. He gritted his teeth when he saw her body. Fingers drifted along her throat and over her chest, as he took in the damage. They trailed down over her ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps that weren’t from the cold. Y/N looked up and saw an emotion she loathed more than anything else, “Please, don’t look at me like that. I’ve had enough pity today.”

With some help, her shirt was pulled back on. Steve took a step back, putting some distance between them, “You should get some sleep. Besides, I have to go.”

“Got plans at 10 at night?”

“Something like that,” Steve pressed a kiss to the side of her head and walked out of the garden. Once she heard the roar of his bike, Y/N fell back against the bench, lighting another cigarette. Once she had reached the end, she extinguished it and went back into the house. When she looked up the stairs, she could already feel her ribs twinging and decided to sleep on the couch.

#mafia au #mob!steve #avengers au #avengers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #mob!au #mob!avengers #mafia!avengers #mafia!steve #mafia!steve rogers #toomanyrobins

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pocketfulofrogers · 3 years

Text

Fallen

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: After Steve drops the shield, he begins down a path he may have no hope of returning from.

Notes: I would not be opposed to turning this into a series, but it would be a lil dark and hella angsty.

It's for the best. He tells himself. They’ll forgive me when I’m done. They’ll understand.

Steve repeats this on a loop, a desperate track that tries to soothe the bile that builds in his throat as he types. His heart beats rapidly, each thump against his chest echoing one unified truth: these are lies.

But he needs them to keep moving forward, so that he may forget the look in Natasha’s eyes when he left her in stunned silence on the runway. Her hand gripping her duffle, the humid air thick and sticking her bright hair to her forehead- eyes glistening. Forget the things he said to Tony, full of rage and hurt and everything he hates. Forget Sam and all his pleas, asking for the chance to keep his friend safe.

“Just give it some more time, man.” Sam had begged.

He had given it time, seventy years of it. Add a few more for doing things the ‘right way’ and all he had to show for it was a demolished building, several civilian casualties, and a smear to his name.

Lost and fresh out of hope, Steve had tossed the shield. Not that it mattered all that much to him anyways, all he saw in the center of that star was a replay of every failure he had ever had. Funny enough, they started and ended with the same person.

Bucky.

See, the general consensus on had been that if the Winter Soldier were to take Steve Rogers, hold him for days and beat him until he broke more than his bones, he would cease this rescue mission he had been hellbent on since the fall of SHIELD.

They were only partially right.

Tony had been the one to find him strung up in an abandoned warehouse barely conscious, his eyes sunken and hollow. His body was a mess of blues and purples. Too terrified to touch him, Steve hung there for an additional twenty minutes before the medical team arrived to pull him down.

It was the first time they’d ever seen Natasha cry.

His heart stopped twice in the time it took them to reach the compound and Banner didn’t upgrade him from critical condition until three weeks later. He didn’t open his eyes for another two.

When he eventually emerged from the critical care wing, he was different. “It’s to be expected.” They drone out. Sure, but not like this. He was dark. Twisted and bent and no longer the captain they remembered.

Three cadets had filed complaints by the end of the month, citing a range of problematic offenses. It didn’t take Natasha very long to convince Fury to let them slip through the cracks if Steve would agree to move to another area.

Despite it all, he seemed more focused than before. He swears up and down that if there’s only one good thing he does with his life on this god forsaken planet, it will be saving his friend.

With that thought, Steve presses send and seals a deal with the devil.

You’re leaned back in the metal of a chair, appreciating the cool contrast to the hot sun filtering down. A single, freshly manicured nail traces the lattice pattern of the tabletop absentmindedly while you glance over the café menu.

“A little warm today, isn’t it?” A man asks from behind you.

You turn your head to the side, unable to see him still. “I quite like the warm.” You answer back.

He slips his way behind you and into the chair before you. Something about him feels familiar and it sets you on edge enough that the pistol on your thigh beneath your black dress feels a little heavier.

The stranger has a ballcap worn low, obnoxiously covered in anything that could possibly scream ‘I’m a tourist’.

You lean forward. “I said you needed to blend in not announce yourself as an easy target for every pick pocket in the state.”

“I can’t risk being made, and it’s worked before.”

Sliding your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, you eye him. Not a single discernable feature about him yet something felt very off. “Who are you?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

You smile coly as you nudge his knee with the muzzle of your gun, and he tenses. “Not an optional question.” It isn’t until he’s raised the bill of the cap up just enough for you to see the bright, clear blue of his eyes that it finally clicks. “Absolutely not.” You announce as you stand.

His hand darts out to grab your arm. “Please, just hear me out.”

You stare daggers at his hand until he pulls it away. “Captain, have you suddenly forgotten what side you’re on?”

“I don’t know if you’ve seen the news lately but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s on my side.”

You purse your lips. “Do you know who I am?” His eyes fall flat and you shake your head. “My answer still stands. I’ve been at this too long to bring in a maybe ex Avenger that could blow the whole plan.”

“I need the money.”

“Ask Stark, he’s got plenty of it.” Steve averts his eyes at the comment and shoves his hands into his pockets. Maybe he wasn’t kidding. “What do you need it for?”

“A friend.”

Your laugh drips sarcasm. “Are you going to offer up any useful information or am I going to have to blow your poor attempt at a cover and slip out? There’re some big names looking for you, Steve, especially if you’re all on your lonesome now. Watching the mercs and the US government fight for first dibs sounds fairly intriguing.”

His eyes snap back to meet yours. “And then I bring you down with me.”

You lean forward again. “I wonder if you’d live long enough?” You ponder for a moment with a sinister smirk. “I am not an enemy you want to add to your growing list.” You grab your bag and stand up. “Good luck in whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m trying to buy the freedom of a friend.” He says quickly just as you’ve turned your back and you pause. “Hydra set a high price.”

With that, you sit back down. “You’ve piqued my interest, go on.”

He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and leans forward. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he barely even knows who he is.”

“The Winter Soldier?” You ask and he nods.

“I knew him a long time ago, thought he died. He saved my life more times than I can count, so I’m trying to do the same.”

You dart your tongue out to wet your lips. “Very noble, but this is not the place for you.” Steve moves to interrupt, but you hold out a finger. “We are not noble, we’re barely even reasonable. If it’s money you need, go rob a bank. There’d be less blood on your hands.”

“It wouldn’t be enough. I don’t care what I need to do, I’ll do it.”

“Story checks out, boss.” You pause to listen to the man who’d been feeding you tidbits of information on the other side of your earpiece. “Chatter says he’s cut ties with the Avengers permanently. There was some kind of falling out with Stark.”

Looking back to Steve, you watch him for a few moments. “You’re about to cross a line you can’t come back from.”

“I’ve already crossed it.”

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #Avengers

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crazy-loca-blog · 3 years

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Personal thoughts on… 2020 releases (Part I)

Note: As the title says, these are just personal opinions on Choices books and chapters. Of course, you may agree or disagree with them, I only use this platform to express my thoughts on what I read every week.

So, I did this in 2019 and I had a blast doing it (you can see Part I, Part II, Part III and the Seasonal Books reviews), so I thought about repeating the experience because… why not? Of course, I had planned to post this during the holidays but my job barely let me some free time to eat and sleep. Better later than never, I guess.

In 2019, we read over 30 books and it was the busiest year for Pixelberry in terms of releases so far. During 2020, things changed A LOT. We didn’t have as many releases and the stories seemed to have a new focus, especially the romance ones. We said “goodbye” to the wedding books and welcomed some 30 diamond scenes that were at a whole new level. We also had many hiatuses and some books were so long that it seemed like we spent the whole year reading them.

This will be a three-part post and I will include current releases and books that were released during 2019 but were finished in 2020. The list is organized in alphabetical order, and it doesn’t include the VIP Books (as I’ll talk about them in a fourth post). The only books I will be skipping will be Desire & Decorum: First Winter and Bloodbound: Dark Solstice, as they’re seasonal books that I fully covered in the 2019 review.

America's Most Eligible: Wedding Edition (September 18, 2019 - January 22, 2020): As a person who really enjoyed the first AME book, I already thought it was unnecessary to have a second book. I mean… reality shows are repetitive, so why would we have two books that were exactly the same? Little did I know this series was so popular that we ended up having a third book with a wedding after dating our LI for like two months (because we did need another one last wedding book, right?). There were too many things that didn’t make sense to me. My MC never had a good relationship with Slater, so having him as part of my wedding party was annoying, I would have preferred to have Teagan on my side. Also, despite the fact that we finally got to know Ivy’s background and why she was so evil throughout the series, competing against her (and Vince) all over again was exhausting… I would have definitely preferred a normal wedding diary show or something like that. And last but not least, the fact that Jen was working on the show while being a competitor was so… I don’t think this is actually possible in a real TV show. But the award to the weirdest moment goes to what happened to those people who left their LI’s at the altar and married Bianca or Slater instead. Yeah, because after that super heartbreaking moment, Jen takes the MC, Adam, Derek and Mackenzie to the producer's room to watch some “never seen before” footage about their friendship throughout the series…. because of course… there is nothing weird about seeing your ex there, right after dumping them in the middle of the wedding. This series was good enough to deserve a way more decent ending. Baby Bump, Book 1 (December 9, 2019 - March 16, 2020): My overall impression about this book is “meh”. Even though a lot of people complained about how the pregnancy was shown, I think the writers did a pretty decent job. The experience is different for every woman, so I think that criticizing the focus the writers decided to give to our MC’s experience is just pointless and saying “it’s not realistic” is a little unfair. The same thing applies to the baby. A lot of people complained saying that the baby was “too big”. Guess what guys… that isn’t the actual baby, that’s just the cover of the book… if you buy the “baby basket”, you’ll get the right baby size throughout the story. As a personal opinion, I think the story has some good things (I really like the fact that it shows how hard is for pregnant women to get and to keep a job, even though the fact that the MC hid her pregnancy is very unprofessional, to say the least) but there are some things that make me feel uncomfortable. First of all… our gang. I like the characters as individuals, but when I look at them as a gang, the only thing that Luisa, Myles and Clint have in common is the MC… I don’t know what they’d talk about if they were in a room without her. There is also this very personal POV on dating Myles… I mean… maybe it’s just me, but it is kind of uncomfortable to see Myles dating a pregnant woman who actually got pregnant after a one night stand with the other guy in our gang (or with the only guy in the gang, if your Myles is a female). Baby Bump, Book 2 (November 20, 2020 - present): Well, if you collected every single piece of the blanket in Baby Bump Book 1, you already had little glimpses about this book. Our very pregnant woman not only discovered that she’s having twins, but she also has some new duties at the city hall. And even though there are some things about this book that still don’t convince me, I can see the efforts to make some improvements in the story. The fact that the plot is not only focused on the MC and her pregnancy, but also on Clint’s family issues, Myles’ reelection and the park not only are introducing us to new characters, but they’re also giving us plenty of material to make the story more dynamic and not only focused on one topic. I also like how the writers have been managing Cassandra’s arc of redemption. Despite her being the antagonist in the first book, you can tell she’s grown a lot as a character, to the point that she is willing to help our MC not because of her reputation, but because she genuinely seems to care. I don’t know if I expect a big plot twist coming in the next few chapters (and if it does, I guess it will be related to the MC’s health and the babies delivered earlier than expected) but even if it doesn’t, I can already tell this book is better than the first one. Blades Of Light And Shadow, Book 1 (January 29, 2020 - June 3, 2020): There is no doubt (at least not for me) that this was the best new release of 2020. We had been waiting for a new adventure book for a really long time, and PB delivered. Not only we had this super wide range of MCs to choose from, we had a book where our choices actually mattered. Because yes, you can buy every single diamond scene in this story and still, if you don’t make the right choices at the right moments, you won’t get all the skills at the end of it. And that’s probably what seduces me the most about this book. The characters in our gang are also very well written. Each one of them has a very different personality, they all have these very different backgrounds and burdens, but they still complement each other perfectly when it comes to work as a team. Now if I have to be completely honest about the plot, it took me a while to get into it, but I want to think it’s because I’m not very familiar with this type of stories, because it’s very clear that there aren’t any writing problems in it. However, if I have to criticize one thing, it has to be some people’s reaction: because yes, it seems like some people didn’t get the memo that this wasn’t a romance book and I must admit it disappointed me a little to see that most of the discussions were focused in the romance part instead of talking about the adventure itself. Bloodbound, Book 3 (November 9, 2019 - March 28, 2020): Last year, I already mentioned how happy I was with this book, especially because most of the times, the third book in a series is not as popular as the previous ones. We sometimes have that problem of writers dragging plots because they have nothing new to add and us, the readers, struggling to finish the story (because of course, after reading 2 books, no one gives up on reading the third one). Well, I still think this book is nothing but impressive. As a person who’s not into vampires at all, I can safely say this is the book that I enjoyed the most in the series. Even though I didn’t feel huge changes in our LIs, I loved the evolution of our MC when compared to the first book (her character development itself deserves a whole post) and even though there were some things that seemed predictable, there were some others that were completely unexpected. If I had to change something, I’d say we deserved two endings, the one that we had and a darker one, I think PB truly missed an opportunity there. But overall, I think the story came full circle. This is definitely one of my favorite releases in 2020. Distant Shores (April 3, 2020 - July 17, 2020): This book gives me all the “Nighbound” vibes. That is, it is a good story, it is well written, the plot is attractive and overall it was well received by the fandom; however, that’s not enough for it to get a second book (or in PB’s words, “it’s not as popular and profitable as we think”). I personally enjoyed the story, but I didn’t fall in love with it. My biggest complaint is that I kept constantly waiting for some HUGE plot twist, I did need that “I didn’t see that coming” moment to blow our minds… but that never happened and I ended up feeling that PB wasted a story that could have shown us one adventure after another and turned it into something “plain”. Also, even though we had a badass MC, three awesome LIs and an amazing crew, by the time I pressed the “End book” button, I felt I had more questions than answers… and I absolutely hate it when that happens. We never got a chance to know anything about Robert’s story, his background and how he managed to survive and go back and forth between the past and the present. Or we never knew what made him and our MC so special and why the compass helped them to time travel. I can definitely see the potential for a second (and even a third) book, it’s sad to know it won’t be happening.

#playchoices #choices stories you play #americas most eligible #americas most eligible 3 #americas most eligible 2 #ame #baby bump #baby bump 2 #babu #blades of light and shadow #blades #bolas #BloodBound #bloodbound 3 #Distant Shores

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

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Time is Irrelevant (5/?):

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.8k

Part Summary: Y/N and The Doctor arrive in their new destination, Philadelphia, 1778

Masterlist

When I open my eyes, my head is pounding, the feeling is all too familiar. My body rolls over and I feel the plush grass beneath me. A warm gust of airbrushes over me like a silky blanket. It’s warm on my face, the season must be summer or late spring. I hear someone moving about around me over old leaves and sticks. My eyes fly open and I swing legs to rock over whomever is walking around. I watch as The Doctor falls onto the grass with me.

“Ouch!” He hisses, “what was that for?”

He rubs his tailbone like a pansy. I hardly knocked him down that hard, he’s being melodramatic.

“You couldn’t give me a warning before we poofed?!” I bark at him, rising to my feet, a tad wobbly. My head is still rattled.

“We couldn’t be seen!” He argues.“Besides, what difference would it make? You’d end up here anyway!”

He stands and brushes off the leaves and dirt from his outfit. “Put these on,” he tosses a pile of clothes at me.

I peer down and it appears to be corset and colonial dress, yet again. “Well don’t I get some privacy?”

“Oh! Yes! Right!” The Doctor nervously turns his back to me.

I huff, building up the energy to get ready. “I must say, I much prefer this attire over the French. At least I don’t have to wear a pannier skirt. That thing was dreadful! I can tolerate these heels for a decent color.”

Doctor finds humor in my bitter complaints. “My apologizes, they don’t have your usual sneakers in the 18th century.”

“Where are we anyway?” I ask him as I spin in a circle to scan our surroundings. There’s simply woods for as far as the eye can see. A woods is just a woods to me, no matter the year.

“Just outside Philadelphia, June 5th, 1778.”

“Yes, thank God,” I release a sigh of relief. “Finally on American soil again! Well, soon to be America.”

Pondering over the information, location, and date, I narrow down the possible reasons we would need to land in Philadelphia during the American Revolution.

Especially, so early in the war. Then, it hits me. The lightbulb above my head switches on. It’s clear as the day. I squeal once I realize the answer. and Doctor is at a loss.

“Philadelphia! In June!” I jump up and down.

The Doctor nods his head slowly, still facing the opposite direction. “Yes… we are… why? What’s so significant about Philadelphia?”

I continue my celebration as I bop about like Tigger. “It’s Valley Forge! Hello!”

I finish getting ready and making sure everything is in its place. “Okay, all set!”��

The Doctor spins on his heels to face me and clasps his hands together. “Yes! Excellent!” He gestures toward a direction, I assume toward town. “This way to the road,” he explains.

We begin our hike. I first kick off my heels, can’t walk through mud in heels. The doctor does the same, one flaw of the colonial era, constant heels. There are many more but that one is the current dilemma. We come to a path after what seems like forever and Doctor appears to know exactly where we’re headed.

“Washington’s Army is at Washington’s home until the end of the month. They stayed there for the winter as headquarters. However, the conditions were terrible! About 2,000 men died this past winter.” I break the silence.

There’s a comfortable pause that falls between us. I can tell without having to look that the wheels in his head are turning.

His brows scrunch, together. “We’re in 1778 colonial America to visit a sad military campsite? Why would we need to come here?”

I stifle my laughter. “No, no, it’s more than that! The Continental Army has just formed an alliance with France in May. This is a huge win for them! Marquis de Lafayette, a French officer, is a huge asset to Washington. If it weren’t the Franco-American alliance, the colonies would’ve lost the war. It’s a pivotal few months for the revolution,” I enthusiastically describe. “They just had major victories and this past winter has thus far been their greatest defeat. Of course, from the ashes rises a greater and stronger army. The suffering motivates the men more to fight for their independence.”

I glance over at Doctor and he expresses an admiring gaze with a grin. I cower out of shyness, warmth coats my cheeks.

“What?” I inquire, “what is it?”

He shakes his head, grinning wider “nothing, just looking.”

I direct my attention ahead but I can feel his stare blasting into my side. My cheeks only redden more under his stare. I’m not into him or anything, I just despise being the center of attention. Promise.

We continue down the path toward the city, the sun is beginning to set the breeze is becoming a bit nippy. The Doctor shakes to remove his coat and places it over my shoulders. He rubs his palms up and down my arms to warm me up.

“Thank you,” I say, wrapping the coat around me.

“No problem,” he assures me as he keeps an arm around me to radiate some warmth. I lean into his side, embracing the natural heat he gives off.

“I… I… I’m sorry about what happened in France,” he manages to get out. “I’m not entirely sure what occurred between you and the King but I’m sorry that you two didn’t have any time to say goodbye.”

I remain quiet, listening to he speak and feeling his chest vibrate as he does.

“I did read the book on the French Revolution, by the way. I read about what happens to King Louis and all of them. I understand why it was so hard for you to let go considering the circumstances. The most important thing to remember while we travel Y/N is we can’t fix history. Things happen for a reason and we can’t change that… will you be okay?”

Bringing in the crisp winter air, I hum. “I understand the importance of maintaining the timeline. I feel sorry for Louis but as you said, things happen for a reason and we can’t change that. What happened between Louis and I was merely an understanding for one another. If my time was 1778, he and I would’ve had a great friendship but the universe doesn’t work in our favor. We can’t manipulate time so there’s no point discussing the topic any further.” I declare, finding it too hard to speak of it.

I could have saved a life and walk away. I could save all of them and I did nothing. The doctor can tell me repeatedly that none of what will or has happened will be my fault but the guilt will never disappear. I rest my head on his shoulder and he rests his over mine. I glance up at the sky, the sun is fully set and the stars make their first appearance. When I look up at the stars, I see and think of only him.

“When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars. And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun,” I whisper Shakespeare into the air.

The doctor rubs his hand up and down my back “what was that?”

“Nothing,” I reply simply and admire the stars for their beauty.

We went further back in time but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Louis looked at the stars. He may not know it yet but someday looking up at the stars will have a meaning.

An hour later and we’re sat in a tavern that smells of stale beer, burning wood in the fireplace, tobacco, and unshowered men. The owner's wife slams the mugs of beer on our table and some spills over-explain the stickiness. I must seem uncomfortable because The Doctor laughs at me.

“You stand out when you do that,” he waves his finger at me.

“What do you mean?” I question defensively.

“You're as stiff as a board! Relax a little,” he rolls his shoulders to demonstrate.

I huff, finding the task impossible. “How do you like it here? It’s unsanitary and has a hundred different smells!”

He chugs half of his beer to finish it. “I’ve been in worse holes in the wall. Be thankful that the floor is actually a floor and not dirt. Also that the beer is semi-decent and not sour wine.”

Taking in my surroundings, I notice the owner going through a back door leading out to an alleyway. He rolls in a new barrel of this liquid bread. In the distance, church bells signal the clock striking the hour. I steal a sip from my mug and it makes Natural Light taste high-end.

“I need to go.” The Doctor tosses back the remainder of his drink and pushes back his chair.

“Wait, what? You’re leaving?! To go where?!” I hate it when he does this! It’s like leaving me in a foreign country and I can’t speak the language.

He waves the owner’s wife to our table. “Yes, I need to gather a few things. Stay here!” He orders, strangely searching the tavern frantically.

“So basically you’re going to steal again? Is that what all our so-called “trips” are about, you stealing historical artifacts? If so, I’ll have nothing to do with it! You’re always preaching about not altering history yet here you are doing just that!”

He rolls his eyes as the owner’s wife comes up to our table with some pitchers of ale.

“What can I getcha?” Her thick Scottish accent catches my attention more than her question. The doctor ignores her and addresses me again.

“Stay here, don’t go anywhere and do anything reckless like last time,” he demands, referring to my close encounter with Louis. He heads to the door of the dim-lit tavern, ready to leave me alone with a swarm of men. He stops to look over his shoulder before departing.

“And no,” he says with a melancholy expression, “that’s not what this is all about.”

In a blink of an eye, he disappears into the night to who knows where. Disapproving of his behavior but unable to do much about it, I simply chug the rest of my nasty beer. Slamming it down onto the table, I order another from the woman.

“Coming right up Miss.” She goes back to the bar to fill her pitchers.

The time alone is rare. I suppose I should be thankful. I’ve been gone for nearly a week now. I wonder how my family and friends must be feeling. I fell off the face of the earth practically. Granted, I could simply go back to when I was with Doctor at dinner and all would be as though nothing happened. What if I’m gone for a year? What if I went for longer, so long that’ll look older? How would I explain that? Then there’s the idea of altering history. What if my very presence in this tavern is changing something? For all I know, the smallest actions I make could change the course of time.

“Here ya are,” the woman slides me my new drink.

I thank her, expressing a faint smile. As she walks off, my attention is stolen by two men seated at a small table in the corner. One, the older, is an average man based on his appearance. The other, however, is a colonial officer. They’re huddled over the table, whispering to each other rather harshly. I lean forward slowly, attempting to eavesdrop on what’s so crucial for them to be so serious.

“You need to be more careful!” The older man warns. “These are dark times and you’re playing with fire!”

“It’s all under control!” The officer argues, “Washington has it under control. You’d be fine! So will I! We all will be! You need to trust-”

The older man slams his hand on the table. His face becomes red with rage.

“Ben, listen to me! Half the men have already been arrested from that idiotic riot last week! It was a mere two years ago the poor Hale lad got himself hanged! We must remain in the shadows!”

The two men are interrupted by the owner’s wife filling their mugs. Suddenly, the door to the tavern swings open and slams to the wall with a bang. The people in the room went dead quiet, watching as the men march in. Five redcoats total emerge with their heads held high. ‘Egotistical and empathetic lobsterbacks’ as some American history texts describes them.

The circus leader announces to the colonists in the tavern. “We’re looking for a man who goes by the name John Bolton!”

Who? I peer around the room. Waiting for one of these guys to drunkenly raise their hand and turn themselves over. The moment never comes. Instead, I notice the two men exchange hushed words. The officer appears frazzled but not obviously. He has this anxious look about it but then again I would too if I was an officer of the Continental Army and a bunch of red coats just strolled in. Yet, something is telling me that something is going on here. If I can prevent a fight, arrest, or anything relating to the officer I’ll do it, why? Because for all I know that officer could be someone worth protecting.

“He isn’t here!”

Before I have the chance to process what I blurted out, I already have the entire tavern staring me down. At some point I must’ve blacked out because I’m standing up, when did that happen? My first thought is Doctor is going to kill me for getting involved.

“He left about an hour ago,” I add to sound more convincing though my voice is a tad shaky. “He likes spending time by the docks, perhaps you could find him there.”

The leader of the pack closes in on me as I maintain the fakest smile. He examines my face, deciphering my authenticity. I swallow hard, the last thing I want is to see the inside of an 18th-century prison cell.

“Describe the man, so that we can identify him,” he requests.

The man hardly any space between us. It’s now that I regret my irrational action of intervening. I only hope that officer is worth covering for. I glance behind the red coat toward the duo in the corner. The officer has his focus locked on me. His eyes are narrow, studying me intensely. That’s when it hits me. John Bolton, that’s the alias Ben Tallmadge used during the war. The officer is Major Ben Tallmadge, at least I hope it is and I didn’t just imprison myself. If it is, he’s without a doubt worth saving.

“Light, seashell, gold hair,” I lie to the Englishman before me. “He’s thin, a stick really, and has very little muscle. I would go as far as to call him scrawny. As for height, he’s rather short. I would say around 5’4”.”

Every piece of description I give is the opposite of the real Ben. I guess I pass the soldier’s test of trust because he doesn’t question me further.

“Let’s go gentlemen!” He commands, stepping toward the door with his men following on his coat tail.

I can finally breathe again, falling into my chair with a sigh of relief. My lying to the soldier could’ve ended in the worst possible outcome. I definitely dodged a bullet. Strong fingers wrap around my forearm and I’m dragged over to a dark corner in the back of the tavern. I’m forced against the wall and am tossed about like a rag doll. I’m about to be interrogated, yet again. Twice in one night, that’s a lot for someone who’s never been interrogated before. I brush down my skirt and my eyes are met with Ben Tallmadge himself.

“Who are you?!” He barks.

Similar to the red coat, he invades my space to intimidate me. I suppose if I was a woman of this era it would but being from the 21st century it’ll take a lot more than a few growls. Usually, these men’s barks are worse than their bites. Nevertheless, I raise my eyebrows, I send him a look of warning. If we’re going to communicate he needs to calm down.

“I’m the friend,” I reply bitterly calmly. “I take it a simple ‘thank you’ is too much to ask?”

My sass takes him by surprise. I’m not shaken by his macho-man persona, shocker. He visibly settles and takes a step back. Whether he believes me or not, I’m not entirely sure. Either way, perhaps now we can have a civil conversation that doesn’t involve so much grabbing, dragging, and growling.

“Thank you,” he stammers, “uh Miss…”

A name, I need a last name. Quick Y/N, think of a name!

“Reynolds,” I rush out.

Seriously! I come up with Reynolds. Oh well, it’ll have to do. Hamilton doesn’t meet Maria Reynolds for another four years so there shouldn’t be any coincidences but I’m still hitting too close to home.

“Miss Reynolds…” Ben repeats slyly. “Is that your real name or are you a spy for good ole Georgie across the pond?”

The hint of space that he once granted me slips from me again. He presses me harder into the wall, not taking any chances for me to escape. I huff, offended by his accusation and for his lack of courtesy.

“I am no such thing, Sir!” I hiss at him. “When I say I’m a friend, I’m a friend!”

I hear the door to the tavern hit the wall again as it’s swung open. Once the red coats don’t find a little blonde man by the docks they’ll likely come back. I have to get Ben out of here before then.

“We’ve wasted enough time as it is, you need to get out of here!” I warn him, urging him to go as I press my palm to his chest. “Otherwise, the soldiers will come back looking for you!”

Ben grabs my wrist and removes my hand from him but keeps hold of it. I struggle to yank it free but it’s no use, he’s too strong.

“Why are you helping me?” He questions, furrowing his brows.

This man is impossible. Though, I can’t blame him for being paranoid. Trust runs thin these days.

“Let’s just say we believe in the same cause,” I reply swiftly, growing aggravated by his lack of ability to see my honesty as truth.

He’s a wanted man and he’s drinking out in a tavern filled with people, not quite a genius. Why isn’t he at Valley Forge with the others? He should be with Washington, not here. My answer doesn’t seem to satisfy his curiosity.

“Who do you work for?”

“No one!” I shoot down the idea, practically pushing him toward the door with my free hand.

He then takes my free hand as well, restricting me completely.

“Then how do you know so much? Why are you risking your freedom by giving me aid? What do you gain?”

His tone is less fierce, more worrisome. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place naturally. Should he trust me? Should he take the word of a stranger when it feels as though the world is against him? His grip on my wrists softens slightly and I take the opportunity to free myself.

“You sure ask a lot of questions,” I tease, snickering lightly.

Abruptly, the door to the tavern is kicked in causing gasps to fall across the building. The same five soldiers enter with more men, fuming more than fifteen minutes ago. Ben whips around to see what all the commotion is about. I could run now. I don’t know why I’m not exactly. I suppose it’s because I won’t leave with him. I have to make sure Ben gets out alive.

The leader yells at the top of his lungs, “where are Bolton and that woman?!”

In a swift motion, I grab Ben’s hand. He peers down at me but I keep a close eye on the soldiers behind him.

“There’s a door over there,” I inform him. It’s the same door Doctor left from. “If we step back slowly without much noise, they won’t notice us.”

He nods, joining me in walking back to the exit. I’ll have to part from him soon. Once we’re out of the tavern we must go our separate ways because the red coats know my face. For all, they know John Bolton could be anyone. My presence puts Ben in more danger. However, I can’t allow them to get Ben either. If they do, who knows what may happen. My distracting thoughts are interrupted by shouting.

“She’s over there! Right here!” A soldier shouts as he points in our direction.

All of their heads snap to us and I decide we better start running.

“Time to go!” I tug on his arm and he sprints to the door.

“Get them!” The leader commands and the tavern breaks out into utter chaos.

Ben frees the door and a breeze of warm June air slaps me in the face. We run down the stone alley together, hand in hand. I don’t recommend running in heels altogether, let alone on an uneven cobblestone road. Ben turns the corner and guides me down the sidewalk toward the center of town.

“I have a horse a just down this way! We’ll have to hurry!”

We weave between people, trying to stay out of sight and get to point B as soon as possible.

“This way!” A voice shouts from up the road and a clump of jogging redcoat with muskets approaches us.

Ben cuts around the corner into an unlit alley and blocks me against the wall. Deep into the darkness, we hide undetected. He positions himself between me and the road to block me from sight.

Soon, marching boots slip by the alley without hesitation. The soldiers must’ve passed us. My chest falls as I release a breath I hadn’t released I was holding.

“Keep your face out of sight. Focus on the ground and I’ll get us out of here,” he promises me in a hushed tone.

I hum, nodding my head frantically. I would be lying if I said I’m not genuinely scared.

He takes my hand before slipping back into the light. He checks the general area for any red coats. When he decides the coast is clear, we run down the road to a horse tied to a post. Ben helps me once he’s secured himself on the animal. Then, we ride off into the night. I have no idea where he’s taking nor do I have any way of telling Doctor where I’m going. All I can do is keep going and stay alive. Hopefully, if I’m lucky, I’ll make it back to the tavern when it’s safe and he’ll be there.

_______________________________________

Masterlist

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x you #doctor x reader #doctor who

13 notes · View notes

more-miserables · 3 years

Text

I was trying to keep a steady-ish posting schedule but that hasn’t happened. I’m flakey as hell now I don’t have teachers and deadlines. I don’t know if any of you guys still remember or care about my pair of whumpees, but I was randomly inspired tonight. Hope you enjoy this anyway.

Tagging: @albino-whumpee @cubeswhump @liliability

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe, implications of past self-harm, implied and obvious abuse, implications of drugging, very brief implication of an eating disorder, panic attacks, lots of messed up stuff, you guys know.

Yates never seemed to get completely better after his illness. He stopped coughing, his fever went away, but he stayed very pale, and Ginger could hear how crackly his breathing was at night. His nerves didn’t seem to recover either. Yates’s hands shook now whenever Stanley gave him a task, and he became clumsy and jumpy, forever dropping things. Stanley stopped being so soft with him and started yelling, which just made things worse. Yates was a bundle of stress.

He cried bitterly every night, cradled in Ginger’s arms. “I’m a failure,” he sobbed. “I keep messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“It’s not you, it’s never been you. You’re just tired, that’s all it is,” Ginger insisted over and over, but Yates couldn’t seem to hear him.

Seeing Yates looking so pale and miserable all the time made Ginger burn with fury. He didn’t care about the pain in his head now; he was frequently spitting in Ivy and Stanley’s food, arguing back, slamming doors, doing anything he could to draw their attention away from Yates. He was disciplined over and over, in new and creative ways, until he was black and blue all over, but it was worth it to keep Yates safe.

The first time he swore at Ivy he was chained up in the garden all night, completely naked. Ginger drew his bare knees up to his chest and held them tight, shivering. English winter nights could grow cold enough to kill, especially when a person had no protection; maybe that’s what Ivy wanted.

Maybe that’s what Ginger wanted too.

“Ginger?”

Ginger jumped, his head snapping up off his knees. Yates was standing beside him, pale and anxious, carrying a blanket.

“What’re you doing here? How’d you get out of the room?” Ginger asked.

“Window,” Yates whispered, cuddling up beside Ginger and wrapping the blanket around them both. “I couldn’t just leave you out here. Give me your hands, I’ll warm them.”

“You’ll get into trouble if they catch us,” Ginger said, linking his fingers with Yates’s.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Yates repeated firmly. He clasped Ginger’s freezing hands between his own, rubbing them hard.

Ginger smiled weakly. Maybe he didn’t want to die just yet.

It was hard to hang onto that feeling during the day, even so. Ivy found fault with everything he did now, and Stanley was equally brutal with Yates. Ginger’s headache was constant, but he refused to lie down and take it. He argued, yelled, swore and spat like a wildcat, allowing Yates to creep around relatively unnoticed.

Ivy had taken to standing in the kitchen while Ginger cooked, peering over his shoulder and critiquing every single thing he did, even the most basic things like pouring water. Each correction carried its own insult.

“Stir that syrup, it’s sticking to the bottom of the pan! Are you blind as well as stupid?”

“I thought icing cakes was your speciality? Seems you only specialise in failure.”

“You’re too heavy-handed with that whisking. I don’t know why we ever bought you. You’re such a disappointment.”

Ginger knew Ivy was just trying to wind him up - but it was working. He felt like he was boiling along with the syrup. It was so unfair to be stuck making wonderful desserts for two people who told him he was stupid and useless and disappointing - and he couldn’t even spit in the food with Ivy hovering.

Ginger held his tongue, presenting Ivy with the finished cake. It was baked beautifully despite Ivy’s complaints, with pin-neat icing flowers and swirls, the buttercream smooth as silk. It was perfect - but Ivy sniffed scornfully. She gripped the plate and slowly pushed it off the counter, watching it fall face down on the floor with a depressing splat.

“Make another one,” she commanded, then turned on her heel to walk away.

Ginger felt like someone had ignited a bomb in his chest. He burned all over with rage. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the egg box, took one out and pelted it with all his force at Ivy. The egg hit her squarely in the back of her head, splattering yolk down her back and in her hair. The force of the blow sent her staggering forward with a scream. She peered over her shoulder, looking bewildered. For a second.

Ivy’s face flushed a deep red, and she rushed at Ginger, gripping fistfuls of his red hair and slamming him against the kitchen counter. “How dare you!” she screamed, shaking him so violently he felt she’d yank out clumps of his scalp too. “I won’t stand for this. You’ll learn if I have to beat you till you piss blood!”

“Get off me!” Ginger yelled back. He tried kicking out at Ivy, but he was weak and undernourished, and Ivy was a big, strong lady. He couldn’t wriggle free.

“Give me your hand!” Ivy commanded. Ginger didn’t, so she took hold of his left wrist herself, dragging him over to the cooker. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. You’ll be able to look at your hand every day after this and remember what happens to disobedient little pets.”

She swept the dirty saucepans away with a flick of her arm. The hob was still on, glowing bright red with heat. Ginger renewed his efforts to break free, but Ivy hung on grimly, battering him about the head with her free hand.

“Remember this,” she snapped, and pressed Ginger’s palm firmly against the hob.

The scream Ginger let out echoed through the whole house. It was barely human, like the howl of a dying animal in a trap. Ivy held his hand down for a good three seconds, though it felt like a lifetime to Ginger. He arched his fingertips, trying his hardest to escape the blinding heat, but Ivy had her hand pressing down on the back of his own, so Ginger’s palm couldn’t be spared.

When she finally let him go, Ginger collapsed in a heap on the floor, whimpering. He cradled the burned hand to his chest. It was bright red and already starting to blister. The kitchen was filled with a sickly sweet, burning smell, and he gulped in horror when he realised he was smelling his own cooked flesh. He couldn’t stop the tears this time, though he hated Ivy seeing how much she’d hurt him.

Ivy laughed heartlessly. “I told you so,” she said. She crouched down in front of him, her voice soft, menacing. “You’ll never win. You’ll learn to do as you’re told if it kills me - or if it kills you.” Then she stalked out the room, leaving Ginger sobbing on the floor.

Yates was horrified when he saw Ginger’s hand that night. He’d heard the scream, but Stanley hadn’t allowed him to go investigate. Ginger told him the whole story, whispering because his crying had left his voice raw and painful. He couldn’t remember how long he’d cried; it must’ve been hours. His hand was still so painful he couldn’t move it. His fingertips were mostly spared, though they were raw and red, but his palm was screaming and covered all over with throbbing blisters. He couldn’t even make a fist anymore.

“Ivy did this?” Ginger had never seen Yates look so angry. “That’s horrible! Oh, you must be hurting so badly. How could she?” He took hold of Ginger’s hand. “You poor thing... Here, I’ll help you. I’ll fix it.”

They sat up well into the night while Yates cleaned, treated and bandaged Ginger’s palm as best he could with the limited supplies. He didn’t have anything stronger than pharmacy painkillers and it barely touched Ginger’s agony. Before the burn was even properly dressed, Ginger had been begging Yates to stop for almost an hour. He was howling again, light-headed with pain.

“Stop, stop, please...” he moaned.

“I’m almost done, I promise,” Yates whispered. He saw Ginger starting to wobble and quickly pulled him close, right onto his own lap. Ginger was bigger and heavier so Yates must’ve been very squashed, but he didn’t complain. “Put your head on my shoulder. I don’t want you fainting. Your eyes keep losing focus.”

Ginger let his head fall on Yates’s shoulder with a thump, biting his shirt hard when the treatment continued and the pain returned with a vengeance. He managed not to faint, but the agony combined with his sobbing made him retch. He thumped Yates’s shoulder weakly with his good hand. “Le’ me up,” he gasped. “‘M gonna puke.”

“No, you stay there,” Yates said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re sick. Do whatever you need to. Vomit, bite my shirt, bite me if you need to. It’s alright.”

So Ginger stayed, and when he did bring up bile and spit all down Yates’s back and across their mattress, Yates didn’t even flinch. Ginger felt a soft hand rubbing up and down his back, a gentle voice shushing him when he groaned.

“I know, I’m sorry, but we need to make sure it’s treated properly,” Yates said, his own face crumpling whenever Ginger whimpered. “I’ll change your bandages every day, but it’s going to take a while before this heals. How’re you going to do any cooking and cleaning?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” Ginger sighed wearily. “Never mind that now. I don’t even care about the mess. Let’s just get some sleep, please.”

The next day was exceptionally difficult for Ginger. He supposed that was what Ivy had wanted. His bandages were cumbersome and clumsy, and the pain was still so terrible he couldn’t put any weight on the afflicted hand. Ivy made sure to give him every possible job that required two hands, eventually resorting to ordering him to move heavy furniture across the room and back with no real purpose other than to cause him pain. Several times Ginger’s knees buckled from the agony, his vision becoming dark and fuzzy at the edges, but Ivy’s shrill voice would always drag him back to reality. He vomited again three times before noon.

Ivy elbowed Ginger out of the way when he prepared Stanley’s lunch tray, piling it with half a dozen plates, cups, cutlery, even a teapot. She smirked, handing it to Ginger. “Be careful, it’s heavy!” she said in a falsely bright voice. “Hold it with both hands.”

Ginger couldn’t. It wasn’t even about defiance anymore, he really truly couldn’t. He was almost sobbing with the pain already, shifting the majority of the tray’s weight to his right hand. He couldn’t take this anymore. He wanted to run far away, across fields and over pavements and through cities. He wanted to lock himself away with Yates and never see another person again. He wanted to cut his own hand off to stop the pain. He wanted so many things and none of them were allowed.

Stanley’s door was closed. Ginger tried nudging it with his foot, but it didn’t budge. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get the door open with just one working hand. He knocked, but Stanley just barked at him to come in already and stop hovering outside. Ginger sighed, juggling the tray and trying to hold it just for a second with his left hand as he grasped for the door handle with his right.

Sharp pain surged all the way up his left arm in an instant. He stumbled through the doorway with a yelp, dropping the tray with a terrible clatter. Food splashed all across the linoleum and crockery shattered into shards of glass like glittering stars. Stanley and Yates gawped as Ginger landed on his knees on the bedroom floor, crouched in the midst of the mess.

“You stupid, clumsy idiot!” Stanley roared, his face flushing scarlet. He grabbed his walking stick and raised it to swing.

“Oh please, sir! It’s not Ginger’s fault,” Yates gasped frantically. “He’s hurt his hand, sir. He shouldn’t really be working at all. Please don’t hit him! He’s being so brave and-”

“Shut up, will you! You’re getting far too mouthy. Ginger’s a bad influence. You shouldn’t question me, boy.” Stanley paused, walking stick still raised like he was about to conduct an orchestra. He suddenly smirked, holding it out to Yates. “Okay. I won’t hit him.”

Yates took the stick gingerly. “R-really, sir?”

“Am I not a man of my word? You, Ginger!” he barked.

Ginger raised his head, glaring through his curtain of red hair.

“Hold out your hand!”

Ginger did as he was told.

“No, not your right hand. The one with the wound,” Stanley said, still smiling. Ginger did so, far more reluctantly. Stanley turned to Yates. “I won’t hit him. So you’ll have to do it for me. That’s what you’ve been trained to do, correct? So whack him six times on that hand with my walking stick. And don’t you dare hold back or I’ll double the punishment.”

Yates stared at Stanley, mouth gaping. “But... but he’s so badly hurt, sir.”

“That’s no concern of mine. Get to it.” He paused. “At once!”

Yates glanced at Ginger, helpless and terrified. Ginger tried to smile at him. It’s okay, he mouthed. He wanted to comfort him, but Yates’s eyes filled with tears - bad tears, that’s what they’d been taught. He’d never seen Yates cry properly.

“No,” Yates said quietly, his voice wobbling. He put the stick back in its usual place by Stanley’s bed.

“What?” Stanley snapped. “What’re you waiting for? Do as you’re told, boy!”

“I won’t,” Yates said. He blinked, and two fat tears ran down his face. “I’m not going to hit him, especially when he’s hurt.”

Stanley trembled with rage. He grabbed his stick and aimed a swipe at Yates instead, and Ginger hurried to his feet to drag Yates out of reach. Stanley shakily swung his legs out of bed, leaning heavily on the stick, practically frothing at the mouth.

“You disobedient little swine!” he yelled, pointing mutinously at Yates. “You’re more loyal to him than me, the man who feeds and clothes you and lets you live under his roof. All Ginger ever does is hold you back! How dare you! You’re not to answer to Yates any longer. I don’t want you attached to my name. You’re not worthy of it. You’re nothing.”

Yates was sobbing in earnest. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t hurt Ginger like that. I’m still loyal, I promise, I can still be Yates, I-”

“Shut up!” Stanley screamed. He turned to Ginger, crimson in the face and breathing heavily. “And you! You were a mistake right from the start. You’re the cause of all this!”

“What the hell is going on up here? What’s all the noise?” Ivy demanded, rushing into the crowded bedroom too. “Oh for God’s sake, look at the mess on the floor! And what’s your idiot blubbering about, Stanley?”

Stanley wasn’t listening. “Get him out of here!” he boomed, pointing at Ginger. He sounded so fierce that Ivy did as she was told at once, grabbing a fistful of Ginger’s hair and yanking him out the door.

“You just wait!” Stanley continued, staggering out into the hall and yelling down the stairs as Ivy pulled Ginger away. He was exceptionally wobbly without his wheelchair, supporting himself on his stick and the wall. “I’ll turn you out of my house without a care. You’ll die like a dog in the gutter, you’ll see. I won’t have you two together anymore. You’re getting in the way of Yates’s work. You need to be separated!” He wavered precariously, eyes wild.

Ginger felt sudden panic, raw and sharp. “You can’t split us up! We’re a pair!” he yelled.

“I can do whatever I want with you. You’re mine,” Stanley said triumphantly. “And you’ll do as I say, and be out of here by-“

Stanley was cut off by a sudden cacophony of bumps and thumps, then eerie, still silence. Ivy, almost back at the kitchen with Ginger in tow, quickly hauled him back to the bottom of the stairs.

They stopped short. Stanley was lying crumpled in a heap on the floor, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, head twisted uncomfortably and staring at the ceiling. There were shallow, rasping gasps coming from low in his chest. His eyes swivelled round frantically, the only part of his body still able to move freely.

Ivy started screaming. Ginger’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t make a sound. He looked up - and saw Yates standing there at the top of the stairs, face ghostly pale, eyes wide, outstretched arms shaking, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

There wasn’t time to think. They couldn’t let Ivy recover from the shock. Ginger dashed up the stairs, grabbed hold of Yates and rushed him down past Stanley’s crumpled body, along the corridor and out the door. They ran like rats despite the hard pavement cutting their bare feet. They ran even though they had no idea where to go next.

#whump #boxboy whump #bbu #box boy universe #pet whump #male whump #male whumpee #female whumper #multiple whumpees #emeto tw #tw emeto #tw abuse #abuse tw #if you got this far hi it's cubeswhump I'm the editor #ding dong the bitch is (hopefully) dead #my writing

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years

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Heart and Soul - Part 1 - A CS Concert Series Fic

SUMMARY: Private music teacher Killian Jones wakes one morning to the sound of his ten year old neighbor playing the bane of his existence: the recorder. In order to keep his sanity, he offers to teach Henry to play any other instrument -- though partially because it means he gets to spend more time with Henry's mother, Emma Swan.

TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive parents, backstory that goes a little deeper than necessary

a/n: This fic was inspired by waking up one morning over the summer to hear my neighbor playing the trumpet -- though, thankfully, Sam is a much better musician than a beginner recorder-player. I complained about it on discord, and bam! this story appeared, a joint effort between myself and Meredith (@captainsjedi) . Even though she was unable to help me finish it because of her busy work schedule, her ideas are riddled through the story, not to mention the incredible art she made for it.

Thanks to @csconcertseries and @clockadile, who gave me a reason to finish this story!

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

There aren’t many unusual things Killian truly hates.

Sure, he hates things like seeing horrific stories on the news, bigots, and people on the road who don’t utilize their turn signals. But those all seemed fairly normal within the realm of things that are passionately disliked.

The one standout thing he despises, however, is the recorder.

His animosity toward the instrument — if one can even call it an instrument — feels like a betrayal to his career at times. He spends his weekdays teaching both children and adults to play music, helping them discover hidden talents and find as much comfort and happiness within the notes as he does. The piano and the guitar are his most popular contenders among students. But he’s also had a bit of experience teaching violin and harmonica, along with one memorable incident with the drum set in his basement that resulted in several complaints from the neighbors.

Recorders? He intentionally keeps a fair distance from those.

If he’s being honest, it’s probably hindered his career a bit over the past few years. Since he moved to Storybrooke and word got out across the small town that he was a music teacher, he’s had countless parents approach him whose children had brought home recorders from school, asking him to give them lessons to improve their playing and put the rest of the family out of their misery.

Killian has always declined. He’ll offer to help by teaching the child another instrument instead, but recorders are out of the question. It’s simply not worth his time, not when there are so many better options available.

Needless to say, he’s less than pleased when he’s woken up before seven one morning by the sound of “Hot Cross Buns” being played on the dreaded instrument.

Something’s not right. He has to be hearing things, isn’t he? The house to the left of his is vacant, and the one to the right is the home of his neighbor and her son, the latter of whom should be resting as much as he can before the beginning of his school year.

What reason would he have to be playing the recorder this early in the— bloody hell, he thinks to himself. Yesterday was the first school day for the year. He should have remembered considering the extensive adjustments he's had to make to his schedule from lessons over the summer.

Killian doesn't know all that much about Henry Swan and his mother. They'd moved into the house next door last fall and the lad had introduced himself not long after. He knows that Henry is about nine or ten years old, is a student at Storybrooke Elementary School, and is a Star Wars fan, judging by the number of printed t-shirts he's seen him wearing when they come across each other arriving to and leaving their respective houses.

He knows just as much, if not even less, about Emma Swan. Only that she works as a sheriff's deputy for her older brother, and favors beanies and leather jackets during the fall and winter months. Killian assumes that she’s single considering she and Henry are the only two occupants of the house, and he’s never seen any visitors there aside from her family.

Which is a relief, because he's also infatuated with her.

Perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch considering the few interactions they’ve shared. Killian is aware that he doesn’t exactly know her well enough for any type of infatuation to really exist. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s managed to make him feel like an awkward schoolboy who can’t maintain some sense of dignity around a girl.

Their most recent interaction had taken place the Monday prior; he was getting ready for his morning run when Emma returned from what he assumed was the night shift at the sheriff’s station. She’d given him a brief smile and waved as she unlocked her front door. He was so surprised that he tripped and almost fell over his shoelace that he’d forgotten to tie thanks to the unexpected gesture.

(It was hard to tell whether she noticed. He’s hoping the answer is no.)

All of this to say, he likes the Swans. But he’s not sure just how long he’ll be able to tolerate what has to be Henry and his recorder, especially this early in the bloody morning.

Of all the songs in the world, what would bring him to choose “Hot Cross Buns” anyway?

Killian gets his answer a few weeks later. Every afternoon since the end of the school year save one or two (plus a few choice mornings), he’s been treated to the sound of Henry attempting to play a number of different songs, each one a tad more annoying than the last. There’s been “Yankee Doodle,” “Skip to My Lou,” and, oddly enough, “Jingle Bells.”

Something has to be done before Henry tries to learn “Baby Shark.”

He knows he should act his age and learn to embrace his young neighbor’s new hobby. (Or buy a good pair of earplugs.) After all, Henry’s a child, and Killian is glad he’s chosen to dedicate part of his free time to learning music.

But he really needs to choose a different instrument.

It’s what leads him to knock on the Swan’s front door on a Saturday morning a month into the school year. Emma and Henry are both home judging by the yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway and the squeaky recorder notes coming from an open window on the second floor.

Emma answers the door. Her blonde hair is tied into a messy knot on the top of her head, and she’s sipping coffee from a bright red mug and wearing running shorts and a faded t-shirt that he’s willing to bet are her pajamas.

He’s never felt more attracted to her. But that’s not the reason he came by.

“Oh, hi, Killian,” she greets him, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. Her reaction makes him consider if he should have given some kind of notice before coming over.

“Good morning, Swan. I’m sorry to bother you this early, but I heard the lad playing and assumed you were both up.”

“Yeah. He’s been at it for a while.” Emma bites her lower lip and glances back and forth from him to the staircase he can just make out behind her. “I’m really sorry if he’s been annoying you with the music recently. I’ve suggested he only play later in the afternoon, especially since I've been trying to have the windows open more often so we don't have to keep running the air conditioning, but he always makes some comment about liking to start his day off with music, and I hate to discourage him when he’s finally found a hobby he’s enjoying.”

Hearing these words causes Killian to feel guilty for being irritated with Henry’s playing, but it also makes the reason he came by seem even more appropriate. “Think nothing of it. I’m quite happy to hear the lad has taken an interest in music. But if you don’t mind my input, lass, I think he could do well with a more versatile instrument that allows him to explore his capabilities even further.” It’s the nicest way he can think of to discourage her son from ever touching a recorder again.

Emma is quiet for a moment, brow furrowing as she contemplates his suggestion. “I don’t think I understand— oh!” A look of realization crosses her face. “That’s right. You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and he’s great!” The face of Henry Swan pops up behind his mother; he’s already almost as tall as she is. “Hi, Mr. Jones,” he says. Killian smiles at him before he turns back to Emma. “Remember, Mom? He played with some other parents at the last school fundraiser. You were there.”

Killian remembers the night in question vividly. He and a handful of other parents who played music had been asked to perform a selection of songs at Storybrooke Elementary’s annual spring event. (Emma had worn a tight red dress and heels. He was playing the piano and had come close to butchering the opening of their first song when he’d noticed her.)

She remembers the event, too, if the blush on her cheeks is anything to go by. “Yeah, kid, I remember. I just...haven’t had enough caffeine yet this morning.” She takes a long sip from the mug she’s holding as if to prove a point.

“Aye. Well.” Killian pauses, the shift in conversation having made him briefly forget the purpose for his visit. “I was just telling your mother, Henry, that I’m quite glad that you’re interested in playing music. I didn’t know how you felt about possibly trying other instruments as well? Guitar, piano, saxophone, triangle…” he trails off.

He knows the bare minimum about saxophones and doesn’t think Henry would actually want to play the triangle. But he’ll offer to give him harmonica lessons so long as he never touches a recorder again.

Henry considers his suggestion. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Miss Greene just gave us the recorders to take home so we could practice.” (Killian knows of the Miss Greene he is referring to, and resists the urge to message Tink and suggest she not guide her fourth graders in that direction ever again.) “I guess it would be cool to play something else though.” He smiles up at Killian. “Do you think if I tried to play the piano that I could be as good as you someday?”

Killian’s heart swells with pride at the boy’s admiration. Truth be told, he’s been complimented for his talent on numerous occasions by all kinds of people from different walks of life. But something about hearing his abilities praised from a ten year old with excitement in his eyes means more to him than any recognition has in quite some time.

“Perhaps,” he tells Henry. “If you utilize as much practice and dedication as you seem to be doing for that recorder, I’m sure you’ll be a seasoned pianist in no time.”

Killian is so thrilled by the smile that spreads across the lad’s face that he almost misses the wince that crosses his mother’s.

Almost.

“Henry…” she starts, her eyes turned down to the ground, and Killian’s eyes are drawn to her hands wringing in front of her.

“What, mom? Mr. Jones wants to teach me how to play the piano, please let me learn how to play the piano!”

The shadow of a smile crosses over her face, but it doesn’t stay. “It’s not—” she pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth, gently sucking on it for a moment before releasing it and finally raising her eyes to meet Killian’s. “We don’t have a piano, and, well… I don’t think we can afford to get one for him to practice on.”

Henry’s expression, his shoulders, his excitement, physically fall. “But mom, don’t—”

Killian doesn’t even let the boy pose his argument, because he already has the solution — hopefully a solution that works for all three of them. “That’s really not a problem, love,” he says, his smile growing when her bright green eyes start to sparkle with the hope he is giving her son. “As it happens, I just bought a new piano for the studio, so I have one that I’m hoping to get rid of. If you want it, it’s yours.”

It’s not quite the truth: he has his baby grand in his living room, the one that he practices on himself; and he has the two uprights in his studio, one much newer than the other, and as much as he has wanted to replace the older one with an updated model, he hasn’t gotten around to it. Getting rid of one of them wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and it would certainly clear up some space in the basement, though it would keep some of his students from practicing while he’s in another lesson.

But with the smile that grows across Henry’s face, and Emma’s to match it, the little white lie seems like the worst of his problems. Because, gods above, he has it bad for this woman.

Moving the old upright piano from his basement to the Swan’s living room the following Saturday proves much more difficult than lying to them about it. It’s an adventure that requires his brother, Emma’s brother, and Emma — and not, he doesn't fall to notice, the man who he assumes to be Henry’s father, who shows up with the boy right as they’re struggling to get through the front door.

Killian hates him before he even opens his mouth to speak, seemingly the only one to notice his run-down dark green pick-up truck parked by the curb while he stands in Emma’s entryway, trying to keep the piano from tipping over. The only one to notice him, sitting in the driver’s seat and making no motion to get out, even as Henry jumps down from the passenger seat and begins collecting his soccer gear from the back seat.

“This thing really doesn’t look like it would be this hard to move,” Emma’s brother — David — grunts, trying his hardest to help ease the piano up over Emma’s front step.

“Oh, come on, Nolan,” they all hear from behind them, everyone else finally noticing. “You having a little trouble with that?”

“You know, Cassidy,” David calls out, and Killian notices a vein in his forehead popping out as they try to lift it from the bottom and up the single step. “You could always get your ass over here and be helpful.”

Emma laughs from the other side of the piano. “Yeah, right.”

The guy in the truck laughs louder, turning his head in a way that makes Killian sure that he’s staring at Emma. His words make him even more sure: “I prefer the view from where I am, actually.”

“Asshole,” David says, either a bit louder than he meant or exactly as loud as he meant; Killian has a feeling it’s the second.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Henry asks, dropping his soccer stuff on the porch behind Emma. At least the lad has manners, Killian tells himself, finally guiding the piano into the entryway. He gets them from his mother.

“Just stay out of the way, bud,” David tells him between gritted teeth, the three of them pushing the piano the rest of the way through the door.

“Are you the lucky lad who gets to play this piano?” Liam asks once they’ve all made it into the entryway, Killian tossing one last glare towards Henry’s father pulling away from the curb as he closes the front door. When he turns to Henry, he’s beaming.

“Yep! Killian offered to teach me so he could stop hearing me practice the recorder every morning!”

The bluntness of Henry’s statement pulls a laugh from all of them.

Henry takes to the piano like a fish to water, which doesn't surprise Killian in the least. The lad is bright, Killian has learned that just from talking with him during their time as neighbors, but when he is able to play most of his scales and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" by their second lesson, he knows he has stumbled upon true talent.

And spending time with his mother certainly doesn't hurt, either.

(The way her laughter carries through the open windows when Henry plays through a song brightens up his days in ways he didn't think was possible anymore, as well, but that's a secret he plans to keep to himself for a while.)

But by the end of September, four o'clock on Tuesday comes by slowly, especially since his and Emma's schedules have apparently shifted so they're never coming or going at the same time, but when she answers his knock on her door, he immediately feels a calm wash over him. Sure, he feels his heart in his throat, and when she smiles at him and takes a step back to let him in the house, he can swear that he has never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

Shit, he's in deep.

"Hello, love," he says, returning her smile as he steps through the doorway.

"Hey, Killian," she says back, leaning back against the door to push it shut. "I, uh, thought I already said something to you, but Henry's not here right now."

"Oh." He tries not to let his upset show on his face. This time that he spends with Henry Swan and his mother has become the highlight of his week, but since Henry isn't here, he assumes that means he should go home.

But neither of them move.

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, as it does every time he's found himself in this gorgeous woman's presence, and he counts the moments that pass through his heartbeats: one, two, three, four.

"Where is the lad, if you don't mind me asking?"

She shrugs, still physically blocking him from leaving. "He's with his dad."

"On a Tuesday night?"

She looks down at the floor, holding out her hands out into her line of vision. "We’re going away next weekend with David and Mary Margaret, so it’s to make up for the time he’s missing. But believe me, he would much rather be here with you."

“I’ve only ever heard him say good things about his father.”

“Do you really think that he would tell a stranger about the bad things?” she snaps, and he reels back immediately, regretting ever bringing it up in the first place. Biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, he tries to push memories of doing the same thing from his mind, tries not to think of all the times he wanted to tell someone other than his brother of the way he was being treated — and he, of course, remembers the embarrassment that came whenever someone tried to bring it up.

Killian thinks back to the only time he’s met Henry’s father, after helping move the piano into their living room, and he begs once again that this man is nothing like Brennan Jones.

“Of course,” he says finally, his voice soft with regret and the memory of his own father’s drunken escapades, and he swallows the memories down like bile.

A beat passes between them, long enough to make Killian sure that he should simply excuse himself and go home, but it’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Do you want to come in for lunch?” she blurts, her eyes quickly flitting away from his when he tries to find them.

“Pardon?” He’s not thrown off by the question, really, as much as he is the sentiment.

“I just — I feel bad that I forgot to tell you that Henry’s with Neal, and now you don’t have anything to do for the next hour, and I was already reheating some of Marg's soup and making sandwiches, so I can — you know what, just… forget it, forget that I asked—”

“I would love to.”

The look on her face when she finally brings her eyes to meet him makes him sure that his acceptance is the last thing she expects.

Her kitchen is much more welcoming than his, bright and colorful with the fitting smell of chicken soup wafting from it. "Grilled cheese alright?" she asks, moving past him towards the fridge after gesturing for him to take a seat at the table.

"Is it ever not?"

The twinkling laugh she lets out actually seems to brighten the kitchen even further, which he would not have thought possible.

"I knew I liked you for a reason."

If the words affect her nearly as much as they do him, she hides it well, moving daintily through the kitchen to gather the rest of the supplies for the sandwiches. He is thankful for the moment of silence that passes between them, noticing for the first time the soft music coming from a small speaker on top of the fridge — he half-recognizes the song, he thinks from Harry Potter? — as he regains his composure, settles the pounding of his heart in his chest.

"What made you start playing music?"

And just like that, the pounding comes back. It's an innocent question, one that he gets asked a lot, and one he usually brushes over with a mention of his mother and her affinity for the piano. But, in the welcoming warmth of Emma Swan’s kitchen, he finds himself wanting to tell her everything, wanting to tell the whole story for the first time in a very long time, all the broken bottles and broken promises and broken wrists, the happy songs and the sad songs and one too many damn funeral marches, the drunken spat with the drunken man that almost made him lose his hand, and the life of sobriety that he swore himself into, exchanging his hatred for one parent with his love for another.

And then he hears the words coming from his mouth, a poisonous story uninvited into this space, into this wonderful woman's life, but it becomes the edited and abridged version as quickly as he can save it: "My father wasn't the nicest man, though he treated my mum the worst of all of us, and in order to find some semblance of peace in the world, she taught herself how to play the piano. And she taught me, too. Tried to teach Liam, but he was never very good at it. So it became a stress relief for me, and I just kept finding new instruments and learning how to play those to keep myself from spiraling, and when it came time for me to figure out my place in the world, music was the obvious answer."

She hums from her place at the stove, slowly stirring the small pot of soup with a wooden spoon. The movement of her nodding head is small, almost enough that Killian wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching her so intently. Somehow, he can tell that she wants to say something, maybe has a story like his own that she’s trying to piece together into a semblance of something normal, and he doesn’t push her.

“I get that,” she says finally, still not turning her attention away from the stove. He doesn’t mind; he’s not sure that he’s ready for that level of intimacy, for looking at each other while sharing their backstories — quite the jump from the casual neighborly hello’s and short conversations they have shared by this point. “That’s why I run, even though sometimes it makes me want to die. It was the only time I had alone when I was in—younger, and it’s still the only time I can do something and not be drowning in my own thoughts the whole time.”

He wonders about her slip of the tongue, the eloquent way she caught herself — and the way she straightened her back slightly as she corrected herself.

But the last thing he wants is for her to question anything that he said, so he’s certainly not going to say anything, only watch her as she reaches into a cabinet to pull out two bowls, pouring some soup in each of them.

“That’s how I am with the piano. When I sit down in front of it, it’s like my whole brain shuts down and there’s nothing except the music. My mum told me she was the same way when I got a bit older, and it explained why I would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and hear her downstairs on the old upright the church donated to us. And Liam says the same thing about being behind the wheel of anything.”

When she finally turns towards him, a bowl of soup in each hand and a smile on her face, he knows that he has finally found someone to understand.

And he could not be more ecstatic that it is Emma Swan.

-- Part Two will post as soon as I finish it! --

tags: @let-it-raines @shireness-says @wellhellotragic @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @superchocovian @carpedzem @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke -- if you want to be tagged in part two, let me know; if you no longer want to be tagged in my works, just send me a message!

#captain swan #cs fics #ouat #cs ff #ouat ff #cs concert series #music teacher! au #teacher!killian

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shireness-says · 4 years

Text

skating in circles (with no way to stop)

Summary: Anne Elliot likes her life just the way it is. The last thing she needs is her handsome, charming, professional hockey player ex... something to show up during lockdown and prove just how wrong she is about that. ~7.9K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: For @welllpthisishappening, who is going a little stir-crazy during the NHL break. Also because it is absolutely her fault I ever thought “What would a hockey-flavored Persuasion AU look like?”

Special thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta skills. Any mistakes, hockey-type or otherwise, are absolutely my own.

Tagging the potentially interested parties: @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, @thejollyroger-writer, @snowbellewells.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Social distancing almost doesn’t seem so bad in weather like this, the snow outside Anne’s window falling in huge flakes more furiously each second. Weather like this is designed for staying inside, curled up in an armchair with a cup of tea and a soft knitted afghan. It’s almost enough to soothe the little voice in her head that chides her for not working; there’s genuinely little for Anne to do from home as a school nurse, beyond writing and filing the reports she usually puts off until the end of the year, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling guilty at not doing more. Even if she isn’t expected to. Even if she is actually supposed to bunker down.

It’s been odd, adjusting to a life of jigsaw puzzles and overly involved embroidery projects and all the books she swore she’d read two years ago and never did. Hell, she’s even taken up online archiving projects after an old friend from school sent her a link, just for something to do. Her social life hasn’t particularly suffered; she’s a transplant to this town, anyways, drawn back by the memories of one beautiful, peaceful year, only really meeting with folks from work or her old roommate, and infrequently at that. Every few days, she’ll go through the motions of calling her sister Mary just so the younger woman can chatter away about all her own complaints; truthfully, that’s all the socializing she can handle. Anne has always kept to herself, and usually even likes it; the only difference now is that it’s by governor’s decree, not by her own introverted preferences.

Way out here, it’s not surprising that the power eventually goes out; it’s not uncommon, when the snow gets too heavy on the power lines in heavy storms like this. This is exactly why she has a generator - it’s all but a necessity when you’re living here year-round. Sure enough, the generator roars to life a moment later - an auditory nuisance, for sure, but a necessary one when you like such things as central electric heating and wifi and refrigerated items not spoiling.

The crunch of snow under tires outside her little cottage is more surprising, however, especially under the circumstances. She hasn’t ordered takeout, or grocery delivery; there’s no reason anyone should be pulling up to her house, especially in this weather. Peeking out the window reveals the kind of SUV only people with money buy, and the last person in the world she ever expected to see climbing out of it; she’d almost think it a hallucination brought on by isolation, if she hadn’t already seen him from a distance at the grocery store, earlier in the week.

Anne barely has a chance to pull herself together before the knock at the door sounds, bouncing off the walls of her little house. Opening the door reveals Frederick Wentworth, the dream she put away nigh on nine years ago, standing on her stoop in a ridiculous hat and a peacoat that’s not remotely suited to the practicalities of winter in rural New Hampshire.

“Believe me, I hate this just as much, if not more, than you do,” he begins, plowing forward before Anne can even remember to reassure him that it’s not true, “but my power’s out, and I need your help.”

As it turns out, Frederick - her handsome, charming, professional hockey player ex… something - is all that’s required to upset any equilibrium the snow might have brought.

———

Frederick Wentworth hadn’t intended to return to Kellynch, New Hampshire. Then again, he hadn’t intended to be sitting out indefinitely with the rest of the league because of the current pandemic.

New York just feels odd like this, the tourists all gone, the streets practically empty. Fred has never credited himself as one of those maniacs who claim that New York is the only city in the world, and there’s nothing like it; he’d been happy in a small town, and he’ll be happy in a different city if the worst happens and he ends up traded. That’s the way these things work. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t formed opinions over the last years about how this city is supposed to feel, and it sure as hell ain’t this.

So he gets in his car, arranges for a rental house, and drives up to Kellynch. If nothing else, he hopes it will be easier to look outside in a place he’d expect to see barely a soul even under the best conditions. Nothing ever happens in Kellynch, after all; maybe that will include the virus too.

(Well, that’s a lie. Exactly two things have ever happened to Kellynch, and he’s one of them. The other… if they’re very, very lucky, they’ll never have to deal with egotistical directors and their ilk again. Even pretty, quiet brunettes aren’t worth that trouble; in fact, sometimes, they make things worse.)

The irony to all this is that usually, Frederick craves a little bit of solitude. He spends essentially his entire life around the same group of guys, at practice and in games and especially on the road, when he’s got to share a hotel room to boot. Hell, he even lived with them for years, sharing an apartment with Harville and Benwick. A man can be forgiven for wanting some time to himself.

And he’d gotten it, at least for a while. Harvey had met his now-wife and moved out, and now Benwick’s got a girlfriend who giggles and his own place to giggle with her in or whatever. Fred can finally come home and just collapse in the closest thing to silence one ever gets in New York, and truthfully, he’s been enjoying every moment of it.

There’s a difference, though, in solitude on your own terms and solitude on others’ terms, and Frederick can’t help but feel lonely as he remembers that in the middle of all this, his friends and teammates are cozied up with those they love, and he’s all by himself in the empty apartment he once yearned for. In Kellynch, at least, it’s a solitude of his own making; his parents are long gone, Sophie out in Virginia with her husband, and for the most part, he hasn’t talked to his old school friends in years. There won’t be this constant awareness of all the people he can’t see if there’s no one about that he’d want to.

Maybe he ought to try dating again, he thinks as he drives. Obviously, there’s nothing to be done in the moment, what with social distancing and impending stay-at-home orders, but maybe later. Maybe Harvey’s wife has friends he’d like - he’s always liked Amelia and her steady personality and good-natured humor, so unlike Benwick’s high-maintenance Louisa and her ear-piercing squeals. Her friends have got to be similar, and Amelia would probably even be kind enough not to make him sound completely desperate.

It’s not that he hasn’t found anyone interested in the past years; he’s got a decent face, after all, and a better paycheck. But the thing about that face and that paycheck is that it’s hard to trust that any woman is interested in him, him alone, the person he is without all that. It’s not a great way to live, but it’s hard to move past.

There’s also the matter of the pretty quiet brunette who came to Kellynch when he was 16, seized his heart, and never really gave it back. Walter Eliot may have been an asshole - every cliche of the self-absorbed Hollywood director, convinced that their town was “quaint” and “just what he needed” to spark inspiration while demanding kowtowing and wrecking havoc wherever he went - but his daughter, Anne, had been of a different mold altogether. He’d met her at the annual Fourth of July parade, of all places. It was obvious she hadn’t intended to be noticed; indeed, she’d blushed and done her best to fade into the background while her father and older sister had made some kind of scene that Frederick can’t honestly remember anymore. He’d been too intrigued - and later, enchanted - by Anne to pay much attention to the rest of the fiasco she’d called a family.

She’d probably felt then the same as he feels about people now - some strange boy coming up to her out of nowhere with mini-donuts, someone she’s never met but undoubtedly knows her and her family, stuck wondering if he was interested in her or all the rest of it. But it had always been her; she’d initially been fascinating just in the contrast, but as he’d talked to her Fred had gotten to see her sense of humor and her brilliant mind and caring heart, and been smitten with the whole package.

That was, until she’d ended things between them, insisting that they’d never work across such a long distance, that she didn’t want to try. Maybe they’d only had 8 months, but he’d been all in, with all the conviction of youth that this was it for them, in some kind star-crossed true love way. She was the first thing, besides his family, that he’d loved more than hockey; truthfully, he still hasn’t found anything or anyone else to match that. It’s hard to move on from that kind of heartbreak. Maybe it’s finally time he tried.

The house he’s rented proves to be up a winding, hilly road lined with pine trees stretching in every direction. The seclusion is its own kind of calming - exactly what he needs, when the rest of the world feels like it’s going to hell in a handbasket. There’s something about being alone amongst the trees that feels comforting in a way that being alone in the city can never touch - almost like a hug. Or something else less weird-sounding. English was never his thing. The house itself is just a little two-bedroom cottage, but that’s more than enough space for just him. What’s more important is that there’s a TV and WiFi and plenty of blankets to bunker down with for however long this lasts.

What he doesn’t expect is to see Anne Eliot - the same Anne Eliot who he thought had left Kellynch for good, who’d broken his heart - at the supermarket like any other local, presumably looking to stock up on supplies just like he is. He doesn’t think she spots him - Frederick ducks into another aisle as soon as he spots her - but just the briefest sight of her sets his heart beating faster in a way that he doesn’t really want to examine closer.

(It would be ridiculous to still have feelings for her after all this time, even if that’s sure what it seems like.)

He tells himself that it’s just a fluke; that they won’t run into each other again; that they can avoid each other without any problems, given the situation. He is wrong on all counts. The cottage sits at the top of a hill, and on days where the fog hasn’t settled around the tops of the trees, he can see just a peek of a few houses and driveways down below.

And just who should he happen to see wrestling with her trash bin one evening, but the woman herself?

(Some higher power really has it in for him, he’s certain of it.)

Still, they don’t call it social distancing for nothing. It’s easy to avoid the people you don’t want to see when you don’t even leave your house. He naps a lot and catches up on Netflix and even attempts a puzzle that he finds in the hall closet (though it just winds up abandoned on the dining table).

In eight years, though, he’d forgotten about the weather up here. It’s late March, technically spring; the worst of the snow should be over. Should be over isn’t the same as is over, though, and he’d forgotten about the late-March snowstorms that pop up more years than not. They’d had them in Minnesota, too; the locals there had always joked it was because of the college basketball tournament. Well, the NCAA tournament may have been cancelled, but the weather sure didn’t get that memo, as the flakes start falling huge, heavy, and fast just outside the windows, almost pretty in a way that’s only possible when you know you don’t have to go outside in the storm.

Fate has other ideas, though. At least, Frederick has to believe it’s fate, otherwise this is all a cruel, cruel trick, and he doesn’t like to think about what he might have done to deserve that. Where he’s going with this is that the power goes out, knocking out the heat and the lights, as well as all those systems he’d been so thankful for until now. There’s a fireplace, but he hadn’t planned for this, and there’s not enough logs and he doesn’t know where or how to chop more and as much of his life as he spends at an ice rink he is not prepared to spend the night in these kind of temperatures without heat and —

— and when he looks out his window, he can just see a hint of light from Anne’s house, just hear the hum of a generator.

And he really doesn’t have any option at all but to throw himself on the mercy of the last woman he wants to see.

———

Anne’s house is neat, from what Frederick can see - small, but cozy, with everything obviously in its very particular place. It reminds him of her, in a way, or at least the her he remembers - quietly comforting and well turned out. It’s exactly what he expected, somehow - just the kind of house he’d expect her to inhabit.

The woman herself, on the other hand, looks tired - vastly different than what he remembered. Anne is worn down, somehow, in a way that makes her look older than she is. Frederick supposes that’s what happens when she’s undoubtedly been carrying her family members in the way she always has; it would exhaust anyone, especially under pandemic circumstances.

“Nice place,” he comments as Anne leads him towards a promised spare bedroom once he’s retrieved his bag - more out of an effort to fill the empty space than anything. Anne was always quiet, but this is just unnerving in its discomfort. They’d always been able to talk, or at least exist contentedly in the quiet; this is the opposite of all that.

“Thanks,” she replies. “I like it.” Just the kind of response a person makes when they don’t know what the hell else to say.

And maybe that’s what makes Fred dive straight into topics they should politely ignore - the absolute blandness of everything else they could say.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he tells her foolishly.

“In my own home, during quarantine?” She says it with a slight smile and the tone of voice she’s always used to hide her sense of humor, and suddenly Frederick is hit with a powerful wave of nostalgia.

“No, here. Kellynch here.”

The amusement flits away just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile turning polite and wooden. Another look he vividly remembers. “I didn’t plan to come back, either,” she tells him softly, “but I like it here. I got out of school and there was a position open and… it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I’m a school nurse,” she clarifies. “Over at the elementary.”

And that… fits, in a way he should have realized. She’d talked about going into nursing way back when, back when they were still practically kids, but this makes a lot more sense than trying to imagine Anne in some busy hospital. More tender, more stable.

“I bet you’re great at that.”

“Thanks. I like it. You’re… good at your job, too,” she finishes awkwardly.

(Even if the words are halting, uncomfortable, they send a little thrill through Frederick’s veins. Does that mean she’s watched, sometime in these past couple of years? They’re decidedly out of Rangers country and New York broadcasting range, way up here, but there are ways around that and she’d said…

Had she watched? For him?)

“Just doing my best,” he replies, just as uncomfortably. What a pair they make now.

“I don’t know if you’ve eaten already, but I was about to make up some dinner,” Anne tells him - an abrupt, but welcome, change of subject. “I’d be happy to do up another serving if you like.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” He has no idea what kind of meal he’s committed to, but who the fuck cares; right now, it’s a way to get a moment to collect himself.

“I’ll see you in a little bit then.”

(If he’s not mistaken, Anne flees the room with just as much relief as he feels watching her go.)

(Kellynch was supposed to be his getaway, his haven - but right now, all it seems like is a terrible mistake as Frederick wonders what the fuck kind of situation he’s gotten himself into.)

———

Dinner isn’t exactly an illustrious start to this whole thing, to say the least. Anne stresses about every step of making spaghetti - spaghetti, for goodness sakes, jarred sauce and boxed noodles, nothing a normal person could possibly find a way to stress about - only to realize as soon as they sit down that this is what they really should have worried about: what in the world two people who have unwillingly been forced into the same space have to discuss.

(“How’s your family?” he asks at one point - probably a subtle dig, if he’s remembering the same uncomfortable dinner that she is, in which her father had done his best to treat Frederick like an utter idiot. Fred had always thought she’d let them walk all over her, anyways - an accusation that isn’t far off.

“Mary is fine. She just got engaged to a lawyer,” Anne relates as neutrally as she can. “I don’t much talk with Walter or Elizabeth anymore.” There’s a variety of reasons for that - especially their tendency to never listen to a single word she’s ever said in her life and making snide comments about how she’d rather live in some backwoods nowhere than in someplace with civilization like LA or New York - but the memory of the way they’d treated Frederick, and everyone else not like them had contributed too. “And your sister?” That’s a safer topic; Sophie and Anne had liked each other.

“She’s good. She lives down in Virginia now - her husband’s some big shot in the Navy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”)

(And that had been the end of that feeble attempt at discussion.)

Anne thinks a lot that night about what she must have done to deserve this. Clearly, something terrible in some past life to have earned this particular variety of torment. Frederick is everything she remembered, only colder - not that she can blame him. After what she did, all those years ago, the way she broke them… she’s more than earned it.

Still. She can be strong, Anne tells herself. She can remain detached, and collected, and unaffected by his presence. She’s had years of practice, after all, pretending that she still isn’t carrying a torch.

(It was always a foolish idea to watch him play online - but then again, she’s always been a fool.)

It’s a little harder to keep up that calm facade, however, when Frederick is walking out of the bathroom in the morning with nothing more than sweatpants and wet hair. God, but he’s handsome, between that face and that wonderful smile and the fit frame he must be displaying just to taunt her, like a reminder of all she rejected. Naturally. It’s no more than she deserves. Her relief is near palpable when he emerges from the spare room in another bright blue t-shirt.

It gets easier as the hours pass and one day bleeds into another. It’s not Frederick’s fault that she’s so shaken by his very presence, and he really is trying to be a good houseguest. He picks up after himself and helps with the dishes and doesn’t argue with whatever she puts on TV. It could be worse.

Still, she can’t help but feel like everything from their past sits between them, unspoken, in every interaction. It’s the elephant in the room, the loudly unspoken words in every little mundane interaction they share. They can reach a point where they’re able to converse without the overt distrust and borderline hostility of where they started this, but comfort is too much to ask.

(Does he feel it too - the pressure of all the what-might-have-beens, pressing down upon them? Or is she the only one that’s haunted?)

She can do this - survive Frederick’s presence when every moment is a reminder of all she threw away. But that doesn’t mean it won’t just crush and kill her.

———

Frederick finds that he doesn’t mind being cooped up with Anne, likes it much more than he anticipated or planned. It’s not that they do much of anything - there’s limits in a small cottage like hers - but the companionship is nice. As it turns out, he was maybe lonelier than he’d wanted to admit. Even the stupid jigsaw puzzles go easier in her company; she’s got a system of sorting that Fred never would have had the patience to implement.

Really, Anne is better equipped, literally and emotionally, for this whole isolation situation. Frederick has always needed to be out and active and doing, little planning involved; Anne, on the other hand, has all the supplies she needs, and the temperament for these kinds of quiet, time-wasting tasks to boot. It’s so entirely in character; he should probably have guessed. Then again, he was trying very hard not to think of Anne until he was forced to show up at her door, practically begging for shelter.

Anne, of course, has plenty of firewood, unlike him, stacked neatly under a tarp at the side of her garage where it’s protected from the elements. She lives here year-round, after all; unlike his own dumb ass, she obviously remembers that it’s not uncommon to receive snow all the way through March and into April, and planned accordingly. Her central heating works fine, obviously, but there’s something about this weather that calls for a roaring fire. Plus, retrieving the firewood gives Frederick a chance to think away from Anne and all her distraction.

He’s not sure what he expected of her - tears? Begging? Apologies? The kind of aloofness the rest of her family has so perfected? None of that is Anne; she’s always been too accepting of her circumstances, even to her own detriment. Once upon a time, Frederick had viewed that tendency with a kind of fond exasperation, had wanted to help her understand that she deserved more than she had always settled for; now it just makes him sad, and angry. She should feel more than this, should be angry or distraught or anything now that he’s here.

He should be paying more attention to the task at hand than the woman in the other room, unfortunately, as the end of a twig clipped off a log slices the skin of his palm as he deposits his load by the hearth, causing Frederick to hiss in surprise at the mild pain. It’s not a deep cut, or hurt that badly - he plays a contact sport for a living, for fuck’s sake, this is nothing - but he can already see blood starting to bead. After making sure the logs are stacked as best as he can one handed, Fred quickly crosses to the kitchen sink to rinse it out. Anne finds him moments later as he examines his hand for splinters.

“Are you alright?” she asks, that soft voice filled with the kind of concern that sends a pang through his heart.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just scratched myself on one of the logs. No biggie.”

Still, Anne pulls his hand closer to examine the little cut herself - gently enough that he could easily pull away, but somehow, too tenderly for him to ever want to. This is her life now, Frederick realizes suddenly - scrapes and bruises and doubtless all other kinds of minor playground injuries that need more tenderness than true care. School nurse, after all.

“I’ll get you something for that.”

“Oh, you don’t have to —” but it’s too late; Anne is already walking down the hall with her determined pace, disappearing into the bathroom. Resistance is futile, or something. Faintly, he hears the squeal of a cabinet hinge before Anne pads back into sight in her stockinged feet, carrying something he can’t quite make out clutched in her hand.

“Just a bit of neosporin,” she explains, tugging his hand back towards her to apply the cream before peeling open the wrapper of a band-aid - the skin-toned butterfly kind.

He nods towards the little adhesive. “What, no fun prints? I’m appalled.”

“Left all my princesses and superheroes back in my office at school,” she smiles back. “You’ll just have to make do, I suppose.”

“I guess I’ll make it, somehow.”

(When she smiles, the ridiculous urge to ask her to kiss it better pops into his head with an ease that nearly frightens him. With a care that would impress even her, he shoves it back down.)

———

It gets easier to share the same space as the days drag on - to learn to expect another person in her space, to expect that other person to be him. It would be overstating the matter to say that she’s not affected by him anymore; indeed, Anne is almost painfully aware of his presence at every moment. But she can prepare to face it when she’s come to expect him, and that feels like a victory all its own. She is braced and ready, long since versed in ignoring and minimizing those feelings that still linger from so long ago. Frederick’s physical presence in her space is a complicating factor, but certainly one that she can overcome.

If she can ignore the way her heart aches, it’s almost kind of nice, having him around. They fall into a pattern of meals and Netflix and quietly finding their own distraction in between. It’s the kind of mundane existence she could almost dream of sharing with him if she was foolish enough to entertain those thoughts.

(She can’t afford to be such a fool - not when it’s only a matter of time until the snow stops and the roads clear and he leaves once again. She likes her life as it is, and that will have to be enough.)

It’s probably inevitable that, on the fourth night, when the snow has finally let up but the temperatures have turned bitter and icy, they find themselves huddled up next to the fireplace with a strong drink apiece. Frederick sips on a glass of the nice whiskey Anne keeps in the back of a cabinet for occasions that call for a little something stronger, barely kissed with enough soda to call it a mixed drink; Anne, at least, pours the same stuff into a whole cup of tea. She’s never been much for liquor, especially straight, but there are occasions that call for it, and being cooped up with a man she never expected to see again is certainly one of them.

“What are the fucking odds?” Frederick declares after his second glass. “I come out here, trying to get away, and I find you. What are the odds.”

“Well, the last couple of years, I’d say pretty good. Since I live here and all.” He’s kind of cute like this - drunk and verbose. It’s something she never had a chance to see, before.

“Oh. Yeah. That.” He takes another swig. “Still. What are the odds that I came back while you’re here?”

“It’s a mystery, I guess.” Maybe it’s the last few days; more likely, it’s the drink. Whatever the case, Anne finds herself telling Frederick something she should never admit. “I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him softly. “I… missed you.”

He tenses up at the words; not the reaction she expected, honestly. A feeling of dread starts to bloom in her stomach instead. “Really,” he comments, utterly flat.

“Well… yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little bit,” he tells her bluntly. “Especially since you’re the one that wanted me gone in the first place.”

“It was for the best.” For him, that is; this was never about her, anyways.

“Was it now?” His laugh is bitter, utterly devoid of joy.

“Frederick…”

“I just want to know what the hell is going on here,” Frederick demands, a liquored slur rounding out his consonants. “Because I’ve been here for days, and I can’t get my feet underneath me where you’re concerned. You sit there with that sad smile and you say it’s for the best and yet you don’t seem happy. And I don’t fucking get it. You’re the one who wanted to break up, but you don’t seem happy that we did.”

“I wasn’t,” Anne admits softly. “I’m not.”

“Then why? Because I’ve been trying to figure it out for nearly nine years, and all I’ve ever figured out is that you must not have felt anything. And after a week spent here, I don’t know that that’s true. So tell me, why?”

“I did it for you!” Anne finally bursts out, more a plea that a shout. “And I know that sounds like a lie and an excuse, but that’s why. We were so young, but God, I loved you. And you loved me, so much that you were about to throw away your chance at everything, ready to find some lesser school near Kellynch rather than taking Minnesota’s offer just so we’d be closer to each other. And I wanted it too - God, Frederick, you don’t know how much I wanted it, how close I was to letting you do that, because I wanted that too. I wanted you close. I loved you.

“But then… it wasn’t even some big game, but you wanted me there, so I went. And you looked alive out there on the ice, throwing insults and elbows and grinning like a maniac. I realized… that’s who you were supposed to be. I couldn’t hold you back from that, just to keep you close to me. Minnesota was your path to the kind of career that would last. How could I ask you to throw away your future?”

“Why didn’t you just say that? We could have figured something out. Done the long distance thing, I don’t know.”

“And you would have been hopelessly distracted from the start. Your mind would have been halfway across the country when you needed to be focusing on hockey and classes and everything else.”

He doesn’t have any response to that, not that Anne expected one. Frederick has never been great at admitting to things he doesn’t like.

“It was never because I didn’t care enough, because I didn’t love you,” she finishes softly. “I did it because I could see everything you could be, and I love - I loved you too much to let you waste that.” God, Anne hopes he didn’t hear that slip of the tongue, even if it’s true. “We were seventeen, Frederick. Kids. There was so much still ahead for you. I couldn’t be the reason you hindered your own dream, or even let it slip away. And you made it, didn’t you? You’ve reached that dream. No matter what I wanted for myself… I had to. For you, so you could have this.”

“I wanted you more than any dream.” Frederick has practically collapsed in on himself in the armchair, the very same one Anne was occupying when he’d showed up and shattered her quiet little world. It seems almost fitting that he sit there while she does the same.

There’s no words for this; nothing that could make it better. Telling him I wanted that too won’t fix what’s already been done, even if she wishes that was the case, even if that’s true. “Frederick…” she finally whispers for lack of anything else to say.

It’s too late, though - though that’s not quite the right phrase, not when it was already too late before this conversation even started, before he even showed up at her door in the snow. Now is just when he pries himself out of her armchair, standing with a finality that’s impossible to miss. “I’m tired, Anne,” he tells her. Anne doesn’t think she imagines an extra level of meaning to his words. “Goodnight.”

There’s nothing left to say - and no use saying it to an empty room anyways as she hears the spare bedroom door click shut down the hall.

There’s no changing the past, but not enough words to explain it either.

———

The next morning, the roads are finally clear, and Frederick can go back up the road to his own cottage. Anne watches silently as Frederick emerges from the guest bedroom, his duffle bag in hand. The silence only becomes more tense as they stare at each other, the luggage a physical barrier between them, both blessed and cursed.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Frederick finally says, breaking the silence.

Anne shakes her head. “It was nothing. Basic kindness. You don’t need to thank me.”

(Can he see the way this pains her? Read the plea in her eyes - for forgiveness, for understanding?)

After another beat of silence, Frederick finally nods decisively, turning towards the door. “Take care, Anne.”

“You too, Frederick.” It feels final; it feels like a farewell, of a permanent kind.

And then, with a last soft click of the door, he’s gone.

And Anne is left to herself again.

———

He should feel peace, now that he’s back in his own space, away from Anne and every memory that she’s dredged up.

He doesn’t.

Because now, back alone in the little house at the top of the hill, Frederick once again has to face the particular kind of loneliness that comes with knowing that it doesn’t have to be this way.

What it all circles back to is this: he should feel smug. After all, this is everything he’d wished for in his most bitter moments over the years: Anne, all alone, with no real support system, just living a quiet little life of little note and, to all appearances, little true happiness.

But it doesn’t feel good - not even remotely. How has he suffered? Sure, he hasn’t had her, but he got drafted, went to a top rate school, wound up playing hockey for a living in the NHL. By any measure, it’s a damn good life - all while Anne has been left to become the shell of herself he found four days ago.

And that shouldn’t be his problem. Technically, you could argue that she brought this upon herself; dug a hole of her own making. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel… sad, he supposes, to see what she’s resigned herself to. Maybe a little guilty, even.

And still, he can’t help but feel like there’s questions left unanswered. They’d talked plenty about the past, how they’d felt and why they’d acted the way they had, but that hadn’t touched on where they stand now. If there’s one thing he’s learned in these last few days, it’s that his own feelings aren’t nearly as dormant as he’s tried to convince himself all these years. If there’s any chance Anne might still feel the same… well, he owes it to them both to find out.

This chapter of their history doesn’t seem quite finished yet, and Frederick knows exactly what he has to do.

———

This time, she should have expected the knock on the door - social distancing be damned.

It’s been three days since the storm’s finally stopped - three days since snowplows had cleared everything out, three days since Frederick had left, back to his own little house up the road.

She’d been content by herself for so long - happy with her plants and her books and all the little hobbies that take up her time in the evenings and weekends. Anne had even found a new kind of solitary contentment in the pandemic, discovering tasks to give her days purpose and goals. Frederick was here for a matter of days, not even a week; it’s absurd to think he could change any of that.

And yet somehow, he has.

Because Anne had been… content by herself for so long - not happy, per se, but satisfied - but the house feels empty now without him. Even when they’d barely talked, or were in separate rooms, he’d been there, the energy of another person making the whole house feel full. She’d grown used to him, she supposes; allowed herself to remember, for once, all the reasons she had loved him, and all the dreams she once had had of what a life together could have been like .

She chose this life - here, in Kellynch, by herself. But for the first time in the only place that’s ever really been hers, she feels not just alone, but lonely. As much as she’s always claimed to like her life, just as it is, there’s no denying that the past days have illuminated all the ways that she’s been lying to herself. She tries to pass the time the same way she always has, but it’s just not the same; she even calls Mary at one point, hoping her sister’s dour moods might be an efficient distraction, but Mary is even more snippy than usual. It’s been days since Anne last called, and her sister feels an outsized outrage about the so-called abandonment; truthfully, Anne hadn’t even noticed it had been a week since her last call. Moreover, she finds that she doesn’t really care about Mary’s bad mood the way she always has, doesn’t feel the need to fix it or blame herself for the outburst. It’s easier just to hang up the phone.

(Maybe this is the first step in moving on: accepting that you deserve more than you’ve ever settled for. That doesn’t stop the yearning; moving on isn’t the work of a couple days, especially when the man himself has only just exited her life again, and is staying just up the road.)

As if she’s summoned him, tires crunch on the drive outside, heralding his reappearance. It isn’t right, the way her heart lurches with happiness and hope and excitement when she peeks out the window to once again see his SUV, once again see him climbing out in that ridiculous blue hat and shuffle to her front door without once slipping on her icy walk. There’s a sense of déjà vu as Anne draws a deep breath before she opens the door. There’s only so many times she can go through this, be subjected to such a blast from the past, before it will eventually break her. And yet, like a fool, she keeps opening the door.

“Can we talk?” Frederick asks. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched inwards, but there’s a look in his eyes that Anne is afraid to name.

(It almost looks tender - almost looks like hope - but it will hurt far worse to be proved wrong if she allows herself to believe that.)

“Of course,” Anne says softly, stepping aside just enough to let him in. It touches a special little bit of her heart to see the way that Frederick carefully knocks the snow off his boots at the threshold as he pulls his hat off his head, trying his best not to track anything in to her rug and floors. It’s such a simple little thing, but it’s care for her home - and, in a way, care for her. More than she ever expected again from Frederick Wentworth.

“Anne…” he begins, reaching out a hand for her, but she quickly takes a step back. Touch will be too much, too permanent a memory if this is the end.

“I think we ought to keep a bit of distance,” she explains at his odd look.

If anything, that only serves to confuse him further, his brow crinkling up in that endearing way she remembers. “We already spent days together. I think social distancing is kind of a lost cause, at least where we’re concerned.”

Anne shakes her head. “It’s not about the virus.”

She can see the moment it hits him, just exactly what she means by distance, as he physically flinches with the realization. She can also see the moment he decides to plow forwards anyways with whatever he came to say.

“I’ve been thinking, these last couple of days,” he tells her, “and I’ve had a lot of time to consider things. Everything you said and did, the other night and way back when. And I realized… I did a lot of talking about what I wanted, and what I felt. And in the middle of all that shouting, I never asked about what you wanted, or want, or how you felt. And you never told me, because that’s what you’re used to - people not caring enough to ask. That’s on me, and I’m sorry. But —” he swallows heavily, as if he’s forcing down the nerves he evidently feels — “but I’m asking now. I want to know what our break-up meant to you. Because the more I think about it, the harder it is for me to believe you did all this because you didn’t care.”

Anne fights the urge to turn away from Frederick; he deserves that much, after everything. Meeting his eyes is too much to ask, however, and she fixes her gaze instead just over his right shoulder, crossing her arms over her body protectively. “I loved you,” she tells him quietly. “I knew what I had to do, but I loved you. I hated every word that came out of my mouth.” Anne smiles sadly. “You weren’t the only one who wanted. You were the first person - the only person to look at me and see something wonderful and worthwhile, and it killed me to throw that away. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”

“And now?”

Anne turns pleading eyes upon him, sure that every emotion is now splashed across her face and too distraught to care. How dare he do this? How dare he make her speak this into existence if he’s only about to crush it all? “Don’t make me say it,” she begs.

“Please, Anne.” His voice is nearly as desperate - and that’s, ultimately, what breaks her, leaving the words to spill forth almost without her permission.

“And now… that doesn’t go away, you know. A love as big as that. You got to go be this success story, doubtless had all kinds of… distractions over the years, but when you have a quiet little life like mine, you don’t forget. It doesn’t go away. There’s a large part of my heart that is still yours - probably always will be - and I have to find a way to deal with that.”

“You still love me?”

Anne nods, whispering her response. “I do.”

She suddenly feels his hand trail down her arm, causing Anne to jerk abruptly to meet his eyes again. “Well that’s lucky,” he smiles down at her, achingly gentle, “because I haven’t forgotten either.”

Even as Anne’s heart lurches with hope, she shakes her head. “Don’t tease, Frederick. Don’t be that cruel.”

“I’m not,” he assures her, twining their fingers together. “Because you’re right, I’ve tried to distract myself, but… you have no idea just how unforgettable you are, Anne. How could anyone ever compare? And I tried so hard for so long to move on, to hate you, but I never could. You were a little spark in my heart that I could never quite stamp out. And now…” Frederick pauses as if to gather his breath, squeezing her hand as he does so. “And now, I hope I won’t have to.”

“You’d want that? You’d want to…” Even with new-found hope singing through her veins, Anne still hesitates to finish the sentence. This all feels like a wonderful dream; she’d hate to wake up and discover that’s all it was.

“To try again?” he finishes. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that. The real question is… do you?”

And she does, she wants that so terribly much, so badly that it aches, even as she hesitates. How could he want that, after everything she’s done? When their separation was her fault in the first place?

“I don’t deserve you,” Anne murmurs into the miniscule space between them, caving to the urge to brush his hair back from his face. It makes him smile, just a little bit, just a twitch of his lips, but that more than anything else sends a flood of peace rushing through her soul.

“I think we deserve each other,” Frederick tells her in return, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I believe that, and somehow, I’m going to make you believe that too. We deserve this, Annie.”

And he kisses her, like he wants to, like he’s thought about it just as much as she has. His lips are soft against hers - just like she remembers, all those years ago - but there’s a surety to his hands now that wasn’t there before, in the way he pulls at her waist to bring her closer and his fingers thread through her hair with purpose. There’d been a handful of ill-advised attempts at dating in the past eight years, but nothing ever came close to this joyful swooping sensation in her stomach or the feelings of safety and love and home. That’s something only he can manage; something that only exists between the two of them.

Her hands find their way to his chest as the kiss deepens, becomes more passionate, heads adjusting their position to allow tongues to tentatively begin to prod and search. Anne had known the difference 8 years had made on Frederick’s body, had seen with her own two eyes the way he’d filled out with more muscle, but feeling it is something else altogether, even through his shirt where his coat gaps open. It’s a reminder that they’re not the same - they’re older and more mature and have experienced different things than they had at 17. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes, change can be good; it’s brought them here, together, at what otherwise feels like the end of the world.

Even as they break apart - to get a breath of air, to process what just happened - Frederick continues to stroke his thumb across the round of her cheek, like he can’t bear to stop touching her. It warms her heart in a whole new way, like it’s proof that he meant every word he told her - as if she needs any more after that kiss. It would be easy to let herself get swept away on that little touch, perhaps into another wonderful kiss, but Anne forces herself to meet his eyes.

“Stay.” It’s more than a question, but less than a demand - a plea, the dearest wish of her heart that she’s never admitted, now given voice.

“For as long as you want me, Annie.” His voice is tender and husky as he smiles down at her. “Because I really don’t want to ever leave you again.”

And that’s awfully lucky, as Anne doesn’t ever intend to let him go again.

#Persuasion #Persuasion ff #Jane Austen ff #Anne Elliot x Frederick Wentworth #Modern AU #my writing #skating in circles (with no way to stop)

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fairfowl · 4 years

Text

Dress For the Weather (ch 2/2)

It wasn’t really a surprise, he hadn't slept well since Ben had--How could you say a person had died when they had been technically dead for two decades?--Since Ben had disappeared? Gone into the light?

Left Klaus alone.

+-+-+-+

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours Klaus allowed himself to be led upstairs by Diego. They abandoned their snacks on the desk before Klaus sat on the bed, saying nothing as Diego wrapped the comforter around his shoulders like the mother hen that he was.

As his brother marched off to find the thermometer Klaus allowed himself to roll his eyes, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest as he realized that Ben was no longer around to comment on his brattiness.

He hunched into himself, scooting back to where the bed met the wall and curled up.

Earlier—when it had still been afternoon—Klaus had noticed something off. He’d been tired, even more so than usual, and achy. It wasn’t really a surprise, he hadn't slept well since Ben had-

How could you say a person had died when they had been technically dead for two decades?

Since Ben had disappeared? Gone into the light?

Left Klaus alone.

He knew it wasn’t fair to blame Ben for that. He’d had no obligation to stay, and in leaving he’d saved them all.

The comforter fell from his shoulders and Klaus made no effort to pick it back up. Sweat beaded at his temples and although the blanket had lent a feeling of security it had also added an oppressive heat that he could do without. Klaus curled up tighter, and stayed like that until he heard the return of Diego’s footsteps against the hardwood.

His head hurt.

With a slow exhale he leaned back until the back of his head hit the bedroom wall with an audible klunk. Outside the door Diego’s footsteps paused for a moment before the door opened and Klaus heard his brother enter the room.

“You okay?” He asked, awkward concern lacing his voice. Klaus was suddenly reminded of all of the times that Diego had seen him in withdrawal, and the times that he’d let him into his apartment high as a kite to feed him and make sure that he had somewhere warm to sleep.

“You know how you said I look terrible Di?” As he spoke Klaus uncurled, wincing at the dull ache that seemed to have seeped into the very marrow of his bones.

“Yeah?” Diego didn’t really sound as though he was paying attention to Klaus’s words as he moved towards his brother and pulled the blanket up to cover his bony shoulders again.

“I feel terrible. Like, Diego, my skeleton hurts.”

It’s a dramatic statement, theatrical, but not inaccurate, and if Klaus’s voice had a little bit of whine to it he was grateful to Diego for choosing not to mention it.

Yet.

He probably wouldn’t be able to push his luck too far before Diego got frustrated and kicked him out.

Because of this looming possibility Klaus didn’t resist the comforter’s hot heavy weight across his back, and he opened his mouth obediently to take the offered glass thermometer without complaint.

“Keep that there and don’t move for a while.” Diego instructed.

Klaus merely nodded in response, dropping his eyes to the floor and resting them of the knife-marked hardwood and settled in to wait.

After a few moments of watching Klaus carefully Diego shrugged, pulling a cell phone from his pocket and fumbling a little before setting a timer. The phone was unfamiliar and Diego’s hands seemed too big for it. There was no case and the metal and glass glittered under the low light, marked by Diego’s fingerprints.

Klaus figured that he must have bought it sometime after their return. Most of them had stuck to the house, too shell shocked to do more than wander hollow-eyed around the academy, but none of them were locked in.

He and Allison had left that day for groceries, and Klaus assumed that Diego and Vanya had gone to their respective apartments at some point. Vanya’s room now held a duffle bag full of slacks and loose button-up shirts. Diego had a new cell phone.

Klaus couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take for Diego to get rid of it again.

As his brother lost himself to thought Diego produced an embroidery hoop from under the pillow and dropped into the desk chair a few feet away from the bed. Klaus watched as he crossed a leg and immediately set to work, untangling the thread that had become knotted to itself at some point in the project’s time hidden underneath the pillow.

The back of Klaus’s neck tickled as a bead of sweat ran down the heated skin. He twitched but didn’t move, didn’t open his mouth, didn’t push his luck. Diego had never been a cruel person—callous perhaps, no one in their family had ever had the chance to develop an appropriate view of the value of human life—but Klaus had exhausted his patience before, and tonight Klaus’s own bedroom was so very empty.

In the days since their return, nearly a week now, his room had remained so very empty.

Klaus had slept in fits and starts, on couches and armchairs throughout the academy, once curled up in his own wardrobe. He had left the door open, still too spooked by small spaces to tolerate the illusion of being locked in.

The most rest he’d gotten in a stretch had been when he had Vanya had settled into the sitting room and watched cartoons the night before. She’d sat with him for an entire afternoon and evening, only urging him up to his room well past midnight.

Klaus was grateful to her for the time she’d given him. Goodness knew that he hadn’t been the best company.

Three minutes passed over what felt like an eternity.

Diego cross-stitched, wordlessly pushing a thick needle through cotton cloth on his embroidery hoop. Klaus couldn’t tell what he was making, but the thread was a deep autumnal orange. It made him think of falling leaves and a particularly ugly sweatshirt he’d once owned.

Three minutes passed and Diego’s phone vibrated to remind them both of the reason for Klaus’s forced silence.

He grimaced as he drew the thermometer from Klaus’s mouth, reading the device before giving it a quick shake and laying it aside. Klaus closed his eyes, and listened to the clink of glass on the wood of Diego’s bedside table. It was the sort of sound that Vanya might have liked.

When they’d been children, Vanya had had a habit of listening to things and declaring whether or not she had liked the sound.

Klaus barely remembered their childhood.

A combination of trauma, substance abuse, and repeated head injury had all but erased everything but the starkest memories. There were a few things that stuck out in his mind, usually sounds and smells. Some emotions.

He remembered Reginald towering over him, gesturing violently with his cane as he yelled.

He remembered Vanya’s high pitched voice piping up after Luther had dropped a dumbbell on the hardwood floor, mentioning that she’d absolutely hated that noise. He remembered the smell of Ben’s books, and how he and Five had curled up together in the library to read together. He remembered trying and failing to hide behind Diego during training sessions, and Diego letting him.

“101.5” Diego interrupted, dragging his brother back into the present. “Not great bro.”

Klaus didn’t look up, instead keeping his eyes closed as he leaned back and klunked back against the wall.

“I’ve been worse.” He’d been much worse.

The final withdrawal, in his benefactor’s gorgeous private guest cottage, had been the worst. His heartbeat had skyrocketed and he’d locked himself in the bathroom as his familiar ghosts twisted and morphed in chemical induced delirium. Between the tachycardia and the sheer electrolyte imbalance he’d experienced Ben had told him that he was lucky his heart hadn’t given out.

Klaus wasn’t entirely sure that it hadn’t.

For all that he whined to Diego a run of the mill fever wasn’t really enough to shake him. If Ben had been with him they would have holed up in Klaus’s room and rode it out, only venturing out for water and the restroom.

But Ben wasn’t with him anymore.

Maybe Diego would let him stay. Klaus didn’t think he’d ever be ready to go back into his room and face the emptiness.

He wondered if he should go out and find someone to sleep with, either a partner or a one night stand to keep him company for however long they’d have him. He’d done so before, in order to keep a roof over his head, especially during the winter. Unfortunately partners usually found him grating and Klaus bored easily. He usually hadn’t stayed anywhere for more than a week or so.

Not until he met Dave. In all their time pressed in against each other in the thick humid jungle they hadn’t gotten tired of one another.

Klaus felt himself slide further down the wall, but made no move to push himself into a more comfortable position. He was too tired—and too inclined to be dramatic—to do anything but flop around pathetically.

Somewhere above him he heard Diego groan in exasperation.

That was all the warning that Klaus received before Diego grabbed him by the armpits and physically hoisted him into a more typical supine position. The movement hurt his shoulders but his neck felt better, if it hadn't been for the shock Klaus might have called it a fair trade off. As it was he whined indignantly and pushed his face into the pillow.

“You’re so mean Diego.”

But he slept, and Diego stayed.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

It was light out when Klaus drifted back to consciousness, wrapped in Diego’s comforter and feeling like total garbage.

Everything ached, and he was cold . Colder than he should reasonably be, even after wandering around in the rain in early april.

He was withdrawal cold.

Midnight in January cold.

Skipping meals and failing to sleep for a week at a time after stopping the apocalypse cold.

And as if his body was adding insult to injury his throat hurt. The first thing that he did after sitting up in the bed was launch into a coughing fit that rocked his frame as he braced himself against the wall.

He wanted a hit.

A drink.

Something.

He’d already fallen head first off the wagon, flung into the metaphorical gutter by Dave’s fist. Throughout the entire apocalyptic disaster in the sixties he’d clung to a heavy flask, and even after getting through and getting back he’d poured himself back into a bottle.

The decision to just stop cold turkey had come when he’d been alone in his room the night after.

It had just been so empty. The ghosts had still been muted by the alcohol in his system and Ben was just gone.

As though he’d been dead since they were teenagers.

There wasn’t even a keepsake to hold onto to memorialize all those years they’d spent together. Klaus couldn’t clutch to his brother’s stupid black hoodie and cry it out, he had no dog tags from Ben.

Klaus wished that he did.

The only thing he had left from Ben was his memory, his brother’s voice constantly echoing in the back of his head; snarking, gossiping, urging him to stay clean.

Urging Klaus to be better.

And alone in his room—surrounded by hidden pills and razor blades and miniature bottles pushed into vents and stuffed animals, and the crevice beneath the boards of his wardrobe—Klaus had decided that he was going to be better.

For Ben.

But he didn’t feel better. Sleep had evaded him, food was incidental, he wandered the academy like a ghoul interacting with his siblings when they happened upon him. And now he was curled up on Diego’s bed as his body broke from being pushed too far. He wanted to be numb again.

He was coughing when Diego stomped into the room and immediately moved to steady Klaus, sitting beside him on the twin bed and wrapping an arm around his narrow shoulders. Klaus leaned into the touch, and slowed his breathing trying desperately not to irritate his throat.

Every cough made the burning sensation worse.

Klaus sat there, tensed against Diego’s chest until he felt something cold tap against his face. A bottle of water.

“Drink this.” Diego urged, handing him the bottle. It was freezing, and Klaus shivered, his fingers knocking beads of condensation loose to drip and sink into the duvet cover.

He drank anyway. The cool water felt good on his burning throat even as he shivered.

While he swallowed Klaus felt Diego cover him with the blanket yet again. Bless his brother’s stubborn heart.

“Thanks.” He said as he drew the comforter closer.

Diego nodded, looking awkward.

“What time is it?” Klaus asked, taking another draw from the bottle. Other than the daylight that streamed in through Diego’s open curtains Klaus had lost all sense of time. Exhaustion still pushed heavily upon him but it offered no real clue as to how long he had spelt.

“Around noon.” Diego replied. His expression concerned but otherwise impassive.

Klaus hummed into the bottle, pleased. It had been a long time since he’d slept for so long. If he’d dreamed he didn’t remember the nightmares, only the constant comfort of his brother’s presence.

A finished cross stitch lay flat on the bedside table. The deep orange thread had been pulled and poked until it formed an image of boxing gloves laying against the white cotton. Below the image Diego had stitched the words protect your own in blocky angular font.

It was fitting.

Diego had always been the first one to step up and defend his siblings.

“Thank you.” Klaus said. He was grateful to Diego, not only for taking care of him through the night, but for the years and years of dragging Klaus off of the streets into whatever safety Diego could provide. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever properly thanked his brother for that/

He doubted that a quick thanks while high off of his ass would count.

Diego looked at him expectantly and Klaus realized with a sinking feeling in his chest that he’d probably overstayed his welcome. Not even Diego could take care of him forever. He’d gotten through the night and that would have to be enough.

“Right.” Klaus said, capping the water bottle and standing shakily, holding to Diego’s shoulder as his brother rose with him. “Thanks”

Again.

“I’m gonna get out of your hair now, give you your room back etcetera.” Flippant mask firmly in place Klaus wobbled towards the door, feeling dizzy enough to have been drunk, and awful enough to be hungover. Diego looked like he wanted to argue but even unsteady as he was, Klaus was quick; he was out the door before his brother was able to stumble over his first syllable.

Internally Klaus winced, he hadn’t meant to upset Diego.

He barely made it back to his own bed before collapsing into the cold sheets. A few ghosts murmured in the shadows of the wardrobe, one stared at him from the window, pressing a hand to the glass as if she couldn’t pass right through it if she were so inclined.

With a groan Klaus rolled over and ignored them, content to accept their presence as long as they kept the noise to a minimum.

He shivered against the chilly bed linens and pulled the blanket up over his head, curling into the smallest ball he could manage. It was unlikely that he’d manage to go back to sleep, but Klaus wasn’t sure what else he could do. The long drafty halls of the academy carried his siblings voices from the common areas and he was sure that they all had better things to do than keep him company, he’d be no fun anyway.

As he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the chill and ache of his fever Klaus wondered what Ben would be saying to him now.

He’d probably call him self-destructive.

God he missed him.

A sudden sob shook his chest and Klaus was so stunned that it took a moment for him to realize that he was crying. He hadn’t cried since those first few hours after Ben had gone.

He’d sobbed through the car ride away from the CIA building as Vanya had explained what had happened from the passenger seat, and curled up in the dark of Elliot’s bedroom to bawl himself into exhaustion.

And then he’d stopped.

The world had been ending, the entirety of the Commission had shown up to exterminate his family, and Klaus hadn’t had time to lay around and cry.

But now Klaus was crying again.

He recalled his wish for a keepsake, for something to hold on to. Across the hallway from the bedroom where he currently laid was a room full of Ben’s possessions. A museum full of artifacts that had been left to gather dust for seventeen years.

He thought of sitting up, of standing and walking across the hall to Ben’s room, to find something, but his strength was gone.

Instead Klaus buried himself deeper into the blankets and allowed himself to weep.

#klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #ben hargreeves #The Umbrella Academy #tua #tua fanfic #ouchie #klaus abuse #klaus whump #my fic #original #i contributed

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Frozen Heart-5 (Bucky x Reader)

Frozen Heart Masterlist

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, DEADPOOL & X-MEN

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -

When Nick Fury finally catches the Ex-Shield Agent knowns Black Ice, The Thief with a Frozen Heart he puts her where she belongs. With The Avengers.

You’re not happy about that decision but you’re the only one who’s kicking up a fuss.

Natasha and Clint are happy to have you back in their lives, Sam Wilson is a big fan, Tony Stark just wants you to keep your hands off his stuff and Steve finds out that not only do you have a connection but you were there for him when nobody else was.

Bucky Barnes is one of the few people who doesn’t have a connection with you but he’d really really like one.

** Everything in Italics is being signed, not said out loud.**

Current Word Count - 21,589k Ao3 Link

Chapter Five - A Memorable Frost

“Again!” You insisted, shaking your body loose and taking a deep breath.

“NO!” Clint yelled from behind the tree.

“Please? Just one more.” You pleaded.

“You said that on the last arrow. And the one before that. And the one before that.” Clint shouted.

“I’m getting better though.” You whined.

“You’re fucking not. You’re getting worse.” He grumbled, poking his head out from behind the tree to glare pointedly at the chunks of ice and freeze burned grass.

“I froze the last arrow!” You said indignantly, putting your hands on your hips.

“And half the lawn and two trees. The one before that got a cool breeze.” He grumbled, nocking another arrow anyway.

You planted your feet firmly on the ground and raised your hands, readying yourself.

“PULL!” You called.

Clint let the arrow fly and you summoned the icy power that was a part of you, blasting it at the arrow sailing towards you. Nothing happened.

“Ahhh!” You yelped, throwing yourself to the side to avoid it.

“Useless!”

“I hate you!” You signed at your brother from your ungraceful heap on the ground.

He scoffed and put his bow down, regarding you thoughtfully.

“Maybe it’s time you called for some help from the experts.” He suggested tentatively.

“Are you joking? You know they still haven’t forgiven me!” You said in disbelief.

“That’s not true, The Professor isn’t one to hold grudges.” Clint argued.

“Because I’m going to go near the mind reading professor while I know what I know.” You scoffed.

“Well there’s always…” He started to suggest.

“No! He still hates me anyway.” You said grumpily.

“It’s been years, I’m sure he’s over it.” He tried to contend.

“Not happening.” You asserted.

“Suit yourself but I’m done. Me and my arrows have suffered enough.” He huffed, stomping away.

You groaned and threw yourself back onto the grass, looking up at the sky.

“Hi.” Bucky said softly, walking over slowly with an air that was part curiosity, part concern.

You tilted your head to look up at him, watching as he cautiously made his way over to you, avoiding the larger ice chunks. There was a look of wonder and awe in his eyes, especially for the ice boulder than was twice the size of him. He was dressed for working out and you guessed he’d been running when he saw you and probably come over to make sure you hadn’t accidentally knocked yourself out with an Ice missile.

“Hey.” You said, waving to him.

His shadow blocked the sunlight as he stood over you, looking torn.

“Do you need help getting up?” He offered.

“Or, you could sit down.” You countered.

There was a light thump as he took you up on the offer and settled onto the grass next to you.

“You know… I have ice powers, and I was in the army.” You told him.

“Yeah, I heard.” He smirked.

“So…” You said.

“So?” he asked, clearly lost as to where you were going with this.

“One could argue that I am The Winter Soldier.” You explained, grinning.

He let out a huff of laughter.

“I’ll tell Hydra they infringed on your copyright.” He chuckled and you immediately sobered.

He hadn’t picked the damn name, you knew that. What had possessed you to say something so insensitive you had no idea. Actually, you did know. It was your brain and it was an asshole.

“I’m sorry. It’s bad enough I’m flaunting my freezy stuff around and then I go and say something like that. I don’t know why you even talk to me.” You groaned.

“You’re pretty nice. At least when you aren’t talking anyway.” He said and you squawked indignantly.

“No, the Ice doesn’t bother me that much though. My memories are intact, so I just try and think of good snow related memories.” He admitted.

“You do?” You asked gently, leaving it open for him to divulge or change the subject.

“Yeah. When I was a kid, I loved the snow, meant less school and more playing. As soon as the first flakes fell every year, I’d bundle Stevie up in every coat we owned, his, mine, his mother’s… I’d drag him outside to watch it fall. I loved the way it would settle on the ground you know. It was like watching the world become a blank canvass, the pavements and grass just slowly turning white until they were untouched. It was beautiful.” He said wistfully.

You got lost in his voice, the bittersweet pain behind the memory.

“Sounds amazing.” You whispered.

“It was. Kind of like now….” He said, grinning at you like he knew something you didn’t and pushing you to a sitting position.

Spreading outwards from you there was a radius of pure white snow blanketing the ground. Exactly as you’d been picturing in your mind.

“I did it!” You breathed out in shock.

“Yeah doll, you did.” He said gently, proudly.

“I did it!” You exclaimed.

And before you could think about it you launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck and landing on his lap. His arms automatically caught you and he hesitated for barely a moment before wrapping them around your torso. You stilled as you realized what you’d just done and pulled back abruptly, blushing like mad.

You’d just launched yourself at him… You’d be lucky if he didn’t file a sexual harassment claim.

“I’m so sorry! I just got caught up in the excitement, I didn’t mean to offend you.” You said in a rush.

He looked stricken and guilt twisted at your gut. Then his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you back in.

“You did good Ice; you deserve a hug.” He quipped, enclosing you in the warm embrace.

Your mind sat back and refused to interfere as your head rested itself on his shoulder and you wrapped your arms around him.

“I… Thank you Bucky. Thank you.” You sighed happily, nuzzling into him.

He was sure you were going to notice the erratic hammering of his heart in his chest and regretfully pulled away before he lost any more sense.

“Well, you should probably get inside now that’s the weathers taken a turn.” He suggested nervously.

“I have to tell Clint!” You said excitedly jumping to your feet and running off.

You got a few meters before you turned, jogging backwards so you could smile at him.

“Seriously, thank you.” You said again.

“Anytime doll.”

You raced back inside to gloat to your brother but along the way you were brought to a screeching halt by a text message.

A very intriguing text message.

~~~~~Two Hours Later~~~~~

You stepped out of your room, satisfied with your appearance and headed for the elevator when your phone buzzed again.

Big (Brother) Bird: Where are you going?

You read the text from Clint and scoffed, shoving the phone back in your pocket when it buzzed again.

Big (Brother) Bird: Don’t ignore me you ‘lil shit.

You looked around and backed up a few steps, looking at the ceiling.

“I know you’re up there!” You called loudly.

There was a banging noise and you jumped out of the way, barely avoiding being smacked in the head with the vent covering as Clint lithely dropped onto the floor in front of you.

“Where are you going?” He asked again.

“Out.” You informed him helpfully.

“Where?” He pressed.

“Church, can’t you tell from my outfit?” You sassed, gesturing at the little black dress.

“Is that why you’re dressed like a sinner?” He said, giving the dress a dirty look.

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” You decided.

“You shouldn’t. Have you got a date?” He demanded.

“Ask me again after I get to the bar.” You said.

“Let me guess, you’re going to the bar without your wallet?” He guessed.

“See, I knew all those people who called you stupid were wrong.” You told him, smiling sweetly.

“At least I’m not a slut.” He said childishly.

“Slut shaming is so last decade.” You told him.

“Your face is so last decade.” He retorted.

“I’m leaving now, before you embarrass yourself any further.” You scoffed.

” Wait, just let me fix that stray hair.” He said and reached out, mussing your hair as much as he could before you rabbit punched him in the ribs and leaned away, spluttering.

He cackled loudly and jumped back into the vents before you could stop him.

“Jackass.” You muttered under your breath, stomping away and fixing your hair up as much as you could.

You were still muttering obscenities when the elevator doors swooshed open and in your eagerness to escape you walked into something very hard.

“Oooft.” You gasped, nearly landing on your ass due to the violent rebound.

“Shit, doll, are you ok?”

You looked up at the very concerned face of Bucky Barnes who had his arms outstretched like he was getting ready to catch you.

“Is your entire chest made of metal as well?” You asked him, gesturing at his pecs.

“No? Just the arm.” He said, going pink.

“Bucky, you’re fucking solid!” You exclaimed.

“I’m so sorry.” He said, like it was a problem.

“Was not a complaint.” You assured.

“What?” He asked and you realized what you’d just said.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassed panic.

“You just said…” He trailed off, frowning.

“I have a concussion or something. Ignore me.” You blurted.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He checked.

“Really, I’m fine. I swear.” You said.

It was at this point Bucky seemed to notice what you were wearing, his eyes actually moving down your body so slowly that you started to blush.

“You look nice.” He said.

You were probably reading into things; it was more than likely nothing but… he sounded almost sad about the fact that you didn’t look like a mess.

“Uh, thanks. I have stuff, a bar, meeting friends. That kinda thing.” You stammered.

“Right. Well, have fun.” He said, stepping away to let you in the elevator.

“Yes sir.” You said, immediately wanting to bash yourself on the head for it.

You stepped into the elevator and just before the doors closed his hand snaked out to stop them.

“Ice? You, well you look really pretty.” He said softly.

“Thanks, you too.” You whispered.

Would it be possible to bang your head on the elevator wall hard enough to knock yourself out? Nah, he’d probably try and stop you. Mercifully he didn’t point out your awkward faux pas and let the door close on you.

When you were gone, he ran his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily. You didn’t have any friends; you were legally dead. And the dress… He knew the vision of you in that dress was going to haunt him for a long time, because he knew what you were wearing it for, he wasn’t stupid. He shouldn’t be jealous, shouldn’t feel so ill at the thought of what you were doing. You weren’t his to covet and he had decided to be your friend. But still, there was the awful voice in his head egging on his forbidden desires. Imagining you wearing something like that for him, him being the one to get you out of the dress.

The thrilling mental image had two effects on his body, making him feel nauseous at the idea of sleeping with you because he wanted so much more than just your body but at the same time, the primal urge he had to rip the dress of and bury his cock deep inside you was making him uncomfortably hard.

“Friends. Just friends.” He whispered to himself, shaking off the traitorous desire.

Or trying to shake it off and failing miserably.

You slipped a twenty from under your dress and paid the cab driver before you got out of the car, looking up at the large building you’d been dropped off at. Throwing your shoulders back and raising your chin, you walked into the lobby with confidence. It was slightly false confidence, but only slight. You weren’t that nervous about why you were here and what you were here for, it was remarkably simple actually. The elevator took you up and as soon as you stepped off, there he was.

“I’ve gotta admit, even when you accepted my invitation, I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“You get stood up a lot hot stuff, got a complex about it?” You smirked.

“Nobody stands me up, but not every woman is as mysterious and cold hearted as you.”

“I’m not that mysterious. If you really want to know, you could ask. I don’t see a lot of talking in our future though.” You said coyly.

“After I went to all that effort of ordering Chinese and turns out, you just want me for my body.” He pouted.

“If I’ve offended you, maybe I should just leave.” You tutted, turning back towards the elevator.

His arm circled your waist, pulling you back.

“Not until I’ve gotten what you came for.” He whispered, his lips ghosting across your shoulder.

It was obvious really; Johnny Storm was a notorious playboy and you were emotionally unavailable. That didn’t mean that you were a nun, you still had physical needs, and who could satisfy them better than the man of fire? You spun around in his hold and he didn’t hesitate to capture you in a scorching kiss. It was everything you had hoped for, hot and passionate and completely unemotional.

You pushed your body into his, gasping in surprise when an image of beautiful grey blue eyes flitted through your mind.

Your fingers grazed the back of his neck, brushing his hair and you frowned when your fingers itched to tug at longer, brunette locks.

His hands ran across your body and you shivered, wondering what it would feel like to have metal caress you with skin.

“Godfuckingdamnit.” You swore.

You hadn’t had to work this hard to get a man out of your mind since… since Daniel.

“Everything ok?” Johnny frowned.

“No. I can’t do this.” You sighed, butting your head against his shoulder.

“Whoever he is, he’s an idiot.” Johnny scoffed.

“Pardon?”

“Whoever you’re thinking about? You’re here with me, thinking about him instead of being with him. So, he’s an idiot for not grabbing hold of this opportunity.” He explained.

“He’s not the idiot. He’s, well he’s not what I want. My brain just hasn’t got the memo.” You sighed.

“Look, you’re clearly dealing with some issues. I don’t mind you working them out on me.” He said, raising his eyebrow to make it clear exactly what he meant.

You were not going to sit around and pine for somebody. Anybody.

“Good.” You said, pushing him backwards and sending him sprawling onto a chair.

He smirked as you hiked your dress over your thighs so you could straddle his waist and pulled him into another scorching kiss.

A/N - I painstakingly recreated all the notes I lost when my laptop broke so I could restart this baby... So Ice is back!I'm undecided as to whether I will actually write the Johnny Storm smut, I guess it's up to you. Other than that, what did you think of this chapter?

@shirukitsune @thelostallycat@jsmith509@buckitybarnes@aw-shit-nuggets @pleasefollowmeuwu @nerdy-bookworm-1998@boxofteenageideas@jaynnanadrews@psychoredpanda@marbleowl @l0kisbitch@brownlee-22@fluffeh-kitty @mywinterwolf@poppunkassbitch@angieptt @muggleborngirl@markusstraya @tarastudiesalot@pinkisokay @buckitybarnes@firefly-in-darkness@chipilerendi @psychoredpanda@littledeadrottinghood@boxofteenageideas@pleasefollowmeuwu @aw-shit-nuggets @brownlee-22@deathofmissjackson @yourwonderbelle @firefly-in-darkness@hiddles-rose @myfandomlife-blog @thosesexytexasboys@liveonce-sodoitright @spnrvt @dilaila95 @dahkness@sexyvixen7

#hattersmarvelverse #bucky x reader

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banesapothecary · 5 years

Text

Stick With Me

read on ao3

Alec dreaded move-in day. He’d had his apartment—and his entire floor—to himself for the last month or so during training, but now the first day of classes was only a few short days away. He wouldn’t have any roommates this year, which was perfectly fine by him, he’d decided. He’d shared a room with Jace for several years after their parents adopted him, and he relished having his own space once again. He loved his brother, he did, but Jace could be a handful.

Izzy and Jace both attended the same university as him, and it was great being so close to them, but Alec couldn’t help but feel relieved that his siblings were assigned housing in a different residence hall. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t constantly be in his hair, though. The solitude of his apartment was about to be utterly destroyed. Alec wouldn’t have it any other way, but still he groaned as he sank back deeper into his couch.

His eyes scanned over the email he’d just finished writing to all of his new residents introducing himself and wishing them a wonderful new semester at Alicante State University. He felt aggressively cheesy as he attached the move-in checklist. Izzy would laugh if she read it. Who are you and what have you done with my brooding older brother? he could hear her scoffing.

It was true. Alec Lightwood wasn’t exactly known for being the positive, happy go lucky type. He’d spent too much of his life trying to fit himself into the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect anything for that. He couldn’t exactly greet his new residents with “Welcome back to constant stress and awkward social encounters looming around every corner. Have a great semester of hoping you pass a course that you’ve worked your ass off for. As your RA, I’m sure we’ll get along great as long as you know how to hide your alcohol.” He’d be fired in an instant, and Alec really couldn’t afford that. His mom had three kids in college, and another just starting high school. The free housing he got as an RA went a long way in their house right now, especially since his father had left, and there was no way he would risk making things harder for his mom.

His phone buzzed with a calendar reminder. His hall director, Luke, had requested all of the RAs for one last meeting to go over check in procedures. Alec skimmed the email one last time and hit send before heading out the door.

***

“Alright, you’re officially checked in. Have a great first week of classes,” Alec said with a fake smile plastered to his face.

“Thanks,” his resident--Simon--replied and shut his apartment door, leaving Alec alone in the hall. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was done, finally. Every single one of his forty residents were checked in and he was free.

The day had gone by in a busy haze populated by the new faces of his residents and their parents. Parents were the worst, he decided. One parent spent a solid hour hounding him with questions about the hall and it’s policies as if their child hadn’t lived on campus the past three years and also as if there weren’t at least ten other students waiting to check in.

It’d been a long day, to say the least. He barely even processed his new residents’ faces. He only knew names because of the roster Luke had given him and the hours he’d spent making name tags for the doors.

He headed back to his own apartment, ready to collapse back into bed and nap until the end of time. The universe had other plans, it seemed.

Alec turned the corner just in time to see who he assumed was a resident hidden behind the largest stack of boxes Alec imagined possible to carry before they collided. The boxes went flying, bouncing off the wall and hitting the floor with a crash that made Alec wince more than his own fall to the floor. His resident faired better, stumbling backwards but managed to remain on his feet.

He recognized the man from earlier--was his name Magnus? he wondered briefly. Yes, that was it. Magnus. The extravagant man with gold-lidded eyes and the extravagant name. Everyone blurred together, but he imagined Magnus never had much of an issue standing out.

Magnus’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” he asked, reaching down a hand to help Alec stand.

Alec accepted the hand and allowed Magnus to pull him to his feet. “I’m okay, mostly. Just a little embarrassed.” He scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry about your stuff,” he said, eyes skimming over the boxes and looking for visible signs of damage of whatever was inside.

Magnus waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Those were just the last few things in my car, mostly junk. Plus, stuff can be replaced.” He winked and Alec felt a burning in the tips of his ears.

“Well, at least let me help you,” Alec said after a moment of awkward silence. “It’s the least I can do,” he added, picking up one of the boxes.

“No, no. Really it’s alright. I’m sure you’ve been on your feet all day, and my apartment is just around the corner.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Room 431, right?” Magnus nodded and that was all he needed to know. Without another word he picked up a second box and turned, heading back the way he’d come and stopping in front of Magnus. “I just finished checking in your roommate a minute ago, actually,” he said when Magnus caught up with the rest of the boxes.

Magnus hummed and slid his keycard into the door, unlocking it. “Yeah, Simon is a friend of a friend. He’s a big nerd and he rambles a lot, but he’s a good friend.” The door swung open and music hit them full blast. Alec didn’t know how they hadn’t heard it from the hall. Magnus grimaced. “Sorry, did I forget to mention he’s a musician?”

Alec laughed and set the boxes down on the counter. “Well, if he gets too loud to bear, just let me know, and I’ll talk to him.” He grinned. “I’ll even make it sound like someone else complained so he doesn’t know it was you.”

“My hero,” Magnus chuckled. “Thank you for the help, and I’m sorry again for any bruises.”

“You’re welcome,” Alec said as he moved to leave. “Have a nice first week back,” he added as he slipped out the door. If he’d blushed slightly at “my hero,” he’d never admit it out loud.

***

“I don’t have a hamster. Who told you I have a hamster?”

Alec stared, unimpressed. He stood in one of his residents’ apartments and he wanted to be doing literally anything else besides listening to him blatantly—and very, very badly—lie. He knew for a fact that Raj did, indeed, have a hamster in his apartment. Raj’s roommate Underhill, a friend of Alec’s from a class two semesters ago, had complained about it himself. And it certainly didn’t help Raj’s case that an empty hamster cage sat on the coffee table behind where he was standing, as if his body could block it from sight. Alec could only hope the hamster was contained somewhere safe, and not freely wandering the apartment.

He said nothing, enjoying watching Raj squirm and pull at the edges of his t-shirt. A few more moments of silence stretched, the tension pleasantly building—at least, pleasantly for Alec. To say he wasn’t a fan of Raj was an understatement. He’d already caught Raj with alcohol in his room three times, and it was only the second month of the semester. Not to mention the several noise complaints. Even Simon the pseudo-rockstar hadn’t gotten any noise complaints yet, and Alec remembered seeing him with an electric guitar and several amps on move-in day.

“Are you sure,” Alec said slowly, “that you don’t have a hamster?”

Raj blinked. “No, I don’t have a hamster. I told you already, dude.”

“Then you won’t mind if I search the apartment?” Alec barely stopped himself from grinning as Raj’s face grew red.

“What?” he sputtered. “You can’t do that!”

“Sure I can,” Alec told him. “I have reason to suspect there’s a hamster in this room, and I know you’re lying to me because there’s a hamster cage literally right behind you.” Alec paused to wonder if Raj’s head might explode like an overripe tomato squeezed too tightly. “So unless you want to just admit you have a hamster and find it a new home, I’m going to have to do it for you. And considering your most recent violations, I’m assuming I might find something else in my search, too.”

Raj’s eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I’ll get rid of it,” he muttered finally.

“Great,” Alec said cheerfully. “That makes my job easier. I still have to report this, though. Just make sure it’s gone by the end of the week.” He patted Raj’s arm—more of a slap—and turned to leave the apartment and head back to his own.

His phone buzzed as soon as he was in the hallway. It was a reminder from Luke to hang the new fliers he and the other RAs had been given at the last staff meeting. He groaned internally, but replied On my way to do it now. Just finished talking to a resident, you’ll love that report. Normally Alec hated the paperwork associated with his job, but he had a feeling that describing Raj’s insistence a hamster wasn’t present in the room despite clear evidence to the contrary would be a pure delight.

Alec slipped into his apartment and grabbed the stack of fliers and roll of duct tape off the table. He managed to hang them all up within an hour, he noted gladly as he sank into the couch later with his laptop to begin filing the report on Raj and his hamster.

***

Winter was striking hard and fast, though Alec really should have seen this coming. They were well into November, and finals were already right around the corner. Wind bit at him as he made his way across campus like the chihuahua that lived next door to his abuela’s house that used to try to bite at he and Izzy’s heels when they were much younger. Back then, they’d had a chain link fence and the sheer willpower of their mother and abuela to protect them. Now all Alec had was a coat much too thin for the winter covering them like a frozen sheet of ice.

His sigh of relief formed a cloud in front of him as he finally reached his building. The warmth hit him instantly and he almost moaned at how good it felt to finally defrost just a bit as he stepped inside and into the elevator. He’d just left his last class for the day, and even though it was only around 5 PM, nothing sounded better than a hot shower and curling up in his bed with a cup of tea.

As he unlocked his door, his eyes drifted to one of the fliers he’d hung the week before. Interested in being an RA? the flier read. Below it listed where to find information or who to contact about applying, but what caught his attention was the bright pink sticky note attached to the flier.

I would apply for the job, but I could never be as good of an RA as you, the note read. Alec felt his cheeks heating up as he reached up to detach the note from the flier. He looked around, as if whoever left it might still be around, but the hall was deserted aside from himself. He looked back at the note, lips upturning in a small smile.

Alec swiped into his room and dropped his backpack in a hurry next the door. He searched through his desk drawers until he found a stack of post it notes and a pen. He opened the door to his apartment and stuck the original sticky note on the outside of the door, and placed his own beneath it.

Whoever wrote this, he scrawled, you just made my day. He drew an arrow to the original note. He didn’t know why, but he hoped whoever left it would see.

***

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Alec grumbled, shooting his sister a glare as she laughed.

“Because I’m a good girlfriend, and you’re a good brother,” Izzy said happily.

Alec raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t Simon’s girlfriend, though,” he pointed out. Clary snickered beside him.

“She’d better not be,” she said, elbowing Alec lightly.

“He’s not exactly my type,” Izzy deadpanned, looping an arm around Clary’s waist as they slid into an open booth. The bar was packed and dim and smelled faintly of smoke, which Alec quickly decided to be his least favorite combination.

“So his band is called Rock Solid Panda?” Alec asked, eyeing the flier on table.

Clary nodded. “It could be worse, though.”

Alec snorted. “That’s up for debate.”

“It used to be Champagne Enema.”

Alec blanched. “Okay, yeah, Rock Solid Panda is a great name.”

“Are Maia and Magnus coming tonight?” Izzy asked, turning to Clary after they’d ordered a round of drinks.

Clary nodded as their waitress returned with two glasses of wine and a beer. “Maia wouldn’t miss Simon’s first show. She’s almost more excited than he is, and if that’s not true love I don’t know what is.” She paused to take a sip of her wine. “Magnus said he’d try to come but I know he has like three exams this week, so we’ll see.”

“Spoke too soon,” Izzy laughed. Alec turned and saw Magnus and who he assumed was Maia heading towards them.

“Hey guys!” Maia called out over the noise as they reached the table and slid into the booth

“Maia, this is my brother, Alec,” Izzy introduced. “Alec, this is Maia, Simon’s girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled.

“And you and Magnus already know each other, right?” Clary asked. Alec nodded and sent a quick smile Magnus’s direction.

Magnus’s hair was spiked today, with a hint of red in the tips that echoed the traces of red around his eyes. His shirt was simple and black, but it was fitted to his shoulders with a low cut V, and long-chained necklace hung down. Alec’s mouth went dry. He smiled at Alec, the low lights at the bar shining against what Alec only knew to be highlight after watching Izzy do her own makeup for years. “Hello, Alexander.”

He opened his mouth to reply—to say hello, to tell him absolutely no one called him Alexander, not even his parents—but the lights dimmed even further and Simon stepped onto the stage.

Alec couldn’t deny the show was good. Simon had talent, real talent. Maia and Clary cheered the loudest, their screams easily discernible over the din of the bar. Simon grinned at them and blew a kiss to Maia between songs. Alec couldn’t help but catch the adoring look on Izzy’s face as she watched her girlfriend cheer and laugh.

The show ended with an eruption of cheers all over the bar, none quite as loud as their own table. Simon came to join them, squeezing into the booth next to Maia and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“You were amazing, babe,” Maia gushed.

Simon beamed at her. “Not as amazing as you.” He glanced around the table and grinned at Clary. “Seriously, I think the entirety of New York could hear you guys screaming.”

“Then the entirety of New York knows how talented you are,” Clary said, earning hums of agreement from the rest of the group.

“I say we celebrate!” Izzy exclaimed. “That new club Pandemonium just opened.”

Clary, Simon, and Maia all nodded eagerly. Izzy turned to Alec with a raised eyebrow.

“I have a staff meeting early tomorrow morning,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry, Iz. You guys have fun, though.”

“I’ll walk back with you,” Magnus said. “I have far too many exams to study for at the moment.”

Izzy pouted. “Alright, but you both work too hard and I will force you to have fun one of these days.”

Alec laughed. “I don’t doubt it, Iz.”

Magnus looked affronted. “I have plenty of fun, I’ll have you know. The key, my dear, is moderation.”

***

The New York streets felt pleasantly calm after the crowded bar filled with loud conversations and music. The chilled air didn’t bite quite as badly as it did a few days ago, but Alec could still feel his nose burning a bright red and his fingers fighting to maintain their circulation.

“I can’t believe your sister and my best friend are dating and we haven’t gossiped about them yet,” Magnus said after a few moments of walking in silence.

Alec let out a surprised laugh. “I know. They’re aggressively cute, aren’t they?”

Magnus groaned. “The worst. Let me be single and lonely in peace.”

“Exactly,” Alec grinned. “Simon and Maia aren’t much better at being subtle, either, it seems.”

“No,” Magnus laughed. “But I am happy for them. Both couples, I mean.”

“Me too.”

Magnus stopped walking suddenly, Alec already a few steps ahead when he realized. He turned back to see Magnus staring up at the sky, and he craned his own neck to see what he was looking at.

Snow, he realized with a smile as several flakes began sprinkling all around them. He breathed a laugh.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Magnus said softly. He shivered as a few hit his face. “Cold as shit, too,” he added, eliciting another surprised laugh from Alec.

“Come on,” he said with a grin. “Let’s get inside before you freeze to death.”

Magnus grumbled but hurried after him as they walked the last few blocks to their building. The heating hit them like a portal to another world, one with modern conveniences and hot chocolate and lots and lots of blankets.

The elevator ride was quiet as they rode to the fourth floor. Magnus stared at his fingers, fiddling with the several silver rings he wore. Alec kept stealing glances at him, at the way a few snowflakes still clung to his hair and disappeared one by one until they’d all melted.

They stepped out of the elevator and Alec froze at the sight of his door. At the sight of a new post it note, stuck right beneath the original note and his own.

“Alexander?” Magnus asked softly.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Someone’s been leaving me notes,” he said, gesturing to the new one.

“Oh?” Magnus asked. “What are they about?”

Alec pulled the latest one off the door. I’m glad, it read. You brighten my day every time I see you. His heart thudded in his chest. Who was leaving them?

“Just...really nice things I probably don’t deserve,” he said.

“I don’t know about that,” Magnus told him. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but don’t sell yourself short.”

Alec shrugged but offered him a small smile.

“Have a good night, Alexander,” Magnus smiled as he turned to head towards his own apartment.

“You too,” Alec called after him.

***

The notes came more frequently now, Alec noticed. Sometimes before he’d even had a chance to reply to one, another would appear on his door. Things like you have the best laugh or you have a beautiful smile, Alexander that left him blushing and confused with absolutely no idea who was leaving them.

“Sounds like you have a secret admirer,” Izzy told him when he’d mentioned the notes to her. “And you have no idea who’s leaving them?”

“None,” he’d confirmed. He’d almost convinced himself it was just Jace messing with him, but some of them had been blatantly flirtatious, and he knew his brother wouldn’t go that far. God, he was curious. He needed to get to the bottom of this.

Who is this? Why do you keep saying all of these incredibly nice things? he scribbled onto a sticky note and placed it on his door before he could change his mind. Maybe he wouldn’t get a response at all, but he had to try, he thought as he headed out for class.

***

The first thing Alec noticed when he returned from class and stepped off the elevator was that someone was standing at his door. He groaned internally, exhausted and not exactly in the mood to deal with whatever this new complaint or crisis might be.

The second thing he noticed was that the person wasn’t knocking. Instead, they were placing something on the door. They shifted slightly to the side and Alec saw a flash of purple. A post it note, Alec realized. Oh my god.

The third thing he noticed was that it was Magnus. He ducked around the corner before Magnus could turn and see him, heart beating heavily in his chest. Magnus was leaving the notes. Magnus was his secret admirer.

He watched from the corner as Magnus capped his pen and headed back down the hall towards his own apartment. Alec approached his door slowly, eyes not straying from the purple sticky note.

Because you’ve unlocked something in me, Alexander, the note read. Alec didn’t fail to realize Magnus hadn’t answered the first question he’d left earlier. It didn’t matter, though. He knew now, anyways.

He hurried inside to find his own stack of sticky notes, an idea forming in his mind.

You didn’t answer my first question, he wrote and hurried down the hall to Magnus’s door. He debated leaving it on the door for him to find later, but he worried Simon might find it first and just discard it. He bit his lip, thinking, and knocked before he could change his mind.

“Hey, Alec,” Simon said as he opened the door. “What’s up?”

“Is Magnus here?” he asked.

“Yeah, but he’s in the shower, I think.”

“Oh,” Alec said. “Well, can you give him this?” he asked, handing over the note. Simon raised an eyebrow as he read it. “He’ll know what it means.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Simon shrugged.

“Thanks.”

***

Magnus was at his door fifteen minutes later with still wet hair. It was adorable, Alec thought as he opened the door, but his breath caught in his throat when he realized Magnus wasn’t wearing any makeup either. He’d never seen him without striking eyeliner or touches of blush and highlight, and while the effect the makeup had was stunning, so was the man in front of him now.

“You know,” Magnus said in a rush. “How do you know?”

“Well,” Alec said. “You’re the only one who calls me Alexander. Even my parents don’t call me that.” He shrugged. “Also, I saw you put the last one on my door when I got back from class earlier,” he added with a grin. “Narrowed the playing field quite a bit.”

“Oh.”

Alec stepped back from the door. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Magnus breathed as he stepped into the apartment. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” His eyes met Alec’s and they were so sure Alec felt his heart pause. “I like you, Alexander. Quite a lot. You’re beautiful and kind and we’ve only hung out a few times but I can see how fiercely you care about your family and friends, and you listen, you really listen, and—”

Alec cut him off, unable to stop himself from surging forwards and kissing Magnus. It was quick and maybe a little awkward and caught off-guard, but it was good and real and felt more right than anything Alec had ever experienced.

“You’re all those things, too,” Alec said as he pulled away to breath. He gasped as his eyes widened in realization. He stumbled backwards a step. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” He cut off, taking in the hurt expression on Magnus’s face. “Not like that,” he exclaimed. “This is coming out all wrong. I like you, I want to kiss you, I do, but I’m your RA, and we’re not supposed to get involved with residents because of potential conflicts of interest and—”

“Oh,” Magnus said suddenly, eyes wide. “I didn’t tell you yet. I came by to tell you earlier but you weren’t here, and then I saw the note you’d left.”

Alec’s forehead scrunched up in confusion. “Tell me what?”

“I found out I have enough credits to graduate a semester early. I’m graduating at the end of next week, after finals,” Magnus explained.

“You...you are?”

“I won’t be your resident after next week, so…” Magnus trailed off.

“No conflict of interest?” Alec asked with a slight grin.

“No conflict of interest,” Magnus confirmed.

“In that case, would you like to go out with me at the end of next week?” Alec asked.

Magnus’s grin was blinding. “I would love to, Alexander.”

***

2 years later

“Darling, wake up,” Magnus whispered into Alec’s cheek. He laughed softly as Alec groaned in response, not yet ready to leave sleep or their bed behind.

“Don’t want to,” he mumbled, attempting to burrow his head further into his pillow.

“But I want to make pancakes. Or waffles,” Magnus said. Alec could feel his pout against his cheek and his heart twinged at how cute his boyfriend was, even when he was trying to force Alec from their warm, comfortable bed.

“You can make them, and I can stay in bed, then,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t stop himself from opening his eyes to peek at Magnus’s adorable pout.

He wasn’t disappointed. “But it’s more fun if we make them together,” Magnus said softly, his pout worthy of every Academy Award.

Alec was a fool if he thought he could ever win out over that pout. “Fine,” he whined. “I’ll leave our very extremely comfortable bed to satisfy your appetite.”

Magnus hummed. “That’s odd. Usually satisfying my appetite requires us to be in the bed.” Alec sat up and swatted at his arm, earning a chuckle. “Come on, love. These pancakes aren’t going to make themselves,” Magnus said cheerily before disappearing into the kitchen.

Magnus had already made two steaming cups of coffee by the time Alec joined him. He hummed, breathing in the scent as Magnus handed him a mug.

“I think you love caffeine more than me,” Magnus teased.

“Not possible,” Alec said as he took a sip.

“How do you do that?” Magnus asked. “How do you always say the most casually heart wrenching things?”

“I don’t always say them,” Alec shrugged. “Only when I’m with you.”

“There you go again. You’re going to be the death of me one day, Alexander.” He leaned forwards to press a kiss to the tip of Alec’s nose before turning towards the ingredients scattered on the counter. “Darling, can you grab the milk out of the fridge?”

Alec set his mug on the counter and turned to Magnus as he opened the fridge. “If I’m going to be the death of you, then it’s a miracle I’m still alive.” He placed the milk on the counter, eyes flicking to the fridge as the door swung shut. His eyes caught on a little blue square right in the center of the door.

“What’s this?” he asked Magnus, who just stared at him. His heart felt like a trapeze artist as he read the note.

Will you marry me?

His eyes flicked over to Magnus who was still staring, playing with the rings on his fingers. “Really?” he asked softly, the hope and love in his voice coming out thickly.

“It’s not too informal, is it?” Magnus asked nervously. “I was going to get a ring and do the whole romantic candlelight dinner thing, but I thought this felt more...us.”

“It’s perfect,” Alec said, his vision blurring slightly as tears filled his eyes. “Wait.” He ran over to his desk, searching through the messy drawers. He pulled out a sticky out and grabbed a pen, hurrying back over to the fridge. He placed the blank note next to Magnus’s and scrawled Yes, a laugh bubbling in his throat. “You’re right. This is more us.”

Magnus stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Alec’s waist, his own eyes wet with tears that hadn’t fallen yet. “I love you so much, Alexander.”

“I love you, too,” he said, voice cracking as he leaned into kiss his fiancé.

#malec fics #malec #malec au #malec fanfic #shadowhunters #my fic

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theloversofmrsunshine · 5 years

Text

President Jin and the Lady, ch 10

It had required a massive undertaking and movement of his sphere of influence before President Jin could do away with the majority of the charges laid against him. Lack of evidence, illegally obtained evidence and fabricated evidence worked in his favor to lessen his stay in prison. The good thing about a wily and uncouth police officer on his tail is that, for all of his smarts, he hadn’t exactly followed the law in apprehending him.

And despite every attempt, President Jin only served a three-year prison sentence for his crimes. Though many of his accomplices had been ousted during the same investigation that sank him, there isn’t much power the law has against the might of connections and money. Especially when one of those connections is Lord Go Sahong. Though very upright, it seems that owing a debt makes Lord Go a very forgiving man. Like his granddaughter, Lord Go had visited President Jin at the very beginning of his sentence in jail. He’d been charged with twenty years for his crimes, pending an additional 10 years if the conspiracy of attempted murder charges stuck.

Lord Go had sat, quite stately, across the glass divide. He’d observed him in silence, much like his granddaughter had. The resemblance between them was clear. He’d smiled then, to the annoyance of his guest. After President Jin explained himself, Lord Go had allowed the moment of mirth to pass, a small smile on his face. Despite it all, Assemblyman Go Sahong loved no one and nothing more than he loved his granddaughter.

“You did me a great service a year ago, and I have not forgotten our debt,” he said at last, sighing gruffly. “However, you did wrong many people in your scams and machinations. You must pay for your crimes.”

President Jin had nodded. He hadn’t expected Lord Go to help him at all. He had been prepared for this conversation to go on less pleasantly than it already had, considering he’d swindled several millions of won from this man. Most of his victims cried and wailed over mere thousands. This man, however, had suffered the most from the fall of One Network. Even his approval ratings had plummeted, even when people realized he’d also been a victim of President Jin Hyunpil’s lies. South Koreans were not known for being forgiving about past mistakes.

“I’ll have your sentence reduced to three years. And despite what your ex-employee and that detective claim, the murder charges won’t stick,” he says firmly, a note of finality in his voice. “You’ll have some community service to do once you’re out, but I’ll have a job ready for you once you’ve done your time.”

President Jin’s mouth drops open in abject shock. He stands, hands folded politely, even as he dearly wishes he could pound on the glass again. “But, sir, this is too much! You’ve already done so much!”

Lord Go waves his complaints away with one hand, heedless of his words. “Come back a better man, President Jin.”

The elderly man shoots him a glare beneath his brows, frowning impressively. His parting shot is remarkably reminiscent of Go Aeshin.

“Don’t disappoint my granddaughter anymore.”

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

Upon exiting the prison, there’s a polished black car waiting for him. Against the hood leans Gu Dongmae, smiling roguishly. President Jin tugs his high collar higher on his chin, to ward off the winter chill.

“So rumors were true, you’re finally free, naeuri.” The Japanese Oyabun drawls, tossing his head. The irony of the title ought to rattle President Jin, but during his time in jail, Dongmae had visited more often than the people who claimed to be on his side. Albeit begrudgingly, he’s grown rather fond of the cheeky mafia don.

A friend in need is a friend indeed, so the saying goes. And Gu Dongmae had shown that to be true. Dongmae jerks his head toward the copilot seat, chuckling. “Hop in, naeuri.”}

Shaking his head, Presindent Jin does as he’s told, jumping into his younger friend’s car. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Dongmae fires up the engine and heads out, one hand on the wheel and the left on his chin, elbow against the window pane. “My wife suggested you might want some good food and drinks on your first day out. And no place quite like the Glory Hotel for you to… donate your generous patronage, naeuri.”

President Jin laughs outright, smoothing a hand down his beard. “So that’s your angle?” his voice is too amused for the accusation to stick. “Make me drink wantonly and stick me with the bill?”

“Of course,” Dongmae says agreeably, his voice friendly. “What else is there but for me to make money off of you, conman?” The mischievous twinkle in his eyes takes the edge off his words, so President Jin takes no offence at his insult.

President Jin takes a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment, putting them on with a grin. “Haven’t you heard, Yakuza? I’m poor, the government took everything.”

Dongmae snorts, giving his friend a mean side-eye. “Not everything.”

President Jin doesn’t meet his searching gaze, staring intently at the road. Trust the husband of South Korea’s most infamous information broker to know he still has a secret stash hidden in different parts of the country. He wonders how many of his little cash caches Kudo Hina is aware of.

Knowing that wily woman, probably every single one.

“You and your wife are incorrigible.” He says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.

----------

He’d gone to visit the venerable Lord Go, and instead happened upon her. She’s a vision in white, like the very first day he’d seen her. She’s completely barefoot in her study, surrounded by fountains and plants as she paints, her leather indoor sandals forgotten on the floor. Her hair is pulled back into a simple low ponytail, revealing the large pearl earrings brushing against her neck. Her long-sleeved white blouse billows with every brush stroke, and there are specks of paint on her creamy white pants. A cigarette lays forgotten on the coffee table at her side, along with a cup of cooling tea.

She’s as beautiful as the day he thought he’d lost her.

Lady Go Aeshin glances toward him as the servants clear the table and set down fresh tea for both of them. He hadn’t yet gathered the courage to visit her at her new apartment, hence why he’d been hedging and avoiding her. President Jin had come looking for Lord Go, only to find his granddaughter laying in wait. He’d been told the master of the house was here, and it seems the servants had conspired to bring them together. The elderly man pays him no mind as he finishes setting out the tea. As the servants exit, the room grows quiet.

President Jin doesn’t even dare sit down as her eyes rove over him, an assessing glance. She doesn’t invite him to sit down, and the clatter of the brush on the easel makes him jump.

“It’s raining outside,” she says conversationally, eying the droplets on his shoulders. He nods mutely, not quite knowing what to say. He’d been too impatient to accept an umbrella from his underlings, anxious to meet Lord Go. He’s always been a silver tongue conman, but today, words seem to fail him completely. Though he’d played this encounter countless times in his head during this three-year stint in jail, he’d never quite found the proper words to say. Should he start with an apology? Should he beg her to be his?

His last time begging Lady Go Aeshin hadn’t gone well. She never visited him while he was in prison. She merely sent him the occasional present, some with a letter enclosed. That was the limit of their contact. Even Gu Dongmae’s wife had visited him more than that. It stung, that she had stayed away, despite his request at her return. But damn it all, he loves this woman, foolishly, ardently, completely. He will never be free of her until he dies. He hates himself a little for loving a creature as unattainable as this. She is the human embodiment of wildfire, encroaching upon his heart but uncontrollable and without master. She will be the death of him.

“I wonder, President Jin…” she says, standing at last. She picks up her cigarette, exhaling smoke before speaking again. “Do you know what love is?”

It’s a rather confusing question, especially since she’d asked using the English word for love. Considering her breeding and education, he realizes her question is more of the rhetorical kind. He nods nonetheless, wondering what she’s getting at.

“It takes two people, together, for it to be done properly.” She remarks as she walks, as barefoot as a child, toward him. Her stride radiates power, and somehow, he finds his own confidence within hers. He straightens, finally looking her dead in the eye.

“It’s not easy, love.” He says casually, as she reaches him. His hands find her hips and he pulls her just a little closer. She smiles, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

“No, indeed.” Aeshin steps out of his grasp, and tosses him a look over her shoulder. “Come here.”

Wherever she goes, he would willingly follow. President Jin realizes that he’d lost to this woman from the very start, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. To tangle him up in her web, she’d ended up tangled up in him. Regardless of who tied the damning knot, they were both in this and they were in it together.

His smile sharpens. She is his.

#PresidentJinAndTheLady #president jin #Go Ae Shin #go aeshin #Mr Sunshine #mr sunshine netflix #Masters

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dr-dendritic-trees · 5 years

Text

Here be the Endgame thoughts, they are filled with spoilers.

So, I had SUPER low expectations for Endgame. I have been finding the big teamup movies increasingly cumbersome, I still can’t summon the energy to sit through Infinity War.

But on the whole I thought it was a very good movie. I enjoyed it more than I didn’t.

Whether you like Endgame or not, in my opinion, comes down to whether you personally found it emotionally satisfying. If you did, great, if you didn’t, I’m not here to try and talk you around, I’m sorry to hear the movie didn’t do it for you, and I hope you find some really good fanfic to make up for it.

And in the end, that’s what it came down to. It worked for me. It happened to have in it, the things I personally needed it to have. It met my expectations.

I didn’t want to get bogged down in post-apocalyptic details of the Snap, and I wasn’t, and I wanted to not have the universe reset by unwinding time, because that trope almost never works for me, and they didn’t.

I did get emotionally resonant call backs, cool fights and interesting character interactions. And quite frankly, my home fandom is Halo and I received the gifts of the team in matching armour, and glorious heroic deaths.

But the biggest reason why I felt leary of Endgame going in, was that I didn’t feel ready for an ending. I didn’t have an ending I wanted, because I wanted about a dozen per character. I still do, and I knew I wasn’t going to get that. But I really felt like the movie honour that. That’s what the time-travel mechanic is based on. You can’t change you past, but we can have an infinite number of avengers, making trouble in infinite New Yorks.

That’s basically it. Keep reading for character by character breakdown (starting with the bad bits, moving onto the good bits).

Unfortunately the fact that most of the movie was good, made the bad bits bad:

1. The much played up “gay character”. What crap. Seriously. That was nothing. There’s a lot of things about endgame that I think need to be viewed Doylistly, especially the character endings which are, of course, based on actor contracts. But this isn’t it “its a superhero movie, what do you expect” explains the lackadasical time travel, it does not excuse making a huge fuss over such a piddling little gesture.

2. Clint: What a fucking disaster. I hated every single thing about it. Part of the suspension of disbelief of a superhero movie, along with superpowers is that our heroes are going to beat up rooms full of people, and that’s going to be good, and we’re going to cheer. So I didn’t have time, in the tiny little clip we got, to feel anything at all about Hawkeye slicing through rooms of ‘baddies’. So the whole, fall-and-redemption arc fell totally flat, and added to that, I got to sit through the image of a white man slicing through rooms of people of colour, and it was gross, and I didn’t like it. I get that Clint has been criminally underdeveloped by these films. But it was too late to fix it in Endgame, they should have just admitted it.

Also, it cost us the alternate take on Clint and Natasha’s final scene that my friend suggested “I have to save you you have a family” vs “No, I’ve had a family, I’ve had all that time, you’ve only just found yours, so I have to send you back to them”.

3. Thor: Not only was everything they did with Thor a small-minded mean-spirited joke, it was one they kept dragging on and on and on. I hated it. That being said, two points. Firstly, in a weird way, I feel slightly better about Frigga’s death now, giving her agency over it makes it marginally less fridgy. And also, the final Thor look, with the braided beard! Superb! Amazing! Wonderful!

4. Wanda: for the first time ever I had a feeling about Wanda. I was surprised.

5. Bruce: I have no real feelings one way or another, about the professor hulk thing. It sets up the end of the movie well, I think on balance they’re more interesting as characters when they’re split up. But maybe it’ll grow on me.

6. Nebula: I still haven’t seen GOTG2, but I love Nebula now! I love her and Rhodey together, I want them to get a movie.

7. This isn’t a character, but the overall rhythm of the finale, where the avengers finally avenge the world and then the dead they avenge come help them fight. It could not be better, it was wonderful. Also the final scene with all the ladies brought me joy beyond telling. I’ve subsequently seen some critiques that it was “just pandering, not real feminism” but I just don’t care guys. Its an action sequence in a big final act showdown, all it needed to be was pandering. I love to be pandered to, quite frankly.

8. I still haven’t seen Captain Marvel, but she’s extremely shiny and exciting and I am in love with her.

10. Steve: Steve fighting himself (complete with Winter Soldier callbacks) was amazing fanservice, but also surprisingly moving, as a commentary on Steve as a character. Steve with the hammer was everything. As to the ending, I liked this more the day after the movie than when I first saw it. Overall I thought it was really good. I know a lot of people longed for Steve to get a retirement, but honestly, I would never have found that believable. Steve, will always fight. And even though Steve’s been circling around the idea of ‘moving on’ since Avengers, he never did. So I felt this completed things. I like the implication of openeness. Steve is the moral core of the story, so Steve, as the keeper of the infinity stones works for me. I’m sure he and Peggy kicked Hydra ass across all sorts of parallel timelines and it was great. One quibble: I would have put that dance in Peggy’s office, I think it would have called back to Peggy’s arc in Agent Carter better.

11. SAM GOT THE SHIELD SAM GOT THE SHIELD SAM GOT THE SHIELD.

12. Bucky: I mean, I ship it too and all, but where Steve has been failing to move on forever, Bucky hasn’t. He’s got a whole life, and ultimately, the life he has in the films, rather than our hearts, hasn’t had a lot of Steve in it. I’m fine with letting the man go back to his goats in Wakanda. I trust that he and Steve have made their peace. And quite frankly I now ship Sam and Bucky like never before.

11. Natasha: I loved it. I loved her arc. Did you guys notice that she and Steve switched places in the movie. Steve pulled of a heist and an undercover mission, and ran off to find a life. Natasha became the leader of the avengers and sacrificed herself for her family. It was perfect. My only complaint is that I wanted more of what we got. If the cut out all the bits I didn’t like, we would have had time for a much longer ending for her, and also for Steve to see 2012!Natasha. I just rewatched Avengers and they hit it off so fast and I wanted that.

12. Tony: It was perfect. It hurt and everything about it was amazing. In some ways I feel like there isn’t much more to say, other than that I am choosing to believe that Tony’s extreme Dad skills have created an alternate timeline where Howard is a much better Dad. Also, while much gets made of Tony and Steve’s original disagreement (you’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play), I feel like that was basically resolved in Avengers itself. For several movies now Tony and Steve’s disagreement has been about trading freedom for safety, about the suit of armour around the world. And Tony cut the wire guys. He kept the world safe, and no one had to sacrifice but him, and he died surrounded by three people who were protecting the world in armour he made. And I bawled my eyes out and look forward to doing it again.

#endgame #endgame spoilers

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fancyladssnacks · 6 years

Text

You and Whose Army

or;

What if the Seed family were actually good and Hope County is just really paranoid?

AU fic with slow burn Jacob Seed/Staci Pratt, and not-so-slow-burn John/male!Deputy in the background.

Keeping it on tumblr for now because AO3 creates scary ~commitment~ and I just want somewhere to share it with my FC5 buddies (especially you, @avaleahblog). I have not abandoned my Fallout fics. No content warnings for this chapter but I’ll flag ‘em up as necessary.

Pratt hasn’t been out to the St Francis Veteran Centre in years, not since he was a rookie and got called out to deal with a vagrancy complaint. The place had been long abandoned back then, the courtyard choked with weeds and faded trash. Inside it had stunk to high heaven. Bird and animal shit and the remains of campfires caked the floors.

Today as he walks up the gravel road to the gates, it’s like stepping back into another era when the hospital was open and thriving. The front court is visible, for one thing. No ivy or knotweed strangling the iron gate, and the paving beyond is level and clean.

The new owner is one Jacob Seed. Pratt’s never officially met him, though he’s seen him around now and again. Seed and his family—two brothers, plus an unknown number of hangers-on—rolled into Hope County a few months back after buying up a suspicious amount of property. The Sheriff’s Department started getting calls soon after. Just the odd one at first, but the longer the Seeds take root on this land, the more the locals are reacting against their presence.

Most of the attention is on Joseph Seed, the long-haired preacher who bought up half the island on Silver Lake and is setting up some kind of hippy commune there. Rumour has it he’s building a chapel, but in the meantime he holds open services a couple times a week in a big white tent on his land. Folks started going along out of curiosity at first, looking to sniff around what this weirdo and his barefoot harem were up to. Probably hoping there’d be naked dancing around maypoles or some such to tide them over in gossip until winter. But whatever Joseph has to say seems to be connecting with people, because almost as many locals love him as hate him now. Of course, that’s only made family members more concerned. There’s already accusations of brainwashing and devil-worship flying around.

While the Sheriff’s Department isn’t taking such nonsense seriously, there have been enough calls to the station by now that Earl Whitehorse finally agreed to address the issue. It’s been a slow couple of days, so Earl tasked his deputies with visiting various Seed family properties to cast an eye over things. Staci isn’t over the moon at being sent to St Francis’, but Jacob’s property is at the farthest reach of the county and he’s the only one who can pilot the chopper. He casts a glance back at where he left it—set down on the grass at the point of the little lake out front of the building—then sighs and pushes through the gates.

The courtyard seems deserted. There’s a new-looking Jeep with Montana plates parked near the gates, and a couple of mud-spattered ATVs further back, but no one attending them. Over in one corner is a stack of rusting bed frames and other trash, leftovers from the hospital’s former life. Pratt strolls past a dried-up fountain towards the front doors. The weather is warming up, and the prickle down his spine and under his arms makes him wish he’d left his jacket in the chopper.

Pratt lifts the brass knocker on the lobby door. His four sharp raps cut like gunfire through the hush of the valley. He turns from the door to wait and idly examines the plastic-wrapped pallets standing by the entrance. Masonry paint, sacks of cement, plasterboard sheets. Most likely ordered from out of county judging by the volume. Pratt raises an eyebrow at the huge spools of razor wire.

A couple of minutes pass, and he knocks again.

“Hello?” he calls out, but only his own voice echoes back off the high walls around the Centre.

He considers trying the door and hollering inside, but the locals he’s talked to who had run-ins with Jacob Seed have described him as anything but friendly, so he decides against it. He wanders along the ground floor instead, hoping to catch a glimpse within. The windows on this level are guarded by iron bars on the outside and dark blinds drawn inside. It seems a waste of time and fuel to fly out here for nothing, so he turns right when he reaches the corner to make a clockwise loop around the building. Along the western wall is a row of large boxes, each one almost as tall as he is, covered over with green tarps. Staci lifts a corner up to peek underneath. It’s not a box at all, but a metal cage. The kind you might keep a vicious animal or, say, a prisoner of war in.

“Great. Not disturbing at all,” he mutters to himself.

There’s more junk heaped up ready for a bonfire in back. Open dumpsters stuffed with dead weeds and other garbage. Still not a soul to be seen.

On the back wall of the hospital Pratt finds a window left uncovered. It’s barred like the others, but when he cups his hands around his eyes and leans in, he can make out the gloomy interior.

The room within is mostly empty, just a few boxes near the door and a folding table with paint trays and rollers. If Staci smushes his face to the bars and peers all the way to his left, he can see through an open doorway into another room, and in there…

“Oh, shit.”

The section of wall he can see is lined with racks, and on those racks are guns. Lots of guns. Identical assault rifles occupy one full rack, while the one beside it is harder to make out but he thinks he sees shotguns and a large hunting bow. In a glass-fronted cabinet under the racks he can make out the dark shapes of pistols against a red backing cloth.

He shifts from foot to foot, wondering whether he should take out his phone and try to get pictures. But he’s not supposed to be here, at least not sneaking round the back of the property like a burglar, and he’s wary of taking away any evidence he might regret later.

Suddenly, all he wants is to get back to Fall’s End. He heads back the way he came and crosses the courtyard at a brisk pace. He glances back only once he’s halfway along the path. The hospital’s yellow walls are catching the late afternoon sun, and Staci can’t help but marvel at what a beautiful spot this is, nestled in its own lush, wooded valley with the vast wall of Monument Mountain curving around it like protective arms, and the lake reflecting the clouds. It’s a damn shame it’s been bought up by a family of crazies.

He jogs up the grassy rise to the helicopter and around to the side. As he rounds the tail end he stops short, boots skidding on the damp grass.

Jacob Seed is sitting in the cockpit.

One foot on the landing skid and the other in the opening, his ass parked on the pilot’s seat as though he belongs there. A sleek black rifle leans against the body of the chopper within easy reach. He’s holding a rosy red apple in one hand, turning it slowly as he strips the peel into a long spiral with a pocket knife. In a holster at his thigh is a much larger hunting knife, black and menacing against the faded blue of his jeans.

“Evening, Deputy,” he says at last, not looking up from his apple.

Staci shuts his mouth and swallows painfully, throat suddenly parched. He tries to calm himself, squeezing his already sweating hands into fists at his sides. It’s fine. Just because Seed chanced upon the helicopter doesn’t mean he knows anything else. Staci glances at the expensive scope on the rifle, and gets the uneasy feeling that perhaps he’s seen everything.

“Mr Seed,” Staci replies. It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth; makes him feel like a kid addressing a teacher. But he doesn’t know the man well enough to call him Jacob. Maybe he should have just called him Seed; he’ll remember that for next time. At least he didn’t call him Sir.

He takes a few steps closer to the chopper, but Jacob doesn’t move.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what, exactly?” Seed sounds bored as he finishes peeling the apple and lets the ribbon of red skin drop to the grass. He looks up at Staci then, and his eyes are a clear, vivid blue.

Pratt has never seen him up close before, and it’s hard not to stare at his scars. The ones on his face are most distracting simply due to their placement. His right cheek is marred worse than the left, pocked and mottled by what Staci assumes is a burn. The meanest scars are on his arms, angry red splotches against faded pink-brown, as though already marked skin has been injured again recently. As though his first trial by fire hadn’t taught him enough of a lesson. The thought makes Staci even more anxious.

He forces his eyes back to meet Seed’s. “This chopper is property of the Hope County Sheriff Department,” he tells him.

Jacob’s eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. “That so,” he replies. He gestures with the pocket knife at the land around them. “Well, since all of this is my property, I think that means you and your chopper aren’t supposed to be on it without an invitation.” He fixes Staci with that bright blue glare. “And I don’t recall inviting you, Deputy.”

Staci clears his throat. He’s being challenged, but he’ll be damned if he makes himself look weak by apologising.

“We’ve had a couple of reports of strange activity on your family’s properties,” he says, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. Everything he does feels awkward and transparent. It’s maddening, and more than a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t want to draw more attention by moving his hands again. He presses on. “I just came out to have a word, but you were nowhere to be seen.”

“You’ve found me now.”

Clearly the opposite is true.

Staci nods anyway. “Mind me asking what sort of operation you’re running out here?”

Seed completely ignores the question and takes a bite of apple instead, forcing Pratt to wait for his reply while he chews. He squints against the treeline thoughtfully and swallows.

“What exactly constitutes ‘strange activity’, Deputy?”

“A lot of trucks bringing stuff in from out of county. Construction noise around the clock. Blocking off footpaths.” He shrugs. “All sorts of little things, but add it all up and it’s out of the ordinary for a quiet community like this.”

“Wasn’t aware out of the ordinary was the same as illegal.”

Pratt exhales impatiently. “It’s not. But it’s putting folks on edge. Maybe if they had an idea what was going on, it would set their minds at ease.”

Seed shakes his head, still looking into the distance. “Doesn’t matter where you go,” he sighs. “People can’t mind their own damn business.”

“Come on now, Mr Seed,” Staci says. “If everything’s above board, what’s there to hide? What are you doing out here?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Jacob says. “You got a nice long look around. What’d you find out?”

Shit. Of course he saw him. Pratt pauses, considering whether or not to admit what he saw.

“You have a lot of guns,” he replies. “Sidearms and assault rifles mostly, from what I could tell. Not your everyday hunting fare.”

“Oh, I have hunting rifles too, Deputy.”

Staci can tell Seed is loving every second of his discomfort. He isn’t even trying to make himself look innocent. All that tells Staci is that he’s arrogant. Seed’s brother may be a fancy lawyer, but that doesn’t make him or anyone in his weirdo family untouchable.

“You care to tell me why you need that kind of firepower?”

Seed takes another big bite of his apple. “Security,” he says around his mouthful.

Pratt shifts his weight to the other foot. “Security for what?”

“For my family’s property,” he replies. “My brother Joseph is very trusting, very patient. I’m not. I told him there were gonna be people in this county who wouldn’t want to see him succeed. You just proved me right.”

“Succeed at what?” Staci blurts out.

Seed is out of the cockpit and on his feet in one swift motion. For a big man, he sure moves fast. Pratt has to steel himself to stay put rather than backing up a couple of steps the way he wants to. The way Seed is expecting him to. Of course, he has to be taller than Staci, only by a couple inches, but he makes sure to flaunt it as he moves closer.

“Are we done here, Deputy…” He peers down at the name stitched above Staci’s breast pocket. “…Pratt?” The hard consonants grit out from between his teeth, cold and clear as ice chips.

They lock eyes for a few seconds. Seed knows exactly how intimidating he is with his bulk and his scars and those intense eyes, bright blue like a gas flame. Staci doesn’t have any of his presence, but he stares back anyway, keen to show the other man that he’s no cowering fool.

Eventually he nods his head once, holding the eye contact.

“We’re done.”

Seed steps back to retrieve his rifle. “I trust that I won’t find you trespassing on my property again.”

“As long as you don’t cause any trouble, I’ll have no reason to come back.” His attempt at a warning tone is laughable and they both know it, but all Seed does as he meets Staci’s eye again is tilt one corner of his mouth up ever so slightly.

“I’ll be sure to remember it.” Without taking his eyes off Staci, he says, “Here, Judge.”

Staci frowns in confusion, mouth opening to say What? when a blur of grey and white fur flashes past him.

“Jesus Christ,” he stammers instead.

The biggest fucking dog he’s ever seen bounds over to Jacob Seed’s side and sits, sniffing his hand before turning big yellow eyes on Staci. A long pink tongue like a slice of bacon lolls from its mouth. How long was that thing watching them? There are wolves in these mountains, and the monster sitting next to Jacob Seed is either one of them or a close goddamn relative. Heart hammering, Pratt makes a mental note to look up what the law has to say about keeping wolves as pets.

Seed leans his rifle across his shoulders and saunters off with the giant hound at his side. Staci is furious. He climbs into the helicopter, slamming the cockpit door too hard behind him, and quickly checks over the control panel in case Seed decided to fuck with anything. Everything seems fine. He’s relieved, but also disappointed he doesn’t have anything to pin on him. Jacob Seed is bad fucking news, and Pratt swears to himself there and then that he’s going to be the one to prove it.

He fumbles his headset on and fires up the chopper, scowling at the controls until he’s put air between him and the ground. As he tilts the craft in the direction of home, he glances down and notices Jacob still standing at the tree line watching him. Seed raises his right hand to his head in a mocking salute, and while he’s too far away to be sure, Staci just knows the bastard is grinning.

#jacob seed #staci pratt #jacob seed/staci pratt #fancy fanfic #far cry 5 #alternate universe #slow burn #enemies to lovers #john seed/male deputy #john seed/deputy #you and whose army

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