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#the four drafts and ten requests waiting for me to do them: what. what the fuck
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Jaded - Charlie Weasley
A/N: so, I know that the last thing I should be doing right now is start another series… and yet… here we are xD also, I’m sorry, I know She Is Love won, but I think we have established by now that my mind kind of does whatever it wants and I have no control whatsoever xD it’s all chaos here… anyways, I hope you like it :) 
Request -  Anonymous asked: Hello, I hope you’re doing okay my lovely. I was wondering if you could possibly wite maybe a enemies/rivals to lovers with Charlie Weasley and the reader? (Lots of sarcastic banta back and forth maybe they both work on the dragon reserve and are entrusted with transporting a very dangerous dragon to a new reserve, but something happens on the journey and just them to are trapped (either with the dragon or not) and then an argument that leads to some form of confession? This is so long I’m so bloody sorry, and I hope your writers block subsides [full request here]
Warnings: Charlie’s a bit of an asshole [but not really] for now, I think that’s it but please let me know if I’m missing something, also reader is from the Nott family
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter :) gif isn’t mine :D     
Your name: submit What is this?
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Jaded
Hey…j-j-jaded… you got your mama’s style, But you’re yesterday’s child to me. So jaded, you think that’s where it’s at, But is that where it’s supposed to be?You’re gettin’ it all over me… X-rated
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Charlie fucking Weasley.
That stupid name had haunted you for more than ten years now. There were very few people you hated in your life but his name was definitely on that list.
After enduring seven years of him at Hogwarts, you thought you’d finally be free when he was being drafted to play Quidditch professionally and you would move to Romania to fulfill your dreams of studying dragons. But no, for some stupid twist of fate, he decided not to become a Quidditch player and all of the sudden there was another opening at the exact Romanian Dragon Sanctuary that you had applied to so, again, here he was. And it seemed that no matter what you did, you were never able to escape Charlie fucking—
“WEASLEY!” you yelled when you finally spotted him, not far from your hut.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite princess” you heard his voice as you approached him. “How can I help you, love?” he asked, brushing his hair away from his face, showing off his stupid tattoos on his stupid strong arms.
“I have asked you many times, to stop calling me that!” you glared at him. “I need to speak with you” you said, before you went back into your hut and he only raised his eyebrow before following you.
“Is this how you treat your guests, love?” he said, walking in and leaning on your desk as he started going through your stuff.
“I didn’t invite you” you smirked.
“You just did” he glared a little at you.
“Don’t be confused, Weasley, this is strictly business” you glared at him.
“Of course it is” he chuckled. “Are you working on the Sleeping Draught for the dragons? Weren’t we supposed to work on this together?”
“Yes, that is correct, Weasley. Excuse me for not wanting to wait 45 minutes to see you flirting with the group of girls casually visiting the reserve today” you told him.
“Oh, so you did notice that” he smiled. “Sorry, love, you must remember how it is” he said, brushing a hand through his curls and flashing his smile at you as you rolled your eyes. “I mean, I had a complete section cheering for me back at school” he shrugged.
“Oh, yes. How could I forget?” you asked, sarcastically.
“You don’t have to be so mean about it” he pouted. “Why are you making so much of it?” he asked, grabbing one of the phials.
“Why did I just find out that you are coming with me to Hogwarts, Weasley?”
“I asked first, Nott” he smirked, winking at you.
“Could you please not mess up my things?” you said glaring at him, knowing he did it just to anger you. “I am making more because we are bringing four dragons, not three” you explained.
“What? That doesn’t make sense, why? Isn’t it just three champions?”
“Well, obviously something happened, and now there’s four” you explained. “Now tell me why Steven just informed me that you are coming. Evan was supposed to bring them with me” you insisted.
“Tah-dah!” he smiled. “Surprise, darling! Looks like something came up and you got an upgrade so I’m coming with you instead” he smiled.
“Feels like a downgrade” you muttered.
“Hey!” he said, placing his hand on his chest and looking at you pretending to be hurt. “How can you say that? This is going to be so much fun. You, me, back at Hogwarts, like the good old days” he smiled flirtily at you. “Remember?”
“I’m not sure what days you’re remembering, Weasley” you said pushing him away. “But good is not what I would use to describe them” you told him.
“Of course not” he rolled his eyes, grabbing another bottle on your desk and throwing it in the air before grabbing it again.
“Give me that!” you said, grabbing it from him.
“Okay, so, since we’re getting four-” he said, as he grabbed one of your notepads.
“Stop saying we. You’re not coming with me” you glared at him.
“Oh, I beg to differ, love, see here?” he said, pointing at the paper you had earlier. “That’s my name, right next to yours” he smiled. “It’s official” he added. “So, let’s see what you’re bringing” he said, looking through your notes. “Chinese Fireball, Swedish Short-Snout, Common Welsh Green” he muttered. “Oh, I know, we should take the Hungarian Horntail we got last week” he smiled.
“What? Absolutely not!”
“Why not? That would be perfect” he said, grabbing a quill and adding it to the list.
“Weasley, that is one of the most dangerous dragon breeds and you want to take her to a school full of young students, do you have any idea how irresponsible that is?”
“Relax, it’s for the first task, I doubt it’ll be anything dangerous. Plus that’s why we’re going.
“No! We should take an Antipodean Opaleye” you said, trying to grab the notepad from him but he placed it out of your reach.
“Oh, come on, love. Live a little, I would have killed to see a Hungarian Horntail at that age” he smirked. “Nothing bad is gonna happen. We won’t let it” he insisted.
“You haven’t even spent time with her, Weasley, I have. I am telling you this isn’t a good idea!”
“What isn’t a good idea?” you both stopped when your boss, Steven stepped inside your hut.
“Well, we were just talking about how the fourth dragon should be the Hungarian Horntail” Charlie quickly said. “It was actually (Y/N)’s idea” he smiled.
“No, it wasn’t! I was saying that we should take the Antipodean Opaleye!”
“Come on, love, we are already taking a Common Welsh Green, we should bring something more exciting” Charlie insisted as he passed the notepad to Steven.
“I just don’t think that this-”
“I’m with Weasley” Steven said, before you could even finish. Of course, he was. Not because Steven was a jerk. He was actually a good boss. But this was the story of your life. Charlie would get away with anything he wanted. “I think the Hungarian Horntail would be an interesting choice. Plus, you’re going and if anyone can handle her, it’s you, (Y/N)” he smiled. “I’ll go make the arrangements while you finish the potion” he said, leaving your hut before you could argue.
“See? Lovely idea” Charlie smirked.
“Why did you do that? I’m telling you is not a good idea to bring her. She’s still settling in the idea of being around people-”
“You worry to much, love” he said, grabbing your phial and throwing it in the air again, but this time, he accidentally dropped it. “Uh-oh” he said, before smiling innocently at you as you took a deep breath. “That wasn’t… part of the Sleeping Draught potion, was it?”
“You mean the potion we’re giving to the, now four, dragons we have to transport that you were supposed to be helping me with 45 minutes ago?” you asked, upset.
“Uh-”
“Yes, Weasley, that was part of the potion” you told him.
*-*Flashback*-*
“Well, look who finally decided to show up” you said, annoyed, as Charlie entered the class and ran over to your desk. You couldn’t believe you were stuck with him as your Potions partner for the entire year.
“Sorry, princess. Practice ran late” he smiled, sitting next to you.
“Don’t call me princess. And I don’t understand how being in the Quidditch team gives you immunity so you can show up whenever you want to and work on half a potion” you said, as you added the next ingredient.
“Come on, love. Don’t hate on the team” he said smirking at you. “Everyone loves the team!”
“Oh, yeah, I have such a deep admiration for guys who fly around in sticks with other guys” you said with a sly smirk.
“I know you’re joking, but when you use that sexy voice, you know it turns me on a little” he mocked you.
“Ugh, I can’t stand you!”
“Then sit down” he smirked. 
“Shut up! And help me with this thing, or I’m taking your name off the Potion” you said, as he saw the potion you were making on your book.
“Ugh, give it, you’re doing it wrong!”
“Excuse me? I have brewed the Volubilis Potion many times before, Weasley. And I am already halfway through, without your help. I am not doing it wrong!” you snapped frustrated.
“Yes, you are!” Charlie said grabbing the jar of Syrup of Hellebore from your hand but you didn’t let it go.
“No! Give it!” you said pulling it towards you.
“Ugh! You stuck-up, know-it-all drag!”
“Take that back you pompous Quidditch nut!” you argued, neither of you noticing Professor Snape coming towards your table.
“Mr. Weasley, Miss Nott-”
“Give it, Nott!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Fine!”
Charlie hadn’t been prepared for you to let it go and he ended up dropping the whole thing on the cauldron making it explode all over Professor Snape’s face. When you heard the small explosion, the entire class went dead silent and the two of you slowly turned to see your teacher’s face covered in soot.
“You two. Detention. Tonight. My office” Professor Snape said; as you both resisted with everything you had to not laugh at the change of his voice. “50 points off Gryffindor and 30 off Slytherin” he said before walking to his desk again.
“That’s not fair!” Charlie argued.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking in in the middle of my class, Mr. Weasley” he added.
“Ugh! Thanks a lot” Charlie snapped at you.
“Me? You’re blaming me? You’re the one who dropped it!”
“Only because you wouldn’t let it go!”
“Enough!” you heard Professor Snape from the front of the class. “Both of you out of my classroom!” he said standing up.
“But I wasn’t-”
“NOW!”
“See what you did?” Charlie said once you were outside.
“Me? I had never been kicked out of a class or had detention for that matter! This is all your fault!”
“No, it’s not! You were making it wrong!” he insisted.
“UGH! Just because you’re the Captain of your bloody team, you think you’re the boss of everything! And everyone!” you snapped frustrated.
“It’s not my fault you can’t stand to be wrong!”
“You are so… so-”
“Charming?” he said smirking and raising his eyebrow at you.
“Vexing!” you snapped, as you walked down the hall but he followed you.
“Really? Well, you’re no ray of sunshine either!” he glared at you. “‘Oh, look at me, I’m (Y/N) Nott. I’m a patronizing know-it-all princess who thinks is better than anybody else!’” he said mocking your voice.
“Ugh! I don’t talk like that! You’re infuriating!”
“You know what? I hope you fail all your NEWT’s!”
“Yeah? I hope you go bald!”
“I hope you end up an old spinster!”
“I hope they cancel Quidditch!”
“Take that back!” Charlie snapped.
“Make me!” you said smirking at him.
“You know what? I hope that once we graduate here, I won’t ever have to see your conceded face again!” he said, before turning around and leaving for the Gryffindor tower.
“My thoughts exactly, Weasley” you muttered to yourself before walking to the Library.
*-*End of Flashback*-*
“We can fix it, love. Don’t worry” he said, cleaning up the mess. “See? Just like old times” he smiled. “This is gonna be fun, princess!”
“Don’t call me that” you glared at him, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to contain yourself. 
Yes, you had one very big problem. His name is Charlie fucking Weasley. And you have no fucking idea how you’re supposed to survive the next few weeks with him. 
To Be Continued
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A/N: so… part 2?
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pocarinapyon · 1 year
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🌶️🌶️ Jealousy-Jealousy: A New Banner version A2 (Albedo, Childe, Venti, Zhongli)
A new character banner is just around the corner and the excited you couldn't help but rave about how cool they are. Naturally, you pre-farmed materials and even spent moolah for a five-star weapon, claiming they deserve only the best of best (Meaning: four star weapons and artifacts are not allowed!! And let's not get started on the artifact stats! 😡).
Inside the world of Genshin, your bond ten boys couldn't help but feel jealous. The flames of jealousy fueled further when you used them to grind for the new character's items. How sickening was it to think that they have become stepping stones of your new favourite character?
The boys decided. When they materialize in your world, they will make sure to mark you and to indulge in their sinful fantasies of you. You are theirs and only theirs, after all.
But one night, to their surprise, their competitors were summoned along with them. How will the boys act? Will they fight with each other until one of them gets to have you all for themselves? Or will they work together in pleasing and glorifying your body?
Just like how you teamed them up in game.
Contents include [a brief scene introduction], and [the actual chilis].
Starring : Albedo, Childe, Venti, Zhongli (GangB.)
Tags / Warnings : 🌶️🌶️ [Chilis] Seggs; Scattered cuss words; The Archons calling each other by their Archon name; the boys being chatty in the first part; Implied rape; Petnames (if it bothers you); Somnophilia; Childe...respecting you???; Albedo making a "souvenir" 😏; Creampie; The boys being possessive; I might have given Zhongli a non-canon ability; Zhongli being a gentleman on the streets but a freak under the sheets; Albedo holding back 👀...for an experiment!; Anal (don't worry, you're vacated 👍🏼); Squirting; etc.; 👑/🖥️ [SAGAU/(Reverse) Isekai]; Based on the SAGAU/Reverse Isekai concept linked below but with chilis
Again, this post was done on mobile and I don't have anyone to beta this so if there are major minor mistakes, please forgive me. 😭
Future Plan : Version B1 Bennett??, Diluc Ragnvindr, Kaedehara Kazuha, Kaeya Alberich (Separate) - but I will post something else before B1: either a new one (ALHAITHAM, COME HOME BABY!!!) or from my backlog (Reimagined and rewritten. The ones drafted before I was separated with my PC... Yes, you read that right. I was separated with my precious PC 🥲)
Links : Pinned Post, JJ version A1 (Albedo / Childe / Venti / Zhongli) Separate, JJ Request (Venti), SAGAU/Reverse Isekai concept, A Good Experiment (Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya) Separate
Target audience is female (bodied) reader.
To whoever is reading, please enjoy.
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Surrounding your bed, wordlessly judging each other, were the characters selected on your Party Setup screen. Albedo, Childe, Venti, and Zhongli were supposed to farm more items but the drowsy you were so exhausted that you fell asleep after selecting your line-up. The moment you stepped into dreamland was when the Genshin men materialized in your room, each hoping to have an intimate alone time with you but was gravely disappointed to learn three others came with them.
The clock continuously counted each passing second, its ticking the only sound echoing in the room. With a strum on his lyre, the first to break the deafening silence was Venti.
"Ehe~ I wonder what's everyone waiting for?" the bard asked innocently, yet they all knew what he exactly meant.
"Tch! For [your name]'s sake, I am not going to do the deed in front of other people," Childe quickly retorted.
"Oh?" Zhongli exclaimed in amusement. "Apologies. I assumed you to be the first to take advantage of this situation, Childe. Knowing you, I presumed you would wish us to watch you conquer [your name]."
Flabbergasted, Childe's mouth gaped like a fish. It was true that he was someone known to conquer the battlefield, winning victories even against the largest and strongest of preys. But this - this "battle" was you. And as someone who was taught some manners, Childe - Ajax - could not bring himself to just carelessly strip your vulnerable form while other vicious predators watched.
"Of course, it is something I will not allow," the Geo Archon added.
"Let me guess, Mister Zhongli wants to bury himself inside [your name] as well, doesn't he?" Childe interrogated, glaring at the gentleman whose arms were crossed together.
"I do not simply wish to bury myself. I will defile [your name]."
Even before the Harbinger could respond back, the Anemo Archon blurted.
"Eeh?! That's very kinky of you, Morax! You mean you want your cum oozing out of [your name]? Or you want to cover her body with it? Or you just want to stretch her out with your biiiig dick?" To this, the Geo Archon responded with a low chuckle.
"Heh! Mister Zhongli, I didn't expect you to be this vulgar! In fact, I thought you'd be the first to give [your name] some respect. It seems I was fooled. But hey, it's just like that time in Liyue, yeah?" Childe growled. "Not today, Morax. Did you seriously think I would just let you toy my wife?"
"Not without us, right??" Venti chortled, earning him an angry glance from the Snezhnayan man.
"Haha... Even if you wished to, I believe you are not capable to stop me."
Chaos was about to transpire as the Geo Archon and the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger shot daggers at one another, both waiting and ready to pounce, their flames fueled by the playful Anemo Archon's remarks. However, the quiet Chief Alchemist knew better. He knew that if you started to wake up, they will disappear and this evening will be a wasted opportunity. Of course, none of them wanted that.
"Ahem. Everyone, I have a proposal to make," Albedo spoke, catching the attention of the group. "It may sound absurd but I think we should learn how to share. We need to work together if we want to take advantage of this moment."
Share. Work together. Big words. Would it really be possible for these possessive men to actually share? To work together? But no matter how much they resented it, it was the only feasible thing to do. After all, their common goal was to make the most out of their capability to manifest in your world. And with Albedo's agreeable logical idea, using their unique abilities, everyone decided to cooperate.
...
It was a very uncompromising position for you as three men, all with the desire to leave no inch of you untouched, feasted on your unconscious form. You had no choice for you were their sleeping beauty and they could toy you as they pleased.
"Ehe~! Albedo was right! I didn't know you were sensitive here, Windblume?" Venti remarked as he nibbled on the flesh of your side, making you softly gasp in pleasure.
"Hey, Mister Albedo, aren't you going to join us?" Childe asked, squeezing both your erected nipples. "You three did a good job, you know? See, I can do basically whatever I want without waking [your name] up!" he enthusiastically said, roughly kneading your two lumps of flesh with his broad hands. "You're really missing out."
"Indeed," Zhongli concurred, loosening your pussy with three digits. "If you fear [your name] will awaken from sleep then worry not. Barbatos may not look like it but rest assured he has induced our beloved in deep slumber with his lullaby."
"Ehehe! Morax actually praised me! But giving our muse a pleasant dream is an important recipe too. Plus, you did so much with your potions. Now come and join us!"
Venti leaned his cheeks on your tummy and skillfully rubbed your clit. The double whammy on your womanhood made you moan louder, to which Childe pouted. Still giving your breasts attention, Childe invaded your parted mouth with his tongue and muffled your erotic voice with a sloppy kiss.
"Thank you all for your offer but please don't mind me," Albedo, still clothed, politely declined as he smiled contentedly at the profane scene before him.
After capturing the image in his mind, Albedo returned to his clipboard and engraved the erotic memory in art. Meanwhile, the other three men returned to their own businesses and continued to abuse your defenseless body.
Zhongli retracted his hands from you then positioned himself in front of your entrance. The Liyue god spread your slick with the tip of his cock while pumping his shaft, lubricating his big erection in the process. To this, Venti got up, gave Zhongli enough room, and continued to play your sensitive nub. Meanwhile, Childe peeked at the pornographic scene and began to choke his own cock with his hands. Now feeling your cunt weep in loneliness, Zhongli smirked and pushed his whole length inside of you in one push, making you arch your body and gasp lewdly in response. Venti mused at your angelic voice while Childe squeezed his own manhood harder.
Childe pumped his shaft faster, turning himself on by watching the two Archons molest your body. The Geo Archon rocked his hips to and fro, sensually massaging the walls of your tight cunt. Meanwhile, the Anemo Archon excitedly puffed your mouth with his cock, stifling whatever lewd sound came from your lips. Sounds of clapping flesh, Zhongli's low growl, Venti's melodious moan, and Childe's choked groans were the only music echoing your room. The three men pleasured themselves with your body until all of them released at once: Zhongli's filling your pussy, Venti's serving as your swig, and Childe's staining your tummy.
Cooperating with each other, they all switched places. Childe scooped the cum littered on your body before feeding it to your quivering lips. He then began to give life to his flaccid manhood by giving it a massage. Meanwhile, Venti gave your pussy a quick lick before rubbing his energetic cock on your slit to coat it with love juice. Zhongli, on the other hand, sat back to watch.
The Anemo Archon squeezed your plush thighs before slowly entering your wet cunt. Venti relished the way how your gummy walls felt and took his precious time bottoming out. He buried himself deep, grinding and rocking his pelvis against yours to explore your warmth. On the other hand, Childe spitted on his erection to serve as lubricant. He pumped his shaft while prodding the tip of his cock on your lips. He parted your mouth so he could feed you his whole length in a nice deep throat.
Venti's and Childe's rhythm started differently, wherein Childe's was abusive while Venti's was leisurely. It didn't take long before they both got lost in pleasure, now corrupting your holes wildly. Zhongli ogled the wanton love-making before him and watched how Venti and Childe came together deep inside of you accompanied by the harmonious sound of an excited squeal and a low grunt.
After coming down from their highs, the three men swapped places again, this time with a special request from Childe.
"Mister Zhongli, why don't you take the rear for me?"
The three men adjusted your positions wherein Zhongli penetrated your behind, Childe entered your womanhood, and Venti made use of your mouth. Zhongli did slow, shallow thrusts to let Childe enjoy brutalizing your tighter than ever wet cunt. Meanwhile, Venti simply let his cock sit in your mouth. The two Archons did not move and let Childe debauched you roughly, their resting cocks stimulated by your rocking body.
Having Zhongli in your ass, your pussy hot tighter that it became hard to move inside - a challenge Childe made for himself. The Harbinger knew you liked it rough so he eagerly pistoned his cock in fast deep thrusts. The wet walls squeezing him clenched and he knew you were going to cum. He kept pounding and pounding until he shook in overstimulation and unintentionally released all his seeds.
Childe heaved as he filled you to the brim. With a plop, he unsheathed himself from you to let the cream flow out of your abused pussy. It was cue for the two Archons to continue stimulating themselves. Venti placed the head of his manhood inside your mouth, your teeth grazing the neck of his penis, and massaged his shaft. Meanwhile, Zhongli fucked your rear in slow deep thrusts. In their own pace, the Archons reached their highs and soon came inside your holes.
The three men ogled your form: your holes leaking a mix of love juice; your chest rising up and down in taking deep breaths; your lips quivering as drool dripped its corner. Thoughts of how they defiled you played in their minds. Yet a common question plagued them.
Were you able to cum?
"Thank you all for your cooperation. May I have the honour?" Albedo spoke gently.
The men gave way so the Chief Alchemist could have his chance. Albedo observed the bastardized state you were in.
Damn did you look hot.
"I'm here, my princess," Albedo whispered in your ear as he freed his cock from its moist restraints.
Albedo pecked your lips and tucked the strands of hair away from sticking on your forehead. He caressed your hips, slid his hands down your thighs then pressed your clit, making you gasp in pleasure. A good reaction. His lips smugly curled upward before he sheathed himself fully inside your cunt.
The three men had their erections from watching Albedo pump your pussy in a mating press - each of his thrusts making a lewd squelch. Stray erotic moans often escaped your lips, further arousing the watchers and luring them deeper into depravity. Albedo kept his pace calculated, pistoning with the right combination of depth, rhythm, and speed.
Your breathing became erratic as your body begged Albedo to fuck you more. But it wasn't enough. Albedo kept teasing you - pretending to give you orgasm only to stop - until your pussy tried to suck him deeper.
The three men surrounded you and Albedo, pumping their cocks in desperation. Moans and grunts filled the room orchestrated by Albedo's rough pistoning. Climax was fast approaching and all of you were on edge. It didn't take long before you came and squirted all over Albedo. The scene made the watchers spill their seeds all over, each with their own grunts and growls. Albedo unsheathed himself and, with a choked moan, he joined in spurting his cum.
Basking in the joy of orgasm, everyone panted in satisfaction. Albedo, in exhaustion, leaned his forehead on yours before victoriously declaring.
"Hah... My love, only I can make you feel this good."
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Hello, everyone and thank you for reading Jealousy-Jealousy version A2! I hope you all enjoyed it.
It's my first time writing a smut fic with multiple partners at once. And, uhn.... It's spicier in my mind, though. 😅
Also, my favouritism is showing, lol!
Anyway.
To whoever read this, thank you for your time. Here, have some raw meat. 🥩
Please feel free to cook it however you want.
Links : Pinned Post, JJ version A1 (Albedo / Childe / Venti / Zhongli) Separate, JJ Request (Venti), SAGAU/Reverse Isekai concept, A Good Experiment (Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya) Separate
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Venti = Battery and Crowd Control cutie; Childe = Main DPS and massacrer of all (except Hydro Mimics, that's Albedo's job lol); Zhongli = Shielder and prophet of Osmanthus Wine; Albedo = Off-field sub-DPS and pretty boy who bitch slaps enemies with his Rite of Progeniture;
Geo Resonance FTW!!
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bobfloydsbabe · 1 year
Note
Hiya! Soooo, for your blurb night, may I request fluff for Jas and Jake, preferably having to do with when Jamie first calls them "mom" and "dad"? Bit odd, I know, but I need domestic fluff! 😊
Effie! Thank you so much for participating in blurb night. Believe it or not, I actually had a rough draft of something exactly like this, so I polished it up for you. Enjoy!
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chosen family
SUMMARY: Jake and Jas get new titles thanks to their adopted daughter Jamie.
WARNINGS: None.
WORD COUNT: 0.65k
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“Do you want me to drive you to school?” Jake asked, handing Jamie her water bottle and backpack. “Skip the bus.”
Jamie stood from the small bench in the hallway, her shoes neatly tied, and she accepted the items from Jake.
She shook her head. “Caro is taking me,” she told him with a broad smile on her face. “She’s dropping Dalia off, and they offered to take me. I already told Jas.”
Jake grinned. “Before or after her coffee?”
Jamie snorted. “After,” she said incredulously. “I don’t have a death wish.”
Jake laughed. Even though Jas’ morning moods had evened out significantly since she left the Navy, it was still best not to speak to her before her first hit of caffeine set in.
At the sound of a car horn, he opened his arms, offering Jamie a hug. She stepped right into his embrace, leaning her head on his shoulder. 
It had been five years since Jake and Jas first started fostering Jamie, and four since they adopted her. The physical affection happened slowly, but now, at 13, she gave it freely and willingly.
The horn sounded again, and Jake let go of Jamie. He brushed a loose coil of her dark hair behind her ear, but it bounced back to its original position. “Be good, kid.”
She opened the door and revealed Caro’s car parked on the street, Dalia hanging out of the passenger side window, waving at her friend and honorary uncle.
Jamie sped down the driveway. “See you later, Dad,” she shouted at him, climbing into the backseat and closing the car door.
Jake barely registered the car driving away or the front door hitting his back as it swung and tried to close.
Jamie had called him dad.
It was the first time he’d heard her say it, and his heart pounded in his chest. He had accepted, been okay with the fact that Jamie would likely never call him anything but his name. Jake wasn’t her biological father, just as Jas wasn’t her biological mother.
He sucked in a deep breath and headed back inside the house, where he still had half an hour before he needed to leave for base.
He was in a daze as he picked up the phone and called Jas, unsure if she could even answer in the middle of her shift.
“What’s up?” She asked when she picked up on the fifth ring.
“Jamie called me dad.”
The sound of rustling papers stopped, and the line went quiet. Jake heard Jas’ breathing, but not much else.
“What?”
“She called me dad,” he repeated. “Jamie called me dad.”
Jas snorted, a sound dangerously similar to that of their daughter. “You sure?”
“Yes,” he told her firmly. “Caro probably heard it, too.”
He didn’t know how he expected Jas to react, but it definitely wasn’t her laughter carrying through the phone. He’d known her for almost ten years, and they’d been married for six. He should have been able to read her by now, but he couldn’t. She surprised him at every turn, even a decade into their relationship.
Her laughter eventually died down. “It was probably a one time thing,” she said. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Jake knew she was right. The chances of Jamie calling him dad again were slim, but he couldn’t help the tentative hope that surged at the thought of her being comfortable enough to see him as her father in more than just a legal sense.
“Just wait,” he warned, a smile creeping onto his features. “One of these days, she’ll call you mom, and we’ll have a very different conversation.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“You’re infuriating, Doc.”
She chuckled on the other end of the line, and Jake could picture her beautiful features as she did. “You’re one to talk, Seresin.”
A week later, Jasmine Lane burst into tears when Jamie called her mom for the first time.
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subbe93 · 2 years
Note
Hii there... Just had to remind you again... You are just superb... N ur writings are just amazing... Just had a request... Could you please give us a little hint on the basic story that you will be beautiful presenting in the seven fics you listed as your future project. Would love to have an idea
Hello there, Anon, and sorry to keep you waiting! ^^' But first of all, thank you so much for your kind words, I'm touched TT_TT You make my day ❤️ As you wish, my dear Anon! I'm happy to share something about them (and a little more, so sorry about that already xD). Just let's remember that these are works in process and the order of those are random :) Well, except the first one is coming out after the Light in my Nightmares :'D
1. Black Knight & Princess AU
This is a request, and mostly this one is introducing the universe and the background story that I'm usually using with this AU. To be honest, I don't have any big and wholesome story to tell (at least not now), but I have liked to think of some ShinRan scenarios from here and there. But I wish I got myself to write more about this AU, and I'm hoping that revealing the background story would make it easier for me when I don't have to think during every BK&P fic how much I need to explain that people would know what's going on ^^'
2. Roulette of Destiny spin-off
What happened in Tokyo when Shinichi and Ran were traveling around Japan? What did their parents do or thought when they found out that their children, who they had promised to marry their friend's child, had run away? I wonder...
So this one is basically telling the story mostly from Yukiko's and Eri's view: How they ended up arranging Shinichi's and Ran's marriage and what they did when they learned that Shinichi and Ran had run away. I want to write something from their point of view. The problem is that I haven't figured out the name for this one! I'm so bad with names TT_TT
3. Life Imprisonment
Okay, so I was in a Finnish fanfiction forum and there were many writing challenges. One of them was Fluff10 (the idea was to write ten fluff fics), in which one I participate with Detective Conan. This was the only fic that I published for that challenge (I lost my motivation to write more), and when I remembered this one, I decided that its time to translate and share it with you! To be honest, not my greatest work, but I still like the idea :)
So the story is: Ran has stolen something which belongs to Shinichi, and Shinichi decides that it's time to punish her. But how long that punishment is going to last, depends if Ran wants to return the stolen thing back to him or not.
Gosh, I'm still a little proud that I got this idea xD
4. Our Greatest Masterpiece
This one is another one for the Fluff10 challenge, but sadly, I never publish this. But I liked this one pretty much, and when I found it while looking at that previous fic, I decided that I'm going to translate this one too and share it with you. But instead of being ShinRan, this one is a short fic about Yusaku/Yukiko and their greatest masterpiece ;)
5. Doctor!Ran & Detective!Shinichi
Another request I got from Tumblr and I started to draft it a little bit since I got an idea though there is not much. At this point, it's something like: "Five times Shinichi and Ran met during the case, and one time they didn't." :D They meet by accident at one crime scene and don't get along, but somehow they happen to be in the same places at the same time a few more times and start to like each other :D
6. It's Always You
This one was asked before, but the basic idea is that after the Black Organisation is taken down, Shinichi and Ran try to date, but sadly Conan-thing has left marks on them and they decide to break up and stay as friends. Shinichi moves to America and tries to move on with his life. After four years he makes a visit to Japan with his parents and fiancee, and of course, he meets Ran again - and realize that he still loves her.
If you want to read more, you find the previous ask here and a little sneak peek ;)
Bonus: Slowly learning that life is okay
This is another fic I had written in Finnish and published. This was for a challenge where we needed to choose one song and decide from its lyrics five titles for our fics. So I took A-ha's Take on me. It included many candidates that were suitable for ShinRan - even when they were a little sad, but when you think about it, doesn't ShinRan be a little sad couple: They love each other so much, but Ran is always worried about him and barely meet or heard about him, and Shinichi is always there by her side, unable to do anything to ease Ran's mind and holding the big secret from her.
But even though four of them were about ShinRan, one of them wasn't, and it was this one. Because when I looked at those lyrics back then and saw this, I didn't think ShinRan: I thought about Haibara Ai. So while searching that Life Imprisonment fic, I also happened to see this one too, and after reading it again, I decided that I like it enough that I should translate it too at some point :)
(And if you're interested, other titles were: Today is another day to find you (Ran goes to Shinichi's home and tries to find any clues where he is, and finally got a call from him), I'll be coming for your love, okay? (which happened at the same time as the previous one, so Shinichi as Conan, is at Agasa's house, sees that someone (= Ran) is in his home, and decided to call Ran and try to ease her worries), I'll be gone (Shinichi makes a fast visit to see Ran while he is on his own body) and (Things that you say) Is it a life or just to play my worries away? (where Kogoro is lost, Ran is worried, and Shinichi tells her that there is nothing to worry about, but still goes to search that old man for Ran without telling her))
So yeah, that kind of fics there are waiting to be working on :D Thank you for asking, hopefully, there is some fic that interests you ^^
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funkwhistle · 3 years
Note
I wonder if you would be able to do a Sadie Adler x FemReader (fluff and smut) in which the reader saves Mrs. Adler from a job go wrong and gets hurt in the process doing so PLEASEEEEE THANK UUUU
Pairing: Sadie Adler x GN!Reader (I think?)
Warnings: None, it's just fluff
Notes: I might do a smutty pt2 - this has been sat in my drafts ever since the request came in, and I ain't wild on it personally (it ain't my best! :D), but why knows I might make a lovely smutty part 2
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The pounding of hooves was the only thing you could hear at the moment, your eyes drifting shut as the four of you rode back to camp. Sadie had her arm around you, holding you on her horse, galloping as fast as Bob could go. Behind you, Lenny and Hosea rode, with equal urgency as Arthur, who was riding alongside Sadie, trying to get you back to camp as fast as possible.
The four of them had been down to Shady Belle, planning to steal some elusive jewels, which had been stolen from a passing boat the other week. The plan was meticulously organized, Sadie was to sneak in during nightfall, with Hosea distracting the guards while Lenny and Arthur would sneak into the building. Sadie would be the escape team, transporting the goods from the area without being spotted. You'd run it through with them all at camp, rehearsing it until Hosea could recite his lines in his sleep and Lenny couldn't be heard by anyone around camp.
It was a foolproof plan, if the guards didn't take the carefully fed bait, they'd leave, planning on slipping some unnamed plant Dutch had provided them with into their drinks. The plant promised drowsiness, giving them enough time to enter, steal the gems, and leave without raising the alarm. You were part of an emergency back up team; waiting with Micah and John in the trees nearby, in case things got nasty. What you did not count on, however, was for the guards to get bored by Hosea's fanciful story, shooting wildly at the man of when he took a breath.
Lenny and Arthur still managed to get their hands on a few, but without the others they were less valuable than the entire collection. Hosea was desperately shooting back at them alongside you three, but they outnumbered the two of you at least ten to one, and you were fighting a losing battle. Sadie had gone around with Arthur and Lenny to try to gain a little more money, but they weren't having much luck, judged by the panicked shouting.
Once the other three joined you, the six of you attempted to retreat, whistling for your steeds and backing away along the wide path to the house. Just as your horses reached you, you let your guard down for a moment, allowing a bullet to lodge itself in your midriff. A cry of pain from you alerted Sadie, who, without any hesitation, pulled you onto her horse, knowing you couldn't wait any longer here.
Now you were a little outside your camp, if you strained to open your eyes, you could see the haze of smoke from one of the fires. One of Sadie's hands was pressing on the wound, desperately trying to stopper the blood spreading over your shirt. You couldn't feel any pain from the wound now, feeling so numb with the continual pain that your body had almost become accustomed to it. A quick glance down showed the damage; the deep wine colour spreading over your shirt, Sadie's hand dripping with your blood.
“Hold on for me, come on now,” Sadie shook you awake a little as her horse slowed for you to get off. Hosea was calling Miss Grimshaw over, and someone else helped Sadie lift you off her horse, you had tried to help, but from the waist down you felt as weak as a rag doll, nothing moved when you told it to. People were rushing around you in a blur of colour, you were being taken somewhere, to what looked like Arthur's tent, you couldn't tell from your bleary vision. The last thing you noticed was Miss Grimshaw rushing to sit beside you, pulling your shirt up to see the extent of your injury.
But by the time you opened your eyes again it was dark again, and the camp was more subdued than usual. Carefully, you moved your hand over your wound, finding damp bandages covering it, and yet you felt worse than when you'd first entered camp, the feeling of dizziness was back tenfold, and you felt as though going back to sleep was the best option. However, you ignored this thought, looking around the Arthur's tent to spot Dutch, sat on the crate beside the bed, asleep with his head in his hands.
“Dutch-” you managed to whisper, even this small action exhausted you. He jolted awake, and his face broke into a relived smile as he looked down on you. For someone who never seemed to care about what you were doing, this change in demeanour was strange, even for someone as unpredictable as Dutch.
“You're awake,” he looked almost surprised, moving closer to you, “Mrs Adler has only just left since you arrived,” he laughed a little, but soon an awkward silence fell between the both of you as he looked at your wound. The tension was broken by Sadie, as soon as her eyes fell on yours she rushed into the tent, past Dutch, to drop beside the bed.
“Thank heavens,” she muttered, taking one of your hands in hers and rubbing circles, “I promise I ain't left apart from just then,” she said a little sheepishly, glancing at Dutch behind her. He grimaced a little before walking out, making sure to drop the canvas flap down, so you had a little privacy.
In the dimly lit tent, you could still make out the dark circles under Sadie's eyes, and the exhaustion which etched itself into the lines on her face. You had no idea how long you'd been out for, but you were too exhausted to move properly at the moment — you hadn't even tried to move anything aside from your head yet, unsure if you could.
“How're you feelin'?” she asked, grabbing your hand and rubbing small, comforting circles on your palm. Unsure if you could trust your voice not to betray your pain, you shrugged a little. The pain in your chest had subsided, although an uncomfortable stinging was webbing across where the wound lay. Sadie caught you looking at where the bullet had entered, squeezing your hand gently to guide your eyes back to hers.
“Remember what I told ya? 'Bout Jake? And tha' bullet he had in his leg, with some rest he was as right as rain, I know you don-” it was your turn to squeeze her hand, stopping her trail of concern.
“I'll be fine Sadie, stop worryin',” you croakily replied, your eyes fluttering shut, exhausted already.
“You're always alright, ain't ya?” you could hear her say, as she placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before you fell asleep.
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gothicsal · 3 years
Note
Hiya!! Okay so, I have like 4 hours to start do my buisness studies project (it counts towards my exams), so ofc i decide to read sal fanfics instead bUT ANYWAYS, could I request sal helping his s/o (they/them pronouns pls) do their project, but since it's due in 4 hours they pull an all nighter? I need some motivation lol and thank you if you can <33
I hope this isn’t answered too late! Best of luck on your projects, Anon, and I hope this helps!
Since the format was unspecified, I’m writing it as a slightly longer headcanons post. If you would like an imagine on this topic, let me know!
My requests are still open, but if I’ve been spamming the tags, please let me know. I can slow down on request put out if wanted. :)
Sal helping his S/O pull an all nighter.
When you first rung your boyfriend on the phone, you sounded so anxious that he rushed right to your house.
“Dad, (S/O) called. They need my help with something. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back. See ya later, Giz.”
He’s at your door barely a moment.
“Sal? What are you doing here?”
Your hair seems a bit muffled with unrest, and if he peered into the background, he could see papers spread over your desk, leaving barely an inch of space.
Sal went on to explain he got worried over your phone call, and rushed over.
Despite how stressed you were, your boyfriend’s incredibly sweet gesture never failed to make you smile.
“ I have a project due in 4 hours. . And I haven’t even started it?”
Noticing your slight flush, Sal chuckled and waited for you to welcome him inside. He’s a very polite boy, after all,
“I’ll help you. What’s the project on?”
And just like that, the race to get your work done begins!
He brews you a cup of coffee to ensure you stay awake, no matter how tiring the work gets.
Sal struggles with motivation to get his work done too, sometimes, so there’s absolutely no judgement on his end.
He sorts out your notes, even putting together a rough draft as you work on the finalized one.
With two people working on the project instead of one, the work flies by!
He makes sure you’re eating and staying hydrated the entire time. No project is worth your health falling.
Small breaks! You’re working so hard, a five minute break every now and then to breathe and clear your thoughts is essential.
If he’s failing to drag your attention away from your project and onto your break, he’ll pull you into his lap for a quick cuddle session.
Soon enough, though, your break was over and you whine when he shuffles back into his work mode.
“Finish the project for more cuddles, deal?”
Four hours of work doesn’t seem nearly half as bad when you have your own personal motivator.
Each of your sources had been scanned, organized and highlighted for finishing details with ease.
Sal lifts your workload so much, you pepper him in kisses for his effort, be it on his face or his prosthetic.
Ten minutes to your deadline, the project is finished, and it looks outstanding! Not a single error is embedded in your work as you hit submit.
No matter how much coffee you two had brewed earlier, you both feel yourselves growing tired.
Looking at the previously blocked window, you and Sal are met with the first rays of morning sun.
Deciding that was enough, you drag Sal to bed for some much deserved cuddles and sleep.
The soft clicks of his prosthetic unbuckling and your sheets rustling as he wraps his arms around you is the last sound you hear before you drift to sleep.
When you wake up, it’s well past noon.
Ordering in some late lunch, you pay the tab, wanting to thank Sal for his help.
Shaking him awake,you surprise him with his favorite food when you get a notification - your project had been graded, and your grade was perfect.
Hard earned relaxation for the rest of the day, you two deserve it after the rough all-nighter.
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real-fanta-sea · 2 years
Note
Hello!!💚😊 do you still write kiss requests?? For Trevor/Mike ship and can I request something for 'bury the hatchet' mission with 11 or 57 number? I really love to see how Trevor saves Michael so😍😱
Thank you!💗
Hi sweetie! I'm sorry it took me so long, but it's finally here! Find it under "keep reading". If you prefer AO3, click here to read the fic. tw mentions of violence, kissing, kinky old men
"Get the boyfriend!"
"The WHAT?" Michael huffed out, along with a small puff of fog, as he crouched behind a thumb stone that felt too small to shield him. Of all things, why would they think they were dating? Like, that were the signs? Can't two guys share a trailer, a bed, a shower, a coffee mug, cigarettes, whiskey bottles and take-out receipts without arising suspicion? Can't two consenting adults watch each other read a porn magazine while relieving stress? Is it a sign of marital status to carry someone over a threshold while high on... whatever was Trevor high on? Michael cringed inwardly as a bullet grazed the top of the stone and made the falling snowflakes find refuge on the back of his neck. There was no time to mull that over. The crunch of footsteps and angry commands closed in, and he had to act fast.
He did the math frantically. His pistol still had 16 bullets ready to be planted into the brains of whoever he aimed at. There was another full magazine in his jacket pocket. Good. Michael peered above the top of the stone, now chipped into a monstrous row of teeth. The silence has been ruptured by the sound of breaks. Judging by the urgent stomping, there were far more than 33 men to bury that night. Michael ducked and ran towards a statue of an angel reclining over another piece of stone, big enough to hide him under its sorrowful wings. Finally able to stretch out, he took a deep breath and cracked his neck. He remembered the last time he had to fight off so many people and cursed when he shot a look back towards Brad's grave. At that time, there was no blanket and a cup of hot coffee waiting for him. At that time, dance macabre was all too real for comfort. But it was not a time to die; he convinced himself. Not in the freezy shithole called North Yankton. Not without a fight.
Just when he peered over the side of the sculpture, the world around him slowed down into a strange state of blue trance. He shot four men in a matter of seconds, retreated to his cover, and resurfaced again behind a different piece of stone. All he could feel was a stinging sensation on his face as he collapsed with snowflakes, a soft crunch of virgin snow below his feet mixed with the recoil of the gun in his hand, going off in time with the rhythm of his heart. He wouldn't have minded if the state of focus and tranquillity remained his primary state of being. To be faster than others, not feeling the bullets licking skin and flesh off of his body, killing without remorse - he missed such balance in his retired life.
Not many voices filled the graveyard when Michael finally threw his pistol away and snatched a gun from a random unlucky henchman whose blood was rapidly cooling on the ground. The relative silence unnerved him. The math didn't add up, and even when he cracked his neck again to relieve some of the pressure, the popping sound didn't fill the space enough to be comfortable again. Only when he ascended from the aisle, ducking, eyes darting all over the dark place, he noticed how fast he was breathing and that his hands were shaking.
Fuck it, he thought to himself, that one extra burger, coke and pizza every now and then, when he couldn't sleep, did hurt after all. Maybe Mandy was right to nag at him for smoking too. Before he could make an oath to himself to start exercising once he got away from the situation. Before he could even turn around in awe, the bushes behind his back rustled and gave birth to a furious Chinese man. The newborn didn't spare a second to hit the back of Michael's head with something Mike later identified as the butt of his gun and knocked the dumbfounded Michael unconscious.
It didn't take long for Michael to wake up, but the world was swirling around him into a smudged black-eye blue mush, and it reeked of puke. There was a horrible echo of voices nagging in his throbbing head, and it took a lot of him to recognize two twitching shadows dragging him through the muddy snow. For a split second, he felt weightless as the shadows threw him inside a gaping black space and the thunder of the van door being shut made him shriek in pain.
For what felt like an eternity, his existence was reduced to watching a streak of orange light running towards his chest and vanishing before it reached his head. Michael scrutinized the small cut out in the wall that divided his dark cell and the cockpit of the van and marvelled at the sounds emerging with every blink of the orange light. The slight rocking of the vehicle only served to make him more nauseated in between his scattered thoughts. Why haven't they killed him was among the first coherent questions his brain was capable of producing. Why would they want him alive? The light blinked away rapidly and brought about the noise of radio static and two voices fighting over what frequency to tune in. Get the boyfriend. Why was the question coming back then?
Michael groaned as the deafening sound of Channel X pinned him to the ground again. Boyfriend. He recognized the music. He remembered. They thought Trevor would pay whatever price they demanded in exchange for his safety. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, and he didn't try to stop it for a change. How they could still think that after witnessing their bickering at Brad's grave, Michael wasn't entirely sure. What he knew with paralyzing certainty was that no one was coming to save him, and it was Trevor's fault. In between the blinks of light and throbbing pain, his memories ran back to the moment Brad unknowingly shielded Trevor as it often did in the past ten years and wished once again Dave either pulled the trigger a second later or aimed for Michael's head.
He didn't know whether to be annoyed or thankful when screeching breaks interrupted his daydreaming session. Judging by the high-pitched angry Chinese, they either had some very unfortunate flat tyre, or they ran into trouble. Or, which was something Michael didn't want to think about, they arrived at their lair and discussed the best way to make a chop suey from his guts. He shifted slightly, shaking off the inappropriate thoughts his mind offered him. It did him no good to think about alternate universes where all his problems were gone, and he was roasting under Los Santos sun by his pool.
The sliding door opened, and Michael was immediately hit into the face with a sluggish white light and smell of iron. Just one glance at the tiles plastered all over the walls, hooks idly clinging in the draft, and he knew exactly where they were. A shiny tray with a handsaw grinned right back at him from the centre of silhouettes of men. Oh god, he was so screwed. So fucked over. He made a mental note to kick Trevor in the balls when... IF... he sees him again. A pair of hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out of the car, his head bouncing off the ground when it hit ice-cold concrete. Michael shivered. Was it really all there was for him? Would the famous Michael Townley, the phantom of the north, end up minced into Flormart burgers? A curse escaped his lips when he imagined the limp, tasteless slice of pickle and an unnaturally orange slice of cheese tiredly melting on his flesh in someone's microwave. He could withstand any torture but that.
"Hey you, you are awake, aren't you?"
Michael winced inwardly and squinted his eyes against the bright light. "Oh, am I? I didn't know! Are you a doctor or something?"
There was a prompt leathern shoe planted into his face. Michael hissed upon contact, the smell of cheap shoe glue imprinting into his memory. So much for a well-meant, friendly sarcasm.
"Ok, I got it. I'll shut up."
"You better should, pig!" There were several snorts around him, obscured by the bright light. Michael's cheek throbbed. If he was a pig about to be made into bacon strips, he swore to take them with him. The guy who kicked him circled around like a shark.
"Now, tell me. Where does your boyfriend keep the drugs?"
Michael just snickered and shrugged as best as his tied arms allowed. The shadows stepped closer, towering above him. He felt another kick; this time, the shoe bit into his ribs, making him hiss.
"ANSWER!"
A pair of hands yanked him onto his knees. The floor crushed into them, a painful reminder he should have picked up yoga when his wife told him so.
"I DON'T KNOW!"
The sole of the shoe pushed into the middle of his back, stretching his muscles to their capacity. Michael's forehead was pearled with sweat. He could barely breathe. Any further, and he was sure he would throw up.
"Do you think we are stupid?"
The pressure worsened. Michael gasped for air.
"We've seen him carry you over the threshold, and we know from a reliable source you share the bed with him,"
A picture of Ron shaking in the middle of a hostile office, surrounded by the same shadows, flashed through Michael's mind before he blinked it away. Another mental note was taken. Kick Ron's balls right after kicking Trevor's.
"AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO CLAIM YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE KEEPS HIS ASSETS WHEN WE KNOW YOU SQUAT ON HIS DICK EVERY NIGHT???"
"Believe it or not," Michael gasped and tried to turn just enough to look the bastard who stepped on him in the eye, "I don't know anything. Oh, and it's not me who squats; I am more of the top kind of guy."
It occurred to Michael the Chinese guy who led the interrogation had a strange sense of symmetry because before he knew it, he had another pulsating bruise spread over the other side of his ribs. He wanted to think the remark was worth it, even though his body told him otherwise.
"Hang that fag on a hook - let's see if he remembers with more blood in his brain."
For a second, Michael panicked. There were too many hands grabbing and groping him, turning him, and he remembered how he, as a little boy watched spiders do just that with flies in their webs, both horrified and fascinated. He has always considered himself a spider in such situations. Oh, how the turntables! He now was the fly, and the spider was walking away.
"HEY, WAIT!"
The hands kept him floating in the air, and the man stopped in his path, turning around.
"Hm? What is it?"
Michael's eyes rounded, even though he desperately tried to fight the trepidation. "You are terribly wrong about this. I am not his boyfriend, just an acquaintance. I have no idea how you guys are affiliated, but whatever this is about, it all runs down to money, right?"
The man folded his arms on his chest slowly, visibly taking pride in Michael's panic, but his thin lips kept shut.
"I'll pay you if you release me. Generous money, actually. That's what you guys want, right? That's what everybody wants."
The man took a few steps closer, right under one of the beaming tube lights. Michael gulped when he saw the grin on his handsome face. It took him a surprisingly low effort to come close to Michael and grab his jaw in a vice grip.
"Have your whining ever worked on anyone?"
Michael shook his head ever so slightly. He got a shark-like grin in response.
"What we want is to know where your lover, Trevor Phillips, keeps his merchandise and take what is contractually, thus rightfully ours. Tell us, and maybe we will let you go."
His eyes were as black as Trevor's when Michael last saw them, yet there was no shadow of affection in these. The man who looked at him was by all means already dead inside. The hand slipped away from his jaw, but Michael could still feel where his new friend left purple imprints.
"I thought so. Never mind, after the night spent upside down, I hope your point of view will change. HANG HIM!"
All of a sudden, there was a roar of an engine from somewhere above. Michael tried to locate the sound, but it glided away, much to his captors' disdain. There was a cacophony of stomping and foreign words bouncing off the walls, mixing in with the cry of sliding door and hum of the engine coming back.
"HEY!"
His voice was too weak against the noise. No one noticed him twitching; no one cared he was still there.
"HEY, MOTHERFUCKERS, WHAT'S GOING ON!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" was the answer from one of the men, along with a sting of a gunstock on his eye. Michael didn't need answers anymore, though, as the barking of shots and cries of mowed down men crept through the open door. Not so silently, he cursed Trevor for dragging him right into the middle of mafia wars, something he had no desire to see up close. Leaving him in the graveyard alone with a mob? One kick in the balls. Letting them kidnap him and hang him like a piece of ham? Two kicks in the balls. Letting the mafia kill him in a shoot out? Thousands of years of haunting Trevor and another kick in the balls as soon as they both reincarnate. Gunshots from outside closed in on him.
Michael tried to break free from the ropes but only managed to swing back and forth.
"Oh FUCK, I'm going to KILL HIM! YOU'RE SO DEAD, TREVOR!"
"MICHAEL!"
At first, Michael thought he was hearing things. In his state of panic, his brain couldn't get a grip of how the hell Trevor knew where to find him, let alone come and rescue him after he almost shot him. Then he thought that some kind of vessel must have busted in his head, for the familiar voice was accompanied by an even more familiar tall outline topped by a crown of ruffled dark brown hair. He couldn't help but blink rapidly a couple of times, dumbfounded in the middle of the slaughterhouse.
"JESUS, MIKEY!!!"
There were rushed steps, a sound of a gun falling to the ground, followed by two trembling hands cupping his face. Michael closed his eyes and relied on other senses to confirm his suspicion. First, there was a smell of late-night coffees, morning cigarettes, diesel fuel and cheap soap he bought for Trevor not so long ago. Second, there were two big hands, fingers brushing around the edges of his bruises in a way they did years ago when they both were different people, but somehow they did remember how to soothe him. Third, there was a deep-set voice trembling with worry whispering his name. And finally, when Michael opened his eyes again, there were the amber eyes, glazed, terrified and hurt. There was no doubt anymore. Trevor came back for him.
"Oh god, I was so fucking afraid!"
Michael couldn't keep angry when faced with the first shy tears welling in Trevor's eyes, but his ability to speak left him as they fell down and disappeared into the blackness of Trevor's shirt. So instead, he let Trevor's hands caress him, oddly at peace with the gentle touch on his face.
"To think I almost lost you again!" Trevor bit his lip. Something about the droplet of blood blooming under his teeth left Michael breathless. "I was so angry, infuriated much, yes, but then I imagined you laying there with Brad and..."
Trevor gazed into Michael's eyes with such urgency it immediately reminded him of their first kill. The fear mixed in with the red gleam in his eyes, the sense of irreparable, coming back from the past to haunt them. Lost in thought, Michael didn't register the swift movement right in front of him and was caught by surprise by a feeling of having his lips pressed against Trevor's.
They were hot, trembling, and tasted of cigarettes and blood, a mixture Michael desperately tried to forget about. Where they first gently touched his, as if they couldn't believe he was still alive and well, they pressed harder in mere seconds, making Michael's eyes flutter shut. It was difficult for him to admit, but Trevor's lips were the only drug Michael craved for long and lonely ten years. For once, he let his nagging reason get hushed by the shy movement of Trevor's lips, and all the hatred slipped his mind momentarily.
At length, Trevor broke the kiss, and still holding onto Michael's cheeks, he gently propped his forehead against Michael's. Michael let him take a break, listening to his shallow breathing, and their thoughts were buzzing almost audibly where their skin touched.
"Oh god, to think I almost lost you..."
"It's ok, T; I'm still hanging on."
"Yeah, but what if I didn't turn around and follow that convoy? What if they killed you?"
"You could say I would hang around for a bit, and then they would kick me out."
Trevor raised his head and furrowed a bit. "What's that with you and emphasize on hanging?"
Michael raised eyebrows at him and waited till the realization would dawn on Trevor. It took three seconds for Trevor's eyes to round and his mouth to form a perfect 'o'.
"Oh, yeah, uh, I see. Wait a moment, sugar."
Michael's feelings on Trevor holding a knife were usually on the border between panic and deep fucking rooted urge to run for the hills. When Trevor approached him and swung it around his face, Michael was momentarily inclined to the second option, twitching nervously under the cold gleam of the knife. Trevor eyed him with palpable exhaustion.
"Stop wiggling goddammit, do you want to get cut?"
Michael pouted at him.
"Hey, don't give me THAT face, pork chop! It wasn't MY idea to tie you up and hook you here!"
Trevor's knife slowly cut through ropes, murmuring as it bit through thick threads. The very tip brushed against Michael's leg, leaving goosebumps in the wake of its cold touch.
"But I have to say this is kinda hot, eh?" Trevor's grin was back, the brightest light in the room. "How about we try it again when we get back home?"
"What the FUCK are you talking about, Trevor?"
Trevor leant in, still grinning, his knife gliding against Michael's waist.
"I mean, I will send Patricia shopping,"
The knife dipped lower, slipping under Michael's shirt. He gasped, inwardly cursing for giving Trevor the tiniest bit of gratification.
"then I'll take some nice silk rope,"
The dull side of the blade ran through chest hair lush between trembling peaks of his nipples.
"tie you up and make some sweet, sweet love to you, cupcake!"
Trevor's lips were so close, his breath on Michael's lips again, who was petrified with anticipation. His heart hammered against the patch of goosebumps on his chest, and if the last bit of rope didn't snap and let him slide off the hook, Michael would have leaned in himself and stole that kiss. But, instead of the sweet release, he was sent to the cold ground head first, folding like a rag doll upon impact.
Not only Michael sustained another hit on his head, swearing and kicking around, not unlike the turtle Amanda bought for the kids and that he and Jimmy used to torture by putting it on its back, laughing about the way it tried to turn over, but it was Trevor who was laughing his lungs out, folded in half. Michael tried to stab him with a menacing glare, but it didn't help in the slightest. Gathering the last shred of strength, Michael scraped to his feet and balling fists full of Trevor's jacket, he threw them both against deadly green tiles.
Trevor's laugh died out soon after the impact, but the grin remained despite Michael pinning him down. At first, Michael's intention was to beat him up, partially to let the frustration out, partially to get revenge for the stolen kiss, but he was taken aback when Trevor's hands closed over his fists and squeezed gently.
"Whatcha gonna do, Mikey?" Trevor uttered in an irresistibly husky voice that sent shivers of excitement to all the wrong places, "Beat me for saving your life?" Michael growled.
"You fucking..." but the words he wanted to say got sucked back into the vortex of emotion running free in his ribcage. No, beating wasn't what Michael's mind supplied him with when it came to what to do with Trevor. He could barely resist the vivid pictures of Trevor, hair running down his slender back, undressing in front of him, leaving marks on his neck and long scratches speaking volumes about how Michael liked to celebrate their victories. And then, on that day, Trevor was there. Older, but just as tempting, daring, enclosing Michael in the smell of both freedom and slavery with each exhale. Michael took a deep breath. He couldn't help but give in to the craving.
Trevor yelped when Michael crashed his lips with his so hard their teeth clinked together. That was the thrill he wanted to relive, and as soon as Trevor's hands rested against his lower back, pulling him closer, Michael surged deeper and dared to brush his tongue against Trevor's. The choked moan he managed to draw out fueled his fingers in their haste, letting go of fabric and instead bury themselves into Trevor's hair, pulling him closer. Trevor's skin could have combusted any second with the heat it emitted, and Michael couldn't resist yanking him closer, eager to get burned once again.
"Mikey... Jesus Christ!"
Trevor could barely breathe, so much Michael could tell by the heaving of chest caught between the wall and his own body. He was proud of the trembling in Trevor's touch, of shallow breaths and flushed cheeks right in front of him. He still got it.
"What?" Michael grinned impishly and let one of his hands slide down Trevor's back and squeeze him. Trevor yelped in surprise but didn't try to wriggle out of the embrace and even giggled when Michael let his hand rest there. Trevor leaned in closer, his breath sending shivers down Michael's spine as it touched his ear.
"Let's go home, cupcake."
28 notes · View notes
pitubea1910 · 4 years
Text
10th Anniversary
Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader
Words: 4k
Warnings: -
Tags: -
Request: -
Notes: I was supposed to post this for their 10th Anniversary but I totally forgot about it and just found it on my drafts! So I hope you like it :)
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MASTERLIST
The moment you woke up you knew what day it was without even looking at the calendar.
July 23rd 2020.
10 years. It had been a whole decade since all the craziness started. Looking back now, you would have never imagined everything you all had gone through in that time, how much you had grown up -together and separated-, how much your lives had changed.
You were a 15 years-old-girl when you met them thanks to your aunt Lou. When you first laid eyes on them, you just saw five loud and unstoppable guys. You would have never imagined that you would find four brothers and something else in them.
However, there you were, 10 years later, checking your Twitter timeline with a stupid grin on your face. It looked like 2012 all over again and you loved it. You missed those times like crazy. Of course, you knew the hiatus was coming the moment Zayn left the band -and they had earned every single day of it-, but that didn’t change how much you missed them all.
Even though you had kept in touch with the five of them it wasn’t the same. They were all busy with their own solo projects and they barely had the time to meet up. You couldn’t blame them, but you still missed them. Especially the green-eyed one.
Harry and you immediately clicked when you met. It turned out you had a lot in common and similar personalities. You had a tight relation with the whole group, but what you and Harry had was special. Probably it helped that you were the same age. But the truth was that it didn’t matter the reason, you were always together.
Everyone who saw you together and knew how your relationship was just kept on saying that you two would end up together. It turned out they weren’t completely wrong, although it never worked out the way you would have wanted. You were a couple for less than a year. It was the best year of your life and the worst break-up you ever had.
You loved him and he loved you, there was no doubt of that, but it was too complicated to keep it going. As much as you loved touring the world with them, spending every single day with Harry, you also needed a life of your own, you wanted to go to college and doing it from afar didn’t work for you. It was the hardest decision you ever made, but everyone understood and supported you. Harry the most.
It broke his heart as well, but he knew he couldn’t ask you to keep with his lifestyle. He had to let you go. You gave distance a chance, but with their schedules and the time zones it soon became impossible. You remembered the last FaceTime you had, how heartbroken you both were. But it was for the best.
You never lost contact though. Every single time he would come to London he called you to spend a day together. Those days ended up being the best days of the year and they usually ended with you two going back to his place and spending the night together. And every morning your heart broke knowing you had to say goodbye again. But you kept on coming back to him every time his name showed up on your screen.
Usually he was the one who reached out, which made sense since he was the one who was travelling all the time. That morning, that July 23rd, was different. You texted first for the first time in a long time.
Happy 10 years, Styles. Wish we could celebrate together. Love you.
You gulped before sending the text. He was probably in the States and he wouldn’t see it for another few hours, so after sending some other texts to Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn, you got out of bed and headed to the shower. Usually, you would have to hurry to get to your internship, but with the pandemic you still didn’t have to go, so you had another day completely off.
However, before you got into the shower, you heard your ringtone. You frowned confused. It was way too early for your mum to be calling, so you had no clue who could it be. Maybe it was your boss, giving you an update on the status of your internship. With a sigh, you turned on the water and went back to the room, hoping it would be a quick call so you could go back to your shower.
You took the phone without even looking at the phone and answered it.
“Hello?” You said as you started walking back to the bathroom.
“Happy ten years to you too, love”, a deep known voice said on the other side, making you stop on your tracks as your heart started racing.
Quickly, you checked the caller and saw Harry’s name. He was probably the last person you expected to talk to that day.
“Thanks”, you finally managed to say when you put your phone against your ear.
“I’m guessing you didn’t expect my call?” He said. Judging by his tone, you knew he was smirking, which made you smile.
“You guessed correctly”, you admitted. “How are you awake?”
“I was out for an early run”, he said, making you frown.
“Wait, are you in England?”
“In London to be more accurate”, he said.
“R-really?” You stuttered.
“So maybe we can also make the celebration happen”, he said.
“Really?” You repeated. “I mean, yes! That would be great!”
You smacked yourself on the forehead for being such a nerd. He chuckled quietly before saying he had to make some calls during the morning, but he could pick you up at noon to have some lunch. You said yes immediately. Most of the restaurants were still closed, but he was Harry Styles. He always had a trick up his sleeve, and you couldn’t see what he would pull off that day.
Since you woke up way too early, the morning went off slowly. Or maybe it was just you being impatient. However, you finally got a text from Harry saying he was parked outside of your building. You grabbed your purse with the basic stuff -wallet, keys and phone- and a mask. Once you were sure you had locked the door properly, you went to the elevator.
Usually, he would wait for you in his car in case some recognised him. So it shocked you to see him casually leaning against the vehicle when you walked out of the building. When he heard you, he looked up from his phone. You couldn’t see his whole face due to the mask he was wearing, but his eyes told you he was smiling.
Despite all the precautions and distancing you were supposed to take, you knew it wouldn’t work with him. He was like a magnet and all you wanted to do was hug him and have him hugging you.
“Can I hug you?” He asked.
The fact that he was thinking the same as you made you laugh. All you did was hugging him tightly. He could always hug you, no matter what. He was the exception to every rule.
“I missed you”, you said with your eyes closed, which made him squeeze you a bit tighter.
“Me too”, he whispered.
You spent a couple of minutes just holding each other before he pulled away and opened the passenger door for you. You thanked him with a smile and got into the car and buckled up while he walked around the vehicle to get in before taking off the mask. You did the same and looked at him, the whole him this time.
“I love your hair short”, you said.
Harry looked at you with a dimpled smile and ran a hand through his hair -an old habit he didn’t seem to be able to shake but you loved- before turning on the engine.
“How long has it been?” He asked once he started driving.
“Christmas, I think”, you said after thinking about it for a moment. “Hans’ Christmas party before you went back to the States.”
“Right”, he said and looked at you, making you blush and smile at the memories of that night. “How have you been?”
“Locked”, you chuckled making him chuckle as well. “But good, I finished my thesis, watched a lot of movies and TV shows and baked. A lot.”
“You’ve always been good at baking”, he said.
“And you’ve always been good at eating”, you teased, making him laugh. “What about you?”
“I got stuck in the States until a few days ago”, he shrugged. “Didn’t do much either.”
“Sorry about your tour, by the way”, you said when you remembered. “I was excited.”
“Me too”, he sighed. “But some stuff are more important.”
You smiled a little and nodded to yourself. This pandemic had been, and was been, a wreck all around the world. As usual, you reached out to turn on the radio, which made Harry smile to himself. Ever since the first time you had got into his car, all those years ago, you would always start the music, no matter what. At first, he was surprised you took such confidences in someone else’s car, but he soon loved that detail about you.
“How is it going with your internship?” He asked when the song that was playing on the radio ended.
“I’m on furlough”, you shrugged and sighed. “I got an email last week saying some people would start coming back to work soon. But I don’t think that includes interns.”
“I wouldn’t be in a hurry if I were you”, he commented as he checked the mirrors. “You don’t have a car to go to the office and I wouldn’t be too excited about getting into the tube.”
“I could always get a bike”, as soon you said that you both started laughing. You were the less sportive person you had even known. “Yeah, that was a good one.”
“Indeed”, he chuckled.
“I’m not in a hurry to go back”, you shrugged. “But it’s boring.”
“I know”, he sighed and looked at you for a moment. “But at least now we have time to hang out.”
“Like old times”, you smiled. Harry smiled softly and nodded.
“Like old times.”
“Where are we going by the way? Most restaurants are still closed”, you said.
You had been so focused on talking to Harry and watching him drive that you hadn’t been paying attention to the streets, so you had no idea where you were going.
“My place”, he said, surprising you. “My new place, actually.”
“You have a new place?” You asked even more surprised.
“Yeah. Too many people knew about the house in Hampstead. It was annoying”, he sighed. “Hopefully, no one will find out about this one.”
“But you loved Hampstead!”, you pouted. You loved that house too, to be honest.
“I didn’t sell it”, he shrugged with a smile. “I just don’t use it as official residency.”
“Good”, you smiled now. “So… your place.”
“You’re okay with that?” He asked a bit concerned.
“Oh yes! I just assumed we would to some restaurant”, you shrugged.
“I thought about it”, he nodded. “But even if they’re open, I feel bad for the people who have to work in them, so I guess it makes their lives less anxious with less customers.”
“Always so thoughtful”, you commented.
“Can’t help myself”, he said, his cheeks blushing a little.
You smiled sweetly and looked out of the window, now curious to see where he had moved to. Judging by the zone, you were in the south of London, although you couldn’t figure out exactly where.
Finally, he drove into a subterranean parking in a big brick building. The parking didn’t have many cars, which led you to believe that he didn’t have many neighbours. Harry parked at the very end of the place and, once he turned off the engine, you unbuckled yourself and got out of the car.
“Quite big for a few cars”, you commented looking around.
“I know”, he laughed after locking his car. “It’s a new building. Probably is four years old, so not many people live here yet. And those who do, have more than one car so…”
“You have more than one spot?” You asked.
“Those three are also mine”, he said pointing.
You smiled when you saw the familiar black Range Rover in which you had been so many times over the years. The other two spots were empty, but you knew he had the cars to fill them.
Without saying anything, he started walking to an elevator you hadn’t seen at first sight. You followed him while you checked your phone before throwing it into your bag for the rest of the day. When you got into the elevator, you looked around at how new it looked.
“How long have you been living here?” You asked, leaning against the wall of the elevator.
“A couple of years”, he shrugged and you nodded. “I was the second one to move in.”
“Really?” He nodded. “Nice”, you chuckled.
It didn’t surprise you when the elevator opened at the last floor. He had always liked high places and he had always said that he would love to live in a penthouse someday. It looked like he had fulfilled another one of his fantasies. As you stepped out, you saw that there were only two doors. Private.
“I’m the only one in this floor”, he commented. “These two places are the most expensive so”, he shrugged.
“More silence for you. Imagine a family with three children living across the hall”, you said.
“You would go crazy”, he laughed.
“Definitely”, you smiled a little.
It wasn’t like you didn’t like kids. You did. But when there were many of them, you got a bit nervous, especially if they were loud.
Harry took out a keychain and put it in front of where a locker should have been. It beeped and he pushed the door open. He looked back with a cocky grin.
“Snob”, you mumbled when he let you walk in first.
“Hey!” He laughed.
He took your bag and hung it next to the door while you looked around in awe. It was an open-space living room and kitchen, surrounded by huge windows from where you could see Vauxhall Bridge and the other side of the Thames. It was all decorated in cold colours, but it wasn’t a cold environment. He had managed to give his personal and warm touch.
“What do you think?” He asked standing behind you, a bit more closer than what you expected.
“Much better than Hampstead”, you admitted.
“You think so?”
“There’s no way teenage girls will camp just outside your door”, you shrugged.
“Good point”, he laughed. “Come, I’ll show you the balcony.”
“I’m not a big fan of heights”, you reminded him while he was dragging you by your hand.
“I won’t let you go”, he said.
Saying no to him was an impossible task. There was nothing you could deny to him, not when he gave you that dimpled smile that you loved so much.
To be honest, the views were breath-taking, it couldn’t be denied, but you didn’t go too close to the edge just in case and Harry didn’t push you. All he did was hold your hand tightly.
“I have to confess something”, he said after a while.
“What is it?” You asked quietly.
“I haven’t cooked anything. I was praying you were craving pizza”, he said, making you laugh out loud.
“I’m always craving pizza, you idiot”, you said giving him hand a gentle squeeze before going back inside.
He followed you inside but left the door open. While he ordered the pizza, you walked around the living room, checking out the photos he had framed and also the vinyl collection he had. You smiled a little when you saw that he had all One Direction CDs there as well, as vinyl.
When you started looking at the photos, the first one that caught your eye was one of the two of you, so many years ago, in the tour bus. You took it from the chest it was on. You smiled warmly as you remembered all those long hours stuck into the bus. Somehow, they all managed to make it fun.
In the photo, you and Harry were laying down on one of the sofas, sleeping while facing each other. You were cuddled up against him while he had one hand on your waist, hugging you, and the other one stretched over your head. You remembered having that photo as your lockscreen for so long.
“I think that’s my favourite.”
You hadn’t expected Harry to be just behind you. You hadn’t even heard him coming close to you, so you gasped and almost dropped the photo, but he was quick enough to catch it.
“So I would appreciate if you didn’t break it”, he chuckled.
“Sorry, you scared me”, you said.
“Sorry”, he said too and looked down at the photo before putting it back on top of the chest. “We really had fun that tour, didn’t we?”
“Wasn’t it the one when we started dating?” You asked. He nodded and turned around to walk to couch. “It really was fun.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” He asked all of sudden.
You chuckled and looked down before shaking your head. It was a question that always came up between you two. If the answer was positive it changed the whole mood of the time you spent together. It wasn’t like you didn’t want each other to date other people, but it still hurt to see it.
“Are you?” You asked.
“No”, he said and looked at you before smiling a little.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that”, he said and looked down at his hands. He started playing with his rings, which he used to do whenever he got nervous.
“About what?”
“Us.”
“Oh…”, you gulped and looked down as well.
You always feared when he brough that up. Usually it was because he was seeing someone, so you guessed this time wouldn’t be different, even though he had just said he wasn’t seeing anyone. You bite your lip and nodded.
“Okay”, you whispered.
“I was going to wait until after we ate but since it came up”, he shrugged.
“You brought it up”, you quickly said.
“Good point”, he chuckled.
“Anyway”, you looked at him. “What is it? What’s her name?”
“Her name?” He asked confused. “I’m… I’m not seeing anyone. I told you.”
“Really?” You frowned, even more confused than him. “I just- Every time you want to talk about us, it is because you’re seeing someone.”
“Oh… I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest”, he said thinking about it before laughing a little. “It’s not the case now”, he shrugged.
“What is it?” You asked now curious but also fearful. What if he said he didn’t have feelings for you anymore?
“You know how we have always said that we can’t be together because of how messy my life is, right?” He asked and you nodded, having no clue where he was going with this. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and you were right about it back then. When I was in the band. Now it’s different.”
“How? You still have the same job”, you shrugged. “And I don’t want you to have a different one”, you quickly added.
“Yes, but I’m not touring all year long”, he explained. “Now I can take my time. It’s been two years since I dropped my first solo album and only last year, I dropped Fine Line. Yes, when I’m on tour I spend a lot of time on it, but I also have a lot of time between one and the next. Especially now that it’s been postponed.”
“Harry”, you interrupted him. “Go to the point”, you chuckled.
“Yes, sorry”, he smiled a little. “I want to give it, us, another chance.”
Your mind went completely blank as he said the words. You had no idea how many times you had dreamed about this and, now that it was right in front of you, you didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, you felt scared, confused, lost. You loved him? Of course you did. Was this a good idea? You got no idea. You only knew that the first time almost broke you and you didn’t know if you were ready to go through that again.
Although it could work out this time, a tiny voice inside your head said.
What if it didn’t? What if you just didn’t work as a couple?
Luckily for you, just then the bell rang.
“Pizza!” You exclaimed and got up, relieved to have some time off from that conversation.
Harry looked at you as you ran to the door, obviously running away from him at the moment. He had no idea what to think of that. Did that mean you didn’t feel the same way anymore? You only saw him as a friend? Or maybe it was just that you didn’t see it coming and felt a bit overwhelmed? He wanted to believe it was the latest, but his mind kept on going to the worst-case scenario.
Anyway, the food was there and he figured that giving you time to take his words in wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Harry had already paid for the pizzas when he ordered them, so all you had to do was take them. Once you closed the door by pushing it with your foot, you went to the isle that separated the kitchen from the living room and put them on top of it.
“This smell amazing”, you said while Harry was walking around the kitchen gathering the dishes, glasses and napkins.
“I’m drooling just by the smell”, he agreed. “Do you want to eat here, in the living room or out there?”
“It’s a bit chilly out there”, you said. “Maybe the living room and we can watch something on Netflix?”
“Sounds good”, he nodded.
Silently, you two moved everything to the living room and set the table up. When it was all ready, Harry turned on the TV and logged into his Netflix account before he started looking for something to watch while you poured water into the glasses.
“What about Harry Potter and The Priosioner of Azkaban?” He suggested.
“You know me”, you smiled widely.
It was your favourite Harry Potter movie, so there was no way you would say no to it. Harry smiled warmly and nodded to himself.
“I do”, he sighed before pressing play on the remote.
***
“I’m surprised you watched the whole movie”, you said two hours later when the movie was over.
“Why?” Harry asked.
He stood up and started taking everything back to the kitchen.
“Well”, you got up too and took the glasses. “You always fall asleep during the movies I choose.”
“Technically, I chose this one, so it would’ve been rude to fall asleep”, he said while you handed him the glasses so he would put them into the dishwasher.
“It’s rude anyway but whatever helps you sleep at night”, you said with a smile.
“Are you saying I’m rude?” He asked with his eyes narrowed after he closed the dishwasher.
“Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Styles… I know the whole truth about you”, you said, crossing your arms.
“And what is that?” He asked, mirroring your position.
“That you can be rude sometimes”, you shrugged.
“Falling asleep during a movie is not rude. It is… tiredness”, he said, making you laugh.
“And you always have a reply for everything”, you said.
“I like to be prepared”, he shrugged.
“Like I said…”, you laughed and leaned against the counter.
Harry laughed out loud and shook his head before excusing himself to go to the bathroom. You stayed there in the kitchen, thinking again about what Harry had said just before the pizza arrived. You had barely paid attention to the movie thanks to that.
You had no idea where that proposition came from. It had been years since you two had had any conversation about your relationship and you had no idea what you wanted. Yes, you loved him. Yes, you wanted to be with him. But you feared that this was just about him feeling nostalgic. You remembered vividly the great couple you two were, but you didn’t know if you could go through that kind of heartbreak again.
“You know what I’ve been trying to get better at during lockdown?”
You jumped a little since you hadn’t heard him coming back from the bathroom.
“Surprise me”, you said, still lost in thought.
“Football”, he said. You looked at him with an eyebrow raised, trying not to laugh.
“Really?” You asked. “How did that turn out exactly?”
“Awful”, he admitted, making you laugh.
“I figured”, you nodded and sighed, looking down at your hands.
You felt him coming closer until he was standing right in front of you. Yet, you didn’t dare to look up.
“You okay?” He finally asked.
“Where did that come from?” You blurted out. When he didn’t answer, you looked up. He was frowning and the look in his eyes told you that he was measuring his words. “About us.”
“From… what I feel for you”, he said like it was obvious. “What I’ve always felt for you.”
“Right”, you sighed.
“Don’t you feel the same anymore?” He asked worried.
“I don’t think there’s a world, a universe, where I don’t feel that way about you”, you sighed.
“What’s the problem, then?”
“Why now? How do I know that this, you wanting more again, is not something that will just go away?” You asked.
“I’ve always wanted more from us, (Y/N). The only reason we broke up was because we couldn’t make it work with our lives. We can now”, he said. Hesitantly, he took a step towards you and held your hands. “I’ve loved you since we were 18. I can promise you it isn’t going anywhere. Ever. And neither am I.”
“It…”, you sighed. “It just hurt so much when we broke up, Harry. I don’t think I can go through that again.”
“You won’t.”
“You can’t promise that”, you chuckled.
“I could”, he shrugged. “Because that’s a promise I plan on keeping.”
You looked down at your united hands and sighed. His hands had always been so big, way bigger than yours, which had always made you feel safe in a strange way. You bit your lip, not knowing what to do. You knew what you wanted, but you didn’t know if you were brave enough to do it.
“I love you”, you whispered.
“And I love you too”, he said back, rubbing your hands. “You’re my endgame.”
“Don’t use The Avengers against me”, you said, making him laugh. With a sigh, you looked up and it surprised you to find his green eyes so close to yours. “You can’t look at me with those eyes and expect me to give you a reasoned answer.”
“I don’t want you to follow reason”, he shrugged. “I want you to say what you really want.”
“You”, you said without hesitation. “Always. Every day.”
Harry smiled warmly and put some hair out of your face gently, before cupping your face.
Your heart was beating so fast and it felt so loud, that it surprised you that he couldn’t listen to it. You didn’t know what the right thing to do was, but you knew that reasoning about this wouldn’t get you anywhere. You knew you loved him, you knew you wanted to be with him. Maybe he was right. Maybe you could make it work this time. They said that third time was the charm, but maybe the second could be your charm.
“Is it a yes?” He asked, now looking at your lips.
“Yes”, you finally nodded.
His smile grew even bigger now before pulling you towards him and pressing his lips against yours. Just like every single time, you felt fireworks in your stomach. Ever since the first time you kissed him, you felt you could spend your whole time kissing him and would never get tired of it.
Maybe this time, you could do it forever.
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miracleonice87 · 3 years
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Make You Feel My Love with Nathan MacKinnon
a Nathan MacKinnon song fic
a/n: season outcome, timing, and stats = totally fake. based on Nate’s public mentions in past interviews of seeing a sports psychologist, which is really inspiring to me. seeking professional advice is a GOOOOD thing! also, wasn’t originally intended to be a song fic, but Adele’s version of Make You Feel My Love (originally by Bob Dylan) came on while I was finishing it up, so I went with it! last note: pretending Tyson never got traded to the Leafs is the best part of writing hockey fanfiction. 🥺
summary: Angry/Sad Nate loses in the playoffs and takes his frustrations out on his girlfriend Sam, who gets comfort and advice from his teammates and friends.
warnings: swearing; isolated, individual outbursts of anger but NO physical violence; mentions of counseling/therapy and the practice of sports psychology (obviously, like I mentioned, this is a good thing but just something to know); crying Nate (I feel like that deserves a warning)
_____
Deflated, I sat in a bulky black chair in the team family room deep in the recesses of the Pepsi Center for several minutes after leaving the wives and girlfriends suite, needing a moment away from prying eyes and cameras to process what had just occurred.
The Avalanche had been one of the highly favored teams in the West all season long, yet had just been swept in the second round of the playoffs. My boyfriend, Nathan MacKinnon, widely regarded as one of the best players in the NHL, had totaled only one point in the 11 playoff games the team had played this year, earning a single assist on a Mikko Rantanen goal.
Needless to say, that hadn’t been sitting right with Nate.
He’d been short with me since the first few games of the postseason; even shorter than he typically got when he was in a drought. I had tried to give him space, but he snapped about the smallest questions I asked or requests I made of him: what he wanted for dinner, or to be sure he called to wish his sister Sarah a happy birthday. He sometimes mumbled an apology in my general direction, but more often than not, he simply left the room in a huff. I tried my best to be patient — to give him space.
It was abundantly clear that the pressure that always loomed heavy over Nathan like a thick, dark cloud had now intensified. I knew, without him ever verbalizing it, that he felt more burdened than ever before to live up to the hype — to the expectations he had for himself, and to those placed on him, either explicitly or implicitly, by the entire hockey community and the media.
When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love
I sat still with my head in my hands for what seemed like forever, until sweet Mel Landeskog, whom I had become so close with over the last four seasons of watching our significant others play together, came and rubbed my back gently through the custom Avs denim jacket that hung on my shoulders. I lifted my head to look at her, a sympathetic smile etched on her beautiful features.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Mel offered. “I know he’s gonna be so hard on himself. But he had such a great season — he needs to be proud of that,” she reasoned. I nodded.
Mel was right. He had had a truly remarkable regular season — he had scored 95 points in 82 games after a enduring a considerable slump for much of the previous year. This year stood in stark contrast to last. He had been riding high for many weeks; that is, until playoffs hit.
I stood to wrap Mel in a hug, appreciative of her gesture of support but unwilling to reflect on Nate’s play right now. “Thank you, Mel,” I told her as I squeezed her tightly. “I’m gonna miss you so much this summer,” I added, gesturing to the car seat on the floor beside her. “And Nate and I will both miss that little one, too,” I said as I blew Linnea a kiss, making her giggle, a welcome sound after a heartbreaking display on the ice. Mel glanced down at her baby daughter, beaming.
“I know, honey. We’ll miss you too. But it won’t be long until we’re all back here together, plus we’ll see each other for a couple of these bachelorette parties and summer weddings and get-togethers, yeah?” she said with a nudge.
“Yeah, that’ll be nice. Until then, you guys be safe,” I told her. With one last hug and quick kisses to each other’s cheeks, Mel picked up Linnea in her seat and exited the room. I realized that she and I had been the last two wives or girlfriends to leave, with most of us having exchanged quiet goodbyes in the suite before making hasty escapes to the parking area to console our respective sad hockey players.
With a groan at the depressing thought, I pulled my jean jacket tighter to my torso and walked slowly out the open door.
When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love
The locker room doors stood maybe ten yards down the hall. The usual rambunctious ruckus that so often echoed off the cinderblock walls was tonight exchanged for a thick silence. It seemed that most of the guys had already left, and those who remained were noiseless. I softly greeted a few of the familiar men who made their way out the doors, offering only a sad smile and a few words of comfort to each, knowing that they weren’t in the mood to engage. They were, however, still polite, with several of the players embracing me briefly or kissing my cheek as they left the building.
Gabe Landeskog was among the very last to leave the room, unsurprisingly, as he was ever the responsible and respectable captain. He spotted me immediately and enveloped me in his strong grasp.
“Hi, friend,” I whispered into his shoulder, worried that my voice would break. “Hi, söt flicka,” (sweet girl) he countered.
“I’m sorry, Cap,” I told him quietly. He pulled back and shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Wasn’t our year,” he replied with a shrug. “As you can imagine, Nate is taking it pretty hard...” his voice trailed off. “I just want you to be prepared,” he finally added, carefully.
My stomach knotted. I tucked some of my hair behind my ear and swiftly licked my lips, feeling anxiety pool in my gut.
Gabe placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Just remember it’s not you he’s upset with. It’s himself,” he said softly. I quickly glanced up at him and nodded. “Thank you,” I choked out. “Now you better get going. You’ve got two beautiful girls waiting for you,” I told him, feigning a bright grin. He tried to mirror my expression, but fell short. It was unnatural to see such sadness in his normally joyful visage. He squeezed my upper arm.
“That I do,” Gabe agreed. “We’ll see you soon, Sam.”
“Okay,” I whispered. “Bye, Cap.” He gave a solemn nod and disappeared down the hallway.
My unease only multiplied after my exchange with Gabe. I began to pace slowly in a circle. I jumped a few moments later when the door flew open with a screech, Nate emerging from behind it, a bitter, dark expression on his face.
I greeted him softly, tentatively, reaching a hand toward him.
“Nate, baby, I —“
My boyfriend brushed past me in a flash, causing a literal draft of air to hit me as he held up his hand, never even making eye contact with me as he practically stomped down the corridor.
My blood ran hot — how dare he not acknowledge my presence after I had attended how many home games, and even road games, supporting him and cheering him on, no matter what? And that was just this season — what about the three prior? Why was he shutting me out? My heart thumped against my ribcage.
“Nathan,” I called, my voice firm this time, whipping around to face his back and then fumbling with the chain of my Louis Vuitton bag as it fell from my shoulder. Discombobulated, I threaded it back over my arm clumsily and took two hurried steps in Nate’s direction, but he was already out of sight.
Just then, I noticed our close friend Tyson Barrie standing a few feet behind me. I could infer from the way he was approaching me gingerly, which was highly unlike him, that he had witnessed our exchange, or the lack thereof. I sighed and pressed a hand to my forehead, his hand coming to grip my other elbow.
“Sam, sweetheart... you okay?” Tyson asked softly. Hot tears pricked my eyelids, but I refused to let them fall, blinking them back with a sniffle. My hand fell back to my side — I was shaking now.
“I knew he would be mad...” I began. “But what the fuck, Tys?” My voice wavered.
Tyson instinctively pulled my waist to his side, giving me a quick, protective kiss to the temple, before pulling away and offering me his hand.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he volunteered. With another sniff, I shook my head. “No, it’s okay, Tys. I drove, thank god,” I spat. “Besides, you’re dealing with the same disappointment. You need to go home with Em and unwind,” I insisted, smoothing one hand over his suit jacket. His head dropped and he offered a weak nod.
“I guess. But listen, if he’s still not acting right, call me, okay? You know you can come over. You’re always welcome, especially when he’s being such an ass,” Tyson said, the end of his sentence turning into a growl. We both sighed; I nodded.
“Thanks, Tys. I’ll let you know. And listen, I’m sorry... about tonight. I know it hurts,” I told him, hugging his neck with one arm. He spread his fingers over my back and gave me a squeeze before stepping back to look into my eyes.
“It’s just hockey,” he said quietly. I smiled weakly and nodded once. “Bye, Sam. See you soon,” he said, rubbing one hand over my shoulder as he turned and made his way down the hall to find Emma.
If only Nathan shared his friend’s logic and sentiment.
I dropped my head back at the thought, tears once again collecting in my eyes. I forced them closed in an attempt to stay composed. With another sigh, I slowly started toward the private parking garage where my vehicle waited.
Unsurprisingly, as I stepped through the glass door and into the garage where I spotted my Audi, the spot next to me where Nate’s Porsche had been was empty. I unlocked my car, tossed my bag and scarf into the passenger side, and slammed my door shut before giving the steering wheel two firm bangs with the palm of my hand. My body still hadn’t stopped trembling.
I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawling down the avenue
No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love
I rested my forehead against the leather steering wheel for a moment before drawing a breath and finally backing out of my spot and exiting the garage, apprehensive of the scene I might find at the condo Nathan and I shared.
_____
I stepped through the front door tentatively, chewing on the inside of my lip. I was careful not to make a sound, walking on tiptoes to avoid clicking my heeled boots on the white tile floor. I dropped my purse onto the table in the entryway and reached to hang up my keys on the rack by the closet when I heard the distinct sound of glass — a lot of glass — shattering.
I froze.
The plans I had formulated in my head during my drive to confront Nate as soon as I arrived home suddenly seemed too unnerving to carry out.
My knees were nearly knocking together as I zipped through the living room and tucked myself behind the wet bar in one corner of the room. I hid myself in a partially-enclosed area where the wine and beer fridge stood, then felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I fumbled to answer it, not wanting to make too much noise.
Sidney Crosby, the onscreen caller ID read. I tapped the green button.
“Hello?” I was caught off guard by how frightened my own voice sounded as I answered.
“Sam, hi. Are you home?” Sid’s usually calm and collected tone was now bathed in concern.
“Hi, Sid. Yeah, I just got home. He’s, uh... it’s not good,” I said quietly, glancing at the staircase as I heard another thud upstairs, this time what sounded like a pair of shoes against Nate’s closet wall. On the other end of the call, Sid heaved a heavy sigh.
“Yeah, I figured,” he said tensely. “I tried calling him thinking I might catch him on his way home and talk him down a bit, but he ignored my call. I’m sorry, Sam. Are you alright?”
I glanced down at my free hand which rested on the oak wood of the bar. I was still trembling, my fears of coming home to chaos having been realized.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I choked out, lying through my teeth. “It’s just hard to watch.”
A deep hum of understanding came from Sid’s throat. “I bet. Have you talked to him?”
I shook my head, despite the fact that Sid was nowhere nearby to see the gesture. “No,” I vocalized weakly. “He uh... he kinda... he didn’t wanna talk to me at the arena... I don’t think.” I fiddled with my promise ring on my left hand as I made the admission. It didn’t even sound like Sid was breathing on the other end of the line.
“You’re telling me he blew you off?” he asked gruffly. I could envision Sidney running a hand over his face before gripping his neat curls atop his dark hair, as he often did when frustrated. I opened my mouth to confirm, but couldn’t actually bring myself to do so, knowing what his reaction would be. I also didn’t want to confess to the commotion I had just heard upstairs, knowing that it would further upset my concerned friend, on my behalf. Instead, I let my silence do the talking.
“Goddammit, Sam,” he growled. “I’m so sorry. He’s young. He- he... I used to do this shit, too,” Sidney admitted with a quick breath. “It’s bullshit. He’s just angry with himself and he’s taking it out on you and it’s not fair. I had hoped I had set a better example about how to deal with these things when they happen... but apparently not.”
A couple of hot tears fell to my face as I responded. “This isn’t your fault, Sid.” He retorted immediately, “Well, it’s sure as hell not yours, either.”
We both sat in contemplation for several moments, neither sure of the next step to take. Then, Sid decided.
“I won’t call him again because he needs to talk to you first. But I am going to text him and urge him that he needs to let you in,” Sid insisted. “He needs to let somebody in,” he repeated. “And it needs to be you first.”
More tears were falling now, and I glanced up at the chandelier overhead and pulled my phone from my ear for a beat to try and settle myself. I wiped at my face with the bottom of my thumb.
“Okay,” I finally whispered. I hadn’t ever really cried around Sid, and while he was one of the nicest and most genuine human beings on the planet, I knew he wasn’t quite accustomed to emotional encounters like this one, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by letting him hear the sobs that were bubbling up in my chest.
“It might not feel like it right now,” Sid broached, speaking in a soothing tone reminiscent of my father’s or brother’s when trying to console me. “But you’re right where you need to be. So is he. He needs you, Sam.”
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong
“Sam?” Nate suddenly called out from the balcony above me, his voice not sounding heated, but doleful instead. From where he stood upstairs, he couldn’t see me.
“Was that him?” Sid asked. “Yeah,” I said softly, somewhat in response to both men. “Good. He’s coming around. Trust me. I’ll let you go. Text me later, eh?” Sid requested, sounding slightly relieved. “Yeah, I will. Promise. Thank you. Bye,” I said hurriedly before ending the call.
“Sam?” Nate’s voice echoed off the walls once more, sounding desperate this time. My pulse quickened.
“Yeah. I’m coming,” I said softly. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, took a steadying breath, and turned to walk upstairs and face him.
By the time I arrived on the second floor only a handful of moments later, Nate was already back in our bedroom, seated in the oversized Queen Anne chair near the center of the room, elbows on his knees, chin almost to his chest. I was shocked to hear small sobs escaping his lips. He glanced in my general direction, not meeting my eyes, and cried harder.
“I can’t even look at you right now,” Nate finally spoke, somewhat coarsely. My heart seemed to shatter right then, and I felt my body steel in self-defense, preparing for war.
“I can’t even believe how I treated you back there. I’m such an awful fucking human. I’m a monster. I’m so sorry,” Nate added tearfully, catching me off guard.
The storms are raging on the rolling sea
And on the highway of regret
The winds of change are blowing wild and free
You ain't seen nothing like me yet
I immediately let out three sobs that seemed to have been lodged in my throat for almost an hour now and, in an instant, closed the gap between us. I dropped to my knees in front of him and laid my head in his lap, hugging his calves. Never before had we shared such an intensely emotional moment. Above me, he covered his eyes with his hands and drew shallow, gasping breaths in an unsuccessful attempt to calm himself.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he cried, not touching me of his own accord. “I’m so sorry.” I picked up my head and looked at him, urgency coursing through my veins. I needed him to come back to me.
“Nathan, baby, hey,” I coaxed, rubbing his big thigh with my hand, which looked so small in comparison. “Look at me. Please? I need you to.”
After a beat, Nate finally lifted his head from his hands, his pale skin slightly splotchy and tinted red, blue eyes shimmering behind more tears that threatened to fall.
“There’s my handsome man,” I said softly, combing my fingers through the neat hair near his ears, watching him slowly return to me.
“Hey, I want you to listen to me, okay? Tonight you’re allowed to cry it out, or punch our pillows, or run on the treadmill all night to blow off some steam. And then I’ll give you a couple more days to swallow this. But after that? We’re gonna check in with Dr. Butler, both of us, so she can give us some ways to cope with this.”
Nate’s shuddering breaths had finally started to slow as I spoke, referencing one of his most trusted allies, the Denver-based sports psychologist he had been seeing now for a few seasons to help him deal with not only hockey-related challenges and mental blocks, but also general anxiety, in order to boost his mental health. I was careful not to allow my tone to come across as if I were babying him, but instead offering comfort and, more importantly, suggesting help. “Because tonight? These last couple weeks? This can’t be it. We can’t deal with things this way. I don’t want you shutting me out, or Sid, or your family, okay? You wouldn’t let me do that — I’m not gonna let you,” I added.
Nate nodded quickly. “Absolutely, babe. I was just gonna say, as soon as I heard you on the phone downstairs, it really just hit me. I realized I needed to text her and set up an appointment,” he told me, his voice no longer shaky. “And that I needed to apologize to you,” he added softly. I nodded, and he grabbed my hands, pulling me to my feet and then back down to lie in his lap. I threw my legs over one arm of the chair and settled against his chest.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to find comfort in Nate’s heartbeat for a moment, as he pressed soft kisses into my hair, before I looked around the room, assessing the damage. I noticed that his suit coat lay crumpled in the middle of his closet floor, his shoes having bounced off the wall there as I suspected, and they sat out of place atop his neatly assembled collection of footwear. Across from us, I noticed the source of the shattered glass — a shadow box display from Nate’s unforgettable rookie season hung just slightly crooked on the wall, the glass in the front completely broken out, save for the shards along the inner edge of the frame.
Nate followed my gaze to the mess and sighed. “I’m really sorry about that, Sam,” he said, shame creeping into his tone. I nodded knowingly. “What did you throw?” I asked. “That puck they gave me from the last game of the regular season. It was on my dresser when I set my wallet down and it just set me off,” he admitted sheepishly. “It was stupid.”
“Yes, it was stupid to break something that’s valuable to you, but it’s not stupid, what you’re feeling,” I told him firmly. “Besides, we’ll get a new glass panel and it’ll be good as new.” His grip around me tightened, appreciative of my response. “Thank you,” Nate whispered into my ear. I turned to kiss his lips slowly and deeply. He finally pulled back, only to murmur, “I don’t deserve you. I’m so grateful I have you.” I smoothed my thumb across his cheekbone. “I’m always going to be here for you, Nate,” I promised. He gave me one more solemn kiss.
“Listen, I’m gonna carry you into the bathroom so you don’t even get close to any shards of glass, and I’ll clean all this up while you run us a bath,” Nate told me. “I’ll join you soon. I think it’ll be good for both of us, eh?” I nodded, wrapping my arms around his neck as he easily picked me up bridal-style and headed toward the en suite.
Things were far from perfect, but I was prepared to do everything in my power to get us as close as possible. From the change in his demeanor, I knew Nate was, too.
I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the Earth for you
To make you feel my love
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wtfevenismypage · 4 years
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Profiler, Not Observer pt2
OBSERVER NOT PROFILER EPILOGUE SERIES PT2
Summary: Life was beautiful, you were so happy, so content, until it was all flipped on your head
Warnings: none :)
A/N: I love you all so much guys, I’m publishing this because it was already finished up, but i am not even close to being finished with any of the requests in my drafts. I’m writing because it’s my passion, my coping mechanism, my de-stresser, and one of the one things in life that keeps me going. But I’m struggling to do it because of how much the universe hates me recently. I am going to be alright, I just need a moment for myself.
Spencer returned to the table with a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The kids believed it though. That’s all that mattered.
“Momma! I finished!”
You smile at Jason, standing up and taking his plate, pressing a kiss to his head.
“Good job baby, can you go take a bath and brush your teeth? We’ll be up in a bit to tuck you in and read to you. Alright?”
He nods giddily, running up the stairs to the bathroom. The twins continue to eat in their high chairs as you walk to the sink, Spencer right behind you.
While you begin cleaning the plates, Spencer hugs you from behind, putting his warm hands on your tummy.
“It was Hotch wasn’t it?”
He nods against your neck, pressing a single soft kiss to it. He seems tense, like how he usually was after an argument with someone on the team.
“Wanna tell me what it was about or are you gonna keep me in the shadows?”
He doesn’t speak, instead he spins you around abruptly, smashing a kiss against your lips. He’s stressed and upset, you can taste it on his lips.
“Hey, bub, as much as I would love for you and I to do that right now, the twins are right there. We’ll talk about why Hotch called later, for now though, can you go see if Jason needs help washing up?”
He sighs before nodding, squeezing you tightly once more before walking off. If only you could still read people as well as you could before. Now you can only tell people names, their emotions, and a few other mediocre things about them. 
You love Spencer so much, but holy hell is he stubborn. He’s upset about whatever Hotch said and he’s reluctant to tell you.
But pushing aside your concerns, you scoop the twins up in your arms as they finish up eating and you slowly rock them back and forth.
“Hush my babies. Relax now, it’s time for sleep.”
You say, stepping up the stairs carefully as to not topple over. If Spencer saw you he would flip. But you managed to safely get up the stairs, hearing Spencer’s and Jason’s laughs echo from the tub in your bathroom.
You smile, looking at the two babies in your hand again before walking to the nursery and setting them in their respective cribs. 
You quickly make your way to your bedroom, crossing it to see Jason in the bath, covered and drenched in soapy suds, and Spencer right outside of it, trying to get him to settle down.
“Jason, I will pay you to settle down.”
A light chuckle escapes your lips at the words of your husband, which makes him turn to you with tired, but smiley eyes.
“Shouldn’t a genius father know how to get a four year old to settle down?”
He smiles as you come closer, bending down to ruffle with Jason’s bubbly hair.
“Hey buddy, are you tired? You have a long day ahead of you, let’s get you clean so you can go to bed.”
He shakes his head rapidly, a frown beginning to form.
“I’ll let you have some candy tomorrow if you go to sleep in ten minutes.”
And just like that he’s rapidly dunking his head underwater to wash his hair out. 
Candy tends to be Jason’s fuel, he can hardly wait to get home on Halloween to eat his candy, last year, Spencer had to take him out a second time to distract him while you checked the candy for razor blades or anything suspicious.
And withing seven minutes, he’s in bed, Spencer right by his side, reading him a book. Spencer wanted to read him more advanced books, but you and him compromised, reading him old tales instead.
“The end. Alright, go to sleep now little one, you have a great day ahead of you.”
He nods sleepily, and you smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead which Spencer copies.
When you and Spencer reach your own bedroom, your smile slowly drops as Spencer plops down on the bed tiredly.
“So... What did Hotch want?”
He sighs, pulling you towards him. You stand right in front of him, letting him rest his head on your big baby bump.
“He said he needs us to come back. Just for one case.”
A gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. 
“He wants us back?”
“He said we can talk about it but he needs an answer soon.”
“But we haven’t talked to them since...”
“Since we retired. Yeah, but I guess they miss their resident genius and super profiler.”
You chuckle. The two of you didn’t intentionally cut off communications with the team, it just kind of happened. You tried to text them, but alas, they were always busy with cases.
“Well, obviously you don’t want to go.”
He let’s his lips kiss your tummy, sighing for what seems like the fiftieth time tonight.
“It’s not that I don’t want to go it’s just... I’m worried about the kids... And you’re pregnant! What if you get hurt?”
You hold his head, tilting his face up to meet your gaze. His eyes are sad, worried. They make you hurt.
“I’ll be fine. I won’t go into field? Will that convince you? And we’ll hire a babysitter. It’ll be fine. Can we please go?”
You beg, crouching down to his level and holding his face in your hands.
“You are so stubborn.”
“You love me for it.”
TAGLIST:
@imsuperawkward @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @l0ve-0f-my-life @hopebaker @thatsonezesty13 @nightlygiggless @aberrant-annie @holybatflapexpert @spencerreidisbootiful @april-14-blog @jackryan-plz @kalebtheo @ajwantsapancake @lightswriting @emilouu @yourmisosoup @lizziebritish @101donuts @rainsong01 @pretty-boy-genius @spenciepoo338 @gublerstyles @delievia @boxofsparklingmuses @annestine @baby-i-am-fireproof @allthedumbassfandoms @irjuejjsaa @zhangyixingxing1 @madcrazy50 @maryhuffxoxo @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @officialbogbody @m3lly-x @dark-night-sky-99 @eu-solidao @thupidalethea @bad-idea-personified @random-thoughts-003 @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @boiled-onionrings @polywitcheyes @bxbyspxncer @snitchthewitch @yoruebeautiful @blablasomethingblabla @zhangyixingxing1 @etherealgubler @valkyrie-5583 @peaxhyjaes
Permanent taglist:
@pinkdiamond1016 @sheepfather @spencer-reids-snow-white
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angelaiswriting · 3 years
Text
The Contest (5 of 7) | some R6S guys x fem!reader
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✏️ Pairing: Bandit x fem!reader
✏️ Summary: Dominic Brunsmeier can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut when it comes to eating pussy, and that’s how Y/N finds herself being drafted to be the judge of this pussy-eating contest. (Straight out of a dream @kind-wolf​ had)
✏️ A/N: enjoy 😈
✏️ Warnings: 18+ only (oral f/r, fingering)
✏️ Word-count: 3,398
✏️ The links to the other parts are in the masterlist linked in my bio.
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<< part four: alexsandr <<  |  PART FIVE: DOMINIC  |  >> part six: marius >>
Luckily for her, the next day ended up being as busy as the day of Timur’s turn. Thatcher had requested Marius’ intervention in Malta, where he had been deployed with Sledge and other operators, and Y/N had spent the morning helping the man getting ready to leave. Help check his equipment, brief him quickly about the kind of mission he was about to leave on for a few days, keep an eye on the other guys as they loaded said equipment on the aircraft that would fly him to his destination.
By the time she was done and the man had been flown out, she was as exhausted as one can be. Having woken up at four in the morning wasn’t of help; add that to her thoughts (and soul) still being in that locker room with Alexsandr, and it was no surprise that she crashed out in the matter of a few minutes when she reached her room again.
She had asked Dominic to speed it up, though; she had told him Alex had already had his turn and she wanted to continue fast — or as fast as possible now that the fifth and last man wasn’t at the base anymore. The only thing she could do was hope that he’d be back before she could start missing his presence.
And Dominic had been nice. He had agreed on staying with her until she’d fall asleep, and more importantly, he had agreed to give it his best that day. He had done so quietly, almost uncharacteristically quietly, but the excitement in his eyes and in his grin had been all but subtle.
When she woke up, sometime after noon, it took her a hot minute to come back down to Earth. Slumber was still heavily laced with her thoughts — and with her tongue, for it felt heavy and asleep in her mouth. She blinked against the too-bright light of the lamp on the bedside table; a stupid idea of hers to tell Dom to leave it on before closing her eyes, almost in the hopes that she would not oversleep. And although she had slept in and he hadn’t switched the light off, it was almost disappointing to see him gone.
The other side of the bed was empty, and while he had left his sweatshirt behind, hanging behind the door of her room, she knew she wouldn’t find him in the bathroom. Some meeting with Harry, or so she seemed to recall him saying in the very few minutes she had spent awake after returning to her room at nine.
When she eventually managed to wash her face and leave her dorm, the corridor she walked into when she closed the door behind her back was silent. One of the drafted teams had been supposed to return to the base at ten — she had read the papers in the hangar when she had signed Marius’ modules for him — but not a sound reached her ears as she made her way to the mess hall.
It was better that way, she thought. It felt selfish, for a moment, because no one wanted to stay on mission longer than necessary, but if someone else were to know about the contest she had found herself being the judge of, it would be easier to dig herself a grave with her own hands than to face the incessant teasing she would get from some of her colleagues.
“Decided to join us for lunch?”
It was Elias’ chuckle that welcomed her back to civilization — or as much of a civilization as it could be when these men were involved. He was sitting at a table with Alexsandr, who was looking at something on his phone before he lifted his head and greeted her with a knowing smirk.
“Is there anything left for me?” she yawned, pointing at the empty plates still sitting on the table before them.
“There’s some delicious doctor’s sausage for you if you follow me to the kitchen.” Alex was on his feet in a heartbeat, balancing his and Elias’ glasses on their dirty dishes as he still held his phone in the other.
She almost choked on air at that, before the other man said something about going easy on her before he hurried out of the room, her slap already dangerously close to his shoulder.
“No cocks involved, remember?” she said, catching up with Alex just as he was stepping through the kitchen doors. “You made me come twice, but don’t think I wouldn’t disqualify you if you whip it out.”
He turned around with a grin on his face and a sausage in one hand. “Zayka, I don’t need to show you my cock to win this game.”
She had spent the afternoon thinking about his cock, though. Saying the opposite would be a lie. She had paired up with him again to train — to let out some steam had been her exact words, but she knew training wouldn’t help her this time — and by the time she had showered (alone, this time) and had left the gym, Dominic had already had his hands on her.
“Where are we going?”
“We put great responsibility on you,” he said instead of giving an answer to her question. “I thought a surprise would do you good.”
His lips brushing against her ear, she had expected for the surprise to be something else — or somewhere else, right between his legs, for example — but what she found left her pleasantly surprised. When he typed in the code to unlock her door, there was an impromptu dinner waiting for her on her bed.
“I was too busy to actually cook you something.” He grabbed her gym bag and dropped it against the wall as he closed the door. “But it’s still early anyway, so I thought some fruit and chocolate couldn’t be that bad.”
She gave herself a moment to take the sight in. He had laid out a checkered tea towel on her bed, almost as though it were a picnic of sorts, with a tray full of fruit he had already washed and cut. Next to it, somehow balanced against a bottle of bubbly, was a box of her favorite liquor-filled chocolates.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Dom. Thank you.” She took a deep breath before turning around and facing him — more to swallow down a chuckle than anything else.
He was much closer than she had expected him to be, his chest almost pressed against hers when she turned around. His hands came to rest on her hips, and he pulled her closer with a smile on his lips, his nose bumping jokingly against hers.
“Don’t count on this to buy you points, though,” she whispered against his lips, eyes open and staring into his. “More tongue, less planning, yeah?”
“If you weren’t my judge, I’d call you a party pooper,” he pouted. “Let me set the mood at least! I’m ready to bet what’s between my legs that those motherfuckers didn’t even spend the time to do it.”
She smiled at that, and this time it was a genuine smile as she pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Then you’re free to proceed with your plan, Contestant number four.”
He picked her up then, didn’t even wait for her to say another word before pushing her to wrap her legs around his waist as he walked her to the bed.
“What do you want to start with?” He didn’t say it out loud, but she knew his dick was part of the choice range when he sat down and thrust his hips against hers.
“We can have fruit later, I want to start with the real deal.” And before he could come up with some pun, she was already tearing the thin plastic wrapping off of the chocolate box.
“Only you can consider chocolate ‘the real deal’ in a situation like this,” he laughed.
She shut him up with a quick peck on the lips before she fed him chocolate. “Just eat,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That’s what you’re supposed to be doing tonight anyway.”
The sound that left his lips was halfway between a groan and a chuckle, something so inexplicably ‘Dominic’ that she found herself unable to stop that smile from stretching her lips.
“I wanted to be romantic,” he said less than a minute later. He tasted of chocolate and liquor, only faintly of the cherry hidden inside the praline. “And here you are, making innuendos like someone who can’t wait to have her panties torn off of her.”
She chuckled, popping a chocolate into her mouth and smirking at him. One of her hands came up to absent-mindedly stroke his beard before her thumb brushed against his lower lip. “Well, that’s also true, Mr. Isn’t that why we’re here, now?”
“I came here to be romantic,” he reiterated, left hand stretching out blindly for the bottle of wine. “To feed you fruit and chocolate, dance a bit, maybe make out for a while before I kneel for you.”
“Who are you trying to fool?” She leaned back a bit to give him space to uncork the bottle, before one hand slipped down to his crotch and the other up to his throat. The freedom she was taking with him in the confines of the contest was more than she had taken with the others — probably more than she should be taking in the first place —, but it didn’t seem to matter. The others knew she and Dominic fucked, and by joining the contest, they had accepted whatever risk that brought along. “We both know that that mouth of yours doesn’t do ‘romantic’ between my legs.”
“I might’ve had a trick up my sleeve,” he shrugged, taking a sip of bubbly straight from the bottle before tilting it towards her lips. “But now you’ll never know…”
Smirking, she shook her head before taking the bottle from his hand and tilting her head back, eyes always on his.  Bubbly was never her first choice — if it wasn’t the kind she liked, then it ruined the moment — but Dom knew what she liked and what she didn’t, and had brought just the right bottle up to her room. “You are something else,” she scoffed, the corners of her mouth tilting upward as she leaned to the side to put the bottle down onto her bedside table.
When she stood up, he grabbed the hand she was presenting him and in a heartbeat, he was back on his feet.
“C’mon, Brunsmeier. I didn’t wanna ruin your plans. Seduce me with your dancing.”
Right when she was starting to think he had forgotten about the music, he whipped his phone out of the front pocket of his pants and put on a slow.
They didn’t move much, it was more like an oscillating movement than anything else, with her standing with her chest to his, the side of her face pressed against his shoulder, her hands on his shoulder blades. And although his hands were palming her ass, it still felt sweet and as she stood there, listening in closely more to his slow breathing than the music he had chosen, she realized that that was probably the first time they were doing something like that. Everything always felt fast-paced and excited between them, and the world seemed to spin that tab bit faster when they were together, so it was a pleasant surprise to be experiencing the other face of the coin for once, at last.
“Are you catching feelings?” she hummed, lips pressed against the side of his neck.
His chuckle seemed to reverberate and sound in her own body when it made him tremble in her arms for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind catching feelings for you, nah.” He moved his head to look down at her, and when his chin bumped against her forehead, she pulled back just enough to look up at him. “But don’t confuse tonight’s tactic with a declaration of endless love, babe.”
She laughed, part of her relieved that he hadn’t said anything right as he was about to play his cards for the contest, and shook her head. “You’re poking me,” she said instead, teasingly, her hips pressing just a fraction closer to his.
“Yeah, I can’t help it,” he shrugged with a smirk, giving her ass a slap when the song came to an end and his YouTube app turned silent. “Can I be naked as well?” he asked as he helped her out of her shirt.
The pleading look in his eyes made her chuckle, but it still made her resolve falter. “You must keep at least your boxers on.”
He pouted for a moment as his fingers undid the button and then the zipper of her jeans, but then there was a flash of something in his features that she didn’t miss and she knew, then and there, that he’d try to have his underwear to come off as well.
“You’re cruel,” he whined, lips barely brushing against hers, beard tickling the skin of her chin. His fingers slipped inside her panties and when they found her wet and hot, his expression turned more mischievous.
“Yeah well, rules are rules.”
“These are your rules, though,” he pointed out, pushing her pants down her thighs until they’d drop to the floor on their own. His hands trailed then up her spine, making her shiver, until his fingers slipped underneath the band of her bra and stopped there.
“That you accepted to follow, yes,” she grinned at his pout.
He whispered a please in her ear when he unclasped her bra and pushed the straps down her arms.
“Behave,” she hummed, slipping out of her shoes and her pants and pushing him a step back. “And then I might decide to do something about this.” With her hand cupping him between his legs, there was no mistaking what she was implying.
He settled with a playful huff, but then let her unbuckle his belt and undo his pants without complaining. She was quicker at undressing him than he had been, which was probably more than what he deserved after trying to tease his way between her legs more times than she could recall since the start of the contest, and before long, he stood in front of her with just a pair of gray boxers on.
“Look at you,” she smirked. Her stomach and the walls of her vagina alike clenched for a moment at the sight of him and she thought that if she truly did manage to follow through with her own rules, then she had one fucking strong willpower. “What got you so hard?”
He picked her up and when he turned around with her in his arms, they both fell onto the bed in a bundle of giggles. “‘The goddess lying naked underneath me’ is as good an answer as any.” His lips attached to the side of her neck and the giggles that were still spilling from her lips left their place to a soft moan as he ground himself between her legs.
“You are so silly,” she whispered, the fingers of one hand caressing down his shaved head to the back of his neck.
“And I shouldn’t have left this fucking tray of fruit on the bed,” he groaned, before she managed to stop him from sending everything to the floor.
“Kneel between my legs,” she said instead, interlacing her fingers with his. “Don’t think about food. Think about eating me out.”
He was more than happy to oblige. She giggled, and the happy groaning he did when he unwrapped her legs from around his waist and kissed his way down her body made her smile widen. He lavished her neck, and then her chest, spent some good minutes making her nipples bead and turn sensitive before kissing and licking his way down her abdomen before finally settling between her legs.
“I missed this pussy so much.” He breathed his whisper out against her slick folds, making her shiver. “So wet and tight…” And as if to test his own words, he sucked on two fingers and slowly inched them into her.
Her chuckle was breathless as she moved a pillow underneath her head so that she could look down at him comfortably if she felt like it. “Sometimes I think you love my pussy more than you like me,” she joked, dragging a heel up his tattooed side.
She almost missed his muttered Nonsense, before he licked at her.
He was slow, this time. Slow but determined, with that come-here motion of his middle finger making the insides of her thighs start shivering already. Under his burning gaze, with his tongue hot and lazy licking up from his fingers to her lick, she was barely aware of the low whimpers brushing past her lips.
“Play with your tits,” he hummed, a second before his lips wrapped around her clit and she hissed in a breath. “I love it when you do it.”
“So I should work for the orgasm you have to give me?”
It was a joke, one that still earned a low groan from him. His free hand trailed up her body, the callouses lightly scratching her skin, and she whimpered louder when he pinched her right nipple between two fingers. “I can’t wait to put that smart mouth of yours to good use,” he warned, before his hand turned gentle on her boob.
Breathing out a laugh proved hard when he went back to eating her out and she felt herself clench around his fingers. Her eyes blinked slowly a couple of times before they eventually closed, and a frown settled on her forehead. “Less talking,” she egged him on, “more eating.”
He came up one last time to say, “You’ve become insatiable,” before he proceeded undeterred, zeroing in on his goal of making her come.
Before long, she picked up his moaning above the almost-buzzing sound of her blood in her ears, and when she fought to open her eyes to look down at him, she found him lazily rutting his hips against the mattress, the muscles in his back rippling with every moment.
Her breathing was hard and labored, and she felt like her whole body was shivering; and the sight of him barely holding himself in check was almost enough to make her come. It was the moment he moved his head just right, though, and his beard brushed against her sensitive skin, that she came with a low cry of his name and the world seemed to explode and go silent at the same time behind her closed eyelids.
He kept on going, and she was barely aware of him still eating her out — this time slipping his fingers out of and his tongue into her spasming core — to help her prolong her orgasm as she fought to ride it out.
When the shivering in her thighs calmed down and all that left her lips were the whimpers she couldn’t control, her automatic reaction to his beard teasing her overstimulated vulva, he playfully licked his way up her body before throwing the pillows across the room and laying down next to her.
His cock was still hard against the side of her thigh and for a brief, quick moment, she thought back to when Alexsandr had come in his pants and she let out an involuntary, soft moan. Her hand automatically reached out to touch it, but she stopped herself just in time and instead of slipping it into his boxers, she cupped him from above them, teasing his balls for a second as he breathed hard in her ear.
“I won’t make you break your rules,” he said and the tone of his voice sounded almost pained against the skin of her cheek. He gently turned her head to the side, pecked her lips, and when she finally opened her eyes, she smiled at him. “But I’ll let you watch me come,” he continued with a smirk on his lips when his hand pushed his boxers low enough to wrap around the base of his dick.
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k-writesthings · 4 years
Text
Understanding - Levihan
This was requested by @lonelypalmtree​ based on a dream, which I think is actually awesome! I’m sorry it took so long... I may have gone a bit overboard with the word count, at least for my one-shot standards.
Word Count: 3102
Warnings: Cussing, “A Choice With No Regrets” OVA Spoilers!
   -848-
   “Squad Isaac! Take up the defense position, we have one coming in on the right!” A masculine voice called over the thundering of hoof beats. Hange resisted the urge to take a swipe at him with her last blade. 
   This man, Commander Erwin Smith,  was leading his soldiers out of yet another bloodbath. Every time they went outside the Walls they lost people, and every single fucking time, it was someone Hange cared about. First a friend she had trained with in the Cadet Corps, then a soldier she had feelings for, and now her entire squad… She was the only one from her unit to report back. No one else survived.
   And there wasn’t a single thing she could have done about it. 
   Hange was just a measly soldier- Titan fodder, really. She had no authority, no power to scream “Retreat!” when she saw the massive hoard of Titans crest a hill. The only reason she was still alive was because she scaled a tree as soon as she killed the Titan who ate her squadmates. There was nothing else to do besides sit there and listen to the screams of innocent people as they were slaughtered. And she had to tell their story.
   A sharp pain ran up Hange’s arm as she realized her hand had cramped from gripping the reins of her horse too hard. She sighed and flexed her palm open and closed to dispel the throb. As the ground shook from a massive thud (probably from the Titan Squad Isaac took down) behind her, she gritted her teeth and tried her hardest to burn holes in the back of Erwin’s head with her eyes. The Titans had ruined her life. This regiment had ruined her life. Why did she even become a scout again? She vaguely recalled a willingness to die for the “cause”, but now that feeling was almost all gone, dried up with the blood of the Titans she fell. Now, all she wanted was to know why. Why did the Titans eat people? Why did they exist? Why couldn’t they get rid of them? So many questions, so much hurt and anger. 
  And she needed answers, but not just from the Titans. 
  “Stop here!” Erwin’s voice suddenly rang out again, steering his horse towards a group of trees. “Tie off the horses and get into the trees. We are still waiting for word from the Cart Convoy, so until then we stay here and we stay quiet. If any Titans see us, cut them down immediately and as silently as possible.” He dismounted once we reached the trees and handed his horse to another soldier to tie off. “Squad Levi, Hange, on me.” Hange was momentarily taken aback by this sudden command, but nonetheless followed him up into the tree with her ODM Gear.  
   She landed roughly, nearly missing the branch entirely. But, she caught her balance and stood in front of her Commander. The one that all but condemned her comrades to death. He gazed at her with a solemn expression, eyebrows knit in thought, or maybe sadness. Hange stared back, careful not to show too much emotion. A sudden draft of air told her that Levi and his squad had arrived. The newly promoted captain approached Erwin as well, pausing in front of the commander only a bit further back than Hange. She glanced behind her and saw his squad of fresh-faced recruits. This was probably only their second expedition, but they all stood and watched Erwin, mimicking an expression that they had no doubt learned from Levi. Hange felt a stab of pain as she thought of her squadmates in some Titan’s stomach, while Levi’s squad was all alive and well. It made her blood boil and her eyes sting with tears at the same time.   
   “I’m going to put this plainly.” Erwin began, seeing we were all present. “It’s unlikely that we will make it back to Walls with all the soldiers we have here. Our numbers are simply too many for the Titan activity present in the area. We’ve drawn too much attention as is. And…” Hange couldn’t tell if he had trailed off for dramatic effect or because of the gravity of their situation. “The Cart Convoy isn’t coming back. I saw them send up red and purple signal flares just before the Left Wing Spotters were taken out. I didn’t have time to help them-,” Hange cut him off with a bark of mirthless laughter.
  “So, who could you help, Erwin? Anybody?” she exclaimed, advancing on his much taller form. He watched her with an odd look of guilt, instead of trying to diffuse the situation like she thought he would. “I watched the ENTIRE Left Wing get taken out, I listened as they were eaten in front of me. I lost my comrades, the last people who were good to me!” She felt tears sting her eyes, obscuring her already shitty eyesight. “Where were you, Erwin? Where WERE you?!” She screamed her last question, locking the last blade into her sword hilt. With anger bubbling from every fissure of her soul, she swung up and over his head, determined to kill this murderer. 
   The next few moments happened in slow motion. Inches before she took off Erwin’s head, another blade collided with her own. She whipped around to see Levi’s angered face and harsh features staring back at her. He took a step forward and moved to kick her feet out from under her. His ankle crashed into hers, knocking her off balance and sending her tumbling off the branch. She freefell for what felt like a lifetime- but must have only been a second- before she reacted and shot her hooks into the underside of the branch. Hange swung down unharmed, and raced to retrieve her horse. 
   She had to leave. Now.
   ‘These goddamn Titans. This goddamn world! If only I knew more about them… I could’ve tried harder to save them. My friends…’ Hange’s thoughts flew through her head, only reinforcing her idea. Her plan. These Titans, these… creatures were dangerous, yes, but what could humanity gain from the knowledge they held? Would research be the difference between humanity’s freedom and humanity’s defeat? She didn’t know for sure, but she knew more than Erwin did. And she was determined to learn more.
         Hange had always had an affinity for science and math; it was a hobby she prided herself in. And Titans interested her to no end. She wanted to know everything that was going on in the big, dumb head of theirs. Once she joined the Survey Corps, she realized she may have an opening to capture some for her studies. Though, she’d never thought like this before, her heart thrummed and her mind whirled. ‘I’m going to bring a Titan back to the Walls. I’m going to show Erwin what it’s like to actually help people.’
   The wind whipped through Levi’s hair aggressively, as if telling him to turn back. Telling him that Shitty-Glasses was a lost cause. He agreed, and would’ve listened to the angered wind, but he was given direct orders from Erwin to bring her back. Alive. And that meant following the erratic scientist on horseback as she headed back towards where the Left Wing fell. He could just barely make out the outline of a horse as he chased after her. She had only had a minute head-start, and yet she was nearly a mile away from him. 
      And headed towards where the Left Wing Spotters were massacred.
   He cursed quickly under his breath before kicking his horse to go faster. The horse whinnied in protest, but slowly picked up speed. Hange’s silhouette began to grow as he gained on her. His gaze narrowed as she tossed a glance over her shoulder, realizing she was being followed. Her hand flew to her belt, and Levi immediately knew what she was grabbing for. He was ready for the quick pop and plume of red smoke fired straight at him, which he dodged easily on horseback. He wasn’t hit with the signal flare, but it did manage to obscure his surroundings. Levi pulled to a stop and listened to the whistling wind. The soft sound of rustling bushes came from off to his left.
   They had ridden past this area- there was forest here. 
   He gripped the reins and pulled sharply once again, steering off towards the forest. And as the red smoke cleared, horse tracks in the soft dirt told him he was headed in the right direction. But he had to be careful. Forests were a Titan hot-spot. They could hide here, ready to catch any soldier, even him, off-guard. And he had the advantage of being called “Humanity’s Strongest”. Hange may be smart, but she was not in her right mind. Levi had to get to her before a Titan did.
   Quickly deciding it was better if he was on ODM Gear, he tied his horse to a tree and took to the treetops. From there, he could see everything around him, including one small Titan watching him too closely. He killed it without breaking a sweat and continued his search.
   Levi flew through the trees for about fifteen minutes before he began to get annoyed and feel a familiar sinking feeling in his gut. ‘She’s probably dead by now. Damn Four-Eyes, running off and getting herself killed… making me carry her body back.’ Assuming there was a body to take back. Levi sighed and refocused. He knew better than to let his brain wander like this. Last time he did, he almost killed his entire squad. All because he was in his head. But not this time, he wouldn’t-
    “That’s right! C’mon! Follow me, you big lug!” 
   Hange.
 ★
   “C’mon, I didn’t ride all the way in here to leave empty-handed, now did I?” Hange walked backwards slowly, staring up at the massive humanoid face above her. She had just found this beauty. He was behind a tree, standing at ten meters, with big blue eyes and pursed lips. He also had shoulder length blonde hair that really complimented his eyes. In short, Hange was giddy just thinking about what she’d learn from dissecting him. “Now, darling? I just want you to follow me out of the forest. I have a home not far from here. And while I can’t promise you any food, you’ll never be short on companionship! Step out from behind the tree, don’t be shy!” She continued coaxing the Titan forward until she had reached her horse. The beast took a few steps forward, hand reaching out towards Hange as she untied her horse. 
   Hange smiled up at him. “Now, now. Let’s not get too handsy just yet!” She had just reached for her blades when a sudden splash of steaming blood crashed down on her. Before she could even register what was happening, the Titan collapsed to the ground- dead. 
   Levi stood before her breathing just a bit heavier than normal. His icy grey eyes met hers. “Hange…” He advanced on her quickly, raising his blade and backing her up into a tree. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”
    Hange didn’t quite hear him. Her gaze was trained on the smoking body disintegrating next to them. She felt angry tears sting her eyes. Her face grew red hot. How dare he?! 
   “Four-Eyes? Are you listening? I asked-,” She cut him off with a quick knee to his groin. He doubled over, clearly surprised she was fighting back. 
   “You killed him! You killed him, Levi!” She screamed, running at him with her blades drawn, blindly slashing as he bobbed and weaved around her manic movements. “He could’ve helped us! And you KILLED HIM!” 
   Levi was suddenly at her side, holding both her wrists away from him as he spoke to her. “Hange, stop this now. You could be put in jail for insubordination. On two counts.”
   She tore her hands free from his grip and elbowed him in the throat. He choked and gasped for a second before she was on him again, kicking him in the stomach and knocking him flat on his back. “You’re a murderer, Levi.” She kneeled down, her nose inches from his. “A murder-”
   And her world went black. 
    Hange woke up suddenly. Her eyes flew open and she sat up. Well, attempted to sit up. The sudden stabbing pain behind her eyes made her cry out, and when she tried to grasp her head in her hands, she found them both shackled to the side of (what seemed to be) a bed. As the pain subsided, her memories came flooding back. Her squad, Erwin, that Titan, and…
   “You awake, Shitty-Glasses?” 
   Levi.
   The emotionless man sat at a desk next to her bed. They were not in a jail cell… it looked like a normal bedroom. She just happened to be shackled to the bed in this normal bedroom. And apparently Levi was there, too. 
   He watched her for a moment, as if waiting for her to speak. Hange opened her mouth, but all that came out was a dry squeak. Levi sighed heavily and got up to release one of her hands. 
   Then, he handed her a cup of water. 
   Though she had to sit up to drink it without spilling, Hange still downed it gratefully. She savoured the feeling of her parched throat being satisfied by the cool drink. She handed the cup back to Levi, who set it on the desk as he sat back down. 
   “What happened?” She asked.
   “Well,” Levi looked at her with a look best described as ‘done with Hange Zoë’s bullshit’. “You went crazy and tried to bring a Titan back to the Walls like a dumbass. Then you tried to kill me. Then I knocked you out and brought you back here.”
   “Where is “here”? Headquarters?” 
   “No. You see, Premiere Zackly didn’t take kindly to you making an attempt on both Erwin’s and my life, so he wanted to hang you for treason. Erwin is currently at the Capitol trying to repeal your sentence, along with my squad.” Levi explained all of this without batting an eye, but Hange could tell he was pissed.
   “Erwin’s trying to repeal it? Why? I tried to kill him…” Hange tried to wrap her head around this new information, but it began to give her a headache. She brought a hand up to her temple, about to touch it before Levi batted it away.
   “Don’t. I had to hit you with a rock to knock your crazy ass out. You have a gash there.” She could’ve sworn she saw his gaze soften a bit before he continued. “But I couldn’t tell you why he did what he did. I voted for you to be thrown in jail for a couple years, but even that wasn’t enough for the bastard with a heart of gold. He’s trying to get you out without even so much as a strike on your record.” He paused for a second. “Which isn’t fair. I still have two on mine from when I joined the Corps.”
   Hange smiled slightly, recognizing Levi’s dry humor. “I’m thankful, but I just don’t understand…”
   “Do you feel like shit?” He asked her, his hand ghosting over his left side.
   “Yes… I do.” She pressed her hand to the bridge of her nose to stop her vision from swimming. “I was just… so angry…”
    Levi’s eyes left her form and he stared at the reports he was working on before she woke up. He looked like he was struggling with something. “I was, too. When I tried to kill Erwin.”
    Hange’s hand flew down and her eyes widened hearing this. “You.. you what?”
    “I tried to kill that Titan-sized bastard, too. Right after…” He trailed off, looking lost in thought and way more sullen than Hange had ever seen him before. He didn’t need to say their names, Hange knew what he was talking about. 
   “I-,” Her words caught in her throat just thinking about Farlan and Isabel. “I didn’t know.”
   “How could you? Only one there to see it was Mike, and he doesn’t say a word when he’s told not to. I just wanted you to know that I understood what you were feeling.”
   “I’m sorry. For them, for trying to kill you, for trying to bring a Titan back, for making you stay here and watch me…”
   Levi seemed to ignore the Titan comment, instead leaning back in his chair and groaning lowly. “I’m not going to say it’s fine and all is forgiven. You bruised the hell out of my ribs, Shitty-Glasses.”
   “You want me to take a look? I do have some medical experience, you know.” Hange reached forward and beckoned him closer. Levi grimaced, but moved towards her anyway. “But, I’d like use of my other hand as well, if you’d please.” This earned an audible grumble and Levi cursing as he leaned over her body and unshackled her left hand as well. “Thank you. Now raise your shirt.” 
   Levi untucked his pressed white shirt and lifted it a bit. Hange’s hands slowly poked and prodded at a small array of mottled purple bruises under his left pectoral muscle. She mostly muttered to herself, issuing an apology whenever she touched a particularly sore spot and made Levi hiss in pain. She also tried to keep her head down, face out of sight. She was fairly certain she was blushing as she conducted her examination. She had never been one to shy at the mention of anything medical, but this seemed much more… intimate somehow. Hange kept “examining” him until she was sure her blush had dissipated.
   “Good news, Levi. It’s just a couple small bruises on three ribs. Just make sure to breathe deeply for about a minute at least ten times a day. You need to stretch your lungs so you don’t develop a lung disease.” Hange told him, leaning back in bed and touching her hair softly. She almost gasped in surprise. It was… clean.
   Levi seemed to notice her surprise as he tugged his shirt down and re-tucked it. “I bathed you. You smelled like horse shit.”
   Hange felt her face heat up again as she turned away from him in embarrassment. “You… bathed me?” 
   “Yes. I had to be in this room with you, I didn’t want you smelling the whole place up.” He sounded perfectly unbothered. The scratch of a quill told her that he had started filling out reports again.
   “I-,” Hange sighed. “You’re such an asshole.”
   “Right back at you, Four-Eyes.”
(Alright, so not super romantic, but that’s okay! I wanted Hange to be more naive and impulsive here, as she’s only about 21, while Levi is about 26-27. And don’t ask me what’s going on with the stars, I couldn’t tell you.)
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chrysalispen · 3 years
Text
upon pale dawns, prologue: “ardent for some desperate glory” (PREVIEW)
A brief peek at what I’ve been drafting for my next longfic, set during ARR. 
More under the cut.
========
Castrum Abania, 9th Sun, Second Astral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era
 The room was cold and the silence sterile, broken only by the sounds of a dry ticking from the digital wall chronometer and the soft and regular sighs of a sleeping man.
The quiet itself was no surprise. Research and development floors were always kept clear of unnecessary chatter in favor of the sound and rhythm of industry, small gears turning amidst the well-oiled machine of imperial conquest. Standard procedure, that- particularly when the work that took place away from prying eyes was exacting and often hazardous. But the relative dark and the ambient cycling of the console's processor had for several bells now been interspersed only with the low rumble of the central air unit and the rhythmic rattle of footsteps without the corridors, and Nero tol Scaeva had at this point been awake for most of the past thirty hours.
Thus when the chiming began, it went unheeded at first. 
He had finally fallen asleep waiting for one of his processes to run and lay half-sprawled over the metal surface of the table: limbs immobile and lashes fluttering against cheekbones as he drowsed at the empty work station he’d appropriated upon his arrival in the lower levels. The small timer long ago affixed to his personal aetherometer had been set in this instance to ring without cessation, to ensure he would waken. 
After a few minutes had lapsed the sound began to send him off-course from his dreaming state by ilms, a rudderless ship caught in deep currents. His transition from sleeping to wakefulness felt incredibly reluctant: heavy and sluggish. 
Nero blinked slowly, once, then twice, attempting to reorient himself.
The noise was aggravating an incipient headache. He righted his posture and smacked the damned thing until the room was silent once again before reaching for the cold mug he had left on a borrowed coaster. Sipping at its contents with a distasteful grimace - whoever had brewed the coffee, they had added too much water and the result was something weak and listless and far too bitter - he turned his attention towards the old Allagan testing module and its compiling readout. It appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle. 
So he thought, until the activity scrolling across the screen flickered in place, pulsing like a heartbeat. Nero swore under his breath when a brief error message superimposed itself over the readout in black-bordered white- one he’d seen with far too many of these devices recently. 
[Unable to read file. The current application will be terminated.]
His annoyed sigh escaped in a hiss between his teeth.
Brow wrinkled in thought, he stared at the screen and its bland error message for a few beats. Although Ultima’s original hardware was in surprisingly reasonable working order, several of the tomestones they had found in the same space had not proven to be nearly as resistant to the vagaries of time. Thus far only a handful had relinquished their secrets without issue. Not unexpected, given their age and the conditions in which they’d been found, but unfortunate all the same. 
The tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion was given to rather more direct methods of approach by nature. His patience, as a man of thirty-four winters with a good fifteen of them spent in the service of the imperial army, was very much a learned skill: one developed through years of trial and error and the innate understanding of those traits his chosen craft required.
Magitek was not ineffable. It was parts and pieces that fit together neatly like a puzzle in the absence of human error, mathematics and sequencing and carefully collected data. To guide and to create with these tools required a methodical mind and observant eye and a certain degree of acceptance that on occasion, one simply could not rush the desired results. 
This was one such occasion. The end result, of course, would be worth the tedium- or so one could fondly hope. 
He leaned forward and compressed the small button until the module had powered down and all that was left was the rumble of the air unit. 
A gentle tug freed the small tomestone from its moorings and he held it aloft to study the detailing, periwinkle-blue eyes squinting and straining against the red-tinged light from the fluorescents. The small grooves caught the ambient lighting from the walls with each idle spin between his fingers; they seemed to mock him with each little shimmer, ancient secrets so painfully close to discovery that they lay mere ilms from his grasp. 
Secrets which promised a long and tedious process if he wished to claim them.
...Well. He’d do it, of course he would. 
This was but the least method at his disposal. He'd have to look into a few other options, something that might extract the data into some readable format that he could put to use. While the old datalogs were fascinating, he wasn't spending his time reading them for a history lesson. No, what he sought was a bulwark of preliminary information, a bare framework upon which he planned to build. Ideally, he'd end up with a dossier of sorts which he could use to catalogue the Weapon’s original abilities, and enough code to piece together a system that was more or less analogous to that of Allag. One powered by ceruleum, rather than aether. 
What the solution perforce lacked in elegance, it should compensate with efficiency. Tangible results.
A functional Weapon.
If he could just- 
A much lower-pitched sound than his desk alarum - this one a harsh, flat buzz - cut through the quiet of the lab. His first inclination was to ignore it in favor of his study, but a second followed quickly on its heels, and a third. 
That, unfortunately, was a sound he could not ignore. With a barely suppressed yawn he toggled the small red switch next to the wall’s built-in communications device.
“Scaeva. Engineering," he said, keeping his tone clipped and curt- the voice of a man who would brook no trivial disturbances. "State your business.”
The response he received was a very audible swallow followed with a hoarsely uttered, “Lord tol Scaeva?” 
“Speaking."
"My lord?"
He managed, only just, to suppress his impatience. "Speaking. As in 'with whom do I have the pleasure.' Name and rank." 
“Oh. Terribly sorry, my lord. I, erm, Quintus pyr Blasio. Lord, uh. Tribunus. Sir.”
Seven hells. Not a name Nero recalled, though he rarely had reason to trouble himself over memorizing the personnel that manned every garrison between Ala Mhigo and the Velodyna fringes. Some poor bastard who had likely been the first man flagged down for runner duty by his direct report, no doubt. 
Some poor bastard who was also either too dazzled or too shit-scared of speaking to the legion's top brass to string three words together. Just what he needed.  
“...Go on,” he prompted when the man said nothing further. 
“Lord Sc-”
“I daresay we’ve both established our identities at this juncture," impatience and lingering drowsiness rendered his response a sardonic drawl, for all its erstwhile civility. "The message, if you please.”
“Message, my lord?”
“Yes. The message. That is why you’ve called to interrupt my current litany of scheduled tasks, or so I would assume?”
“Ah... y-yes. Yes, my lord.” The speaker at the other end of the connection paused, and on its heels came the sound of a clearing throat. “Ah, Lord van Baelsar asked that I, er, that is, he requests your presence to discuss-”
“He wants me to attend a meeting,” Nero cut in. “When and where?”
“Half four, my lord. Ah- in Sector VI. The administrative complex south of the new hangar.”
Half four- it was five minutes past now. With the identification checks and elevators that gave him about ten minutes' leeway. A bit tight, but doable.
For a moment the only sound he heard was nervous, ragged breathing and the flat drumming of his right hand’s fingertips upon the metal surface while he mentally rearranged the next hour he’d dedicated to other tasks. It was an annoyance but the summons still amounted to an order, and hardly one he could countermand, secret project or not. “Understood," he said. "Inform the legatus that I will be along presently."
"I will, Lord tol Scaeva. I-"
"In future, do make some bare attempt at brevity when delivering messages, tessarius- for your own sake.”
Another gulp. “Of course, my lord. I’ll pass alo--”
Before the man could waste more time stammering out another response, the tribunus laticlavius flipped the switch and cut the connection. The line went dead with a static click.
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rufousnmacska · 4 years
Note
Um hi, hello, I’m just wondering if you cold maybe write a manorian au dance or a ren faire would be fab. Thanks
I lost track of how long this request has been in my drafts, so I’m really sorry it’s taken so long to write. I have a bad habit of starting a fic only to get bogged down about how detailed the plot should be, leaving me not wanting to finish it. I’m not good at just banging out a short story and posting it. But for this one, I tried doing that. I hope you like it anon, if you’re still around!
Full disclosure - I’ve never been to a renaissance faire, though I have friends who sell their pottery at an annual, medieval re-enactment type festival. So, I took what I’ve heard from them and added in a little Medieval Times and Disney World. What I’m saying is, please excuse any egregious mistakes about how these things work :)
Fanfic master list
*****
A Bard’s Tale
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The Morath Renaissance Faire was part historical re-enactment, part craft market, part food extravaganza, and all spectacle. It drew visitors from around the continent each summer for the three months it was open. People even came for days at a time, staying at nearby inns so they could enjoy all the faire had to offer.
Owned by Maeve and Erawan Perrington, the faire was known for its summer-long war, pitting bands of warriors against each other in mock campaigns until only one survived, as well as its jousting tournament, where knights did true battle for the honor of being named the Queen’s Knight Commander. The enormous market square sold everything from hand woven clothing, jewelry and adornments, to metalwork, and pottery. The food court had stalls serving street foods of all varieties, and a hall that seated hundreds, where visitors could treat themselves to an authentic seven course medieval dinner. Jesters roamed the streets entertaining children, actors staged scenes of roving bandits stealing from nobility, artists demonstrated their craft, and bards sang songs for spare coins.
While most employees were from the region, some, including most of the artists, came from other towns and countries. To house them, the faire had a sprawling campground filled with brightly colored tents. At night, after the faire grounds were closed, the camp came alive with employees sharing modest dinners and abundant wine, while music played and many danced.
Manon Blackbeak had been selling here for four years. Her shop, The Clay Witch, was situated near the entrance to the market, ensuring she had a good crowd and a view of the jousting arena. With her cousins’ help, Manon did a brisk business. She made pottery the rest of the year, selling most of it here, and her cousins were responsible for the rest: healing teas, fragrant candles, love potions, amulets, and other trinkets of a witchy nature. She wasn’t a people person, so she had a sales assistant named Elide who handled that side of the business. Together with her cousins, they took part in the war, calling their band the Blackbeak Coven. In years past, they’d made it into the final week or two of the campaign, but they’d never won.
Despite her competitiveness, Manon had always been fine with that outcome. While Maeve oversaw the jousting as Queen, Erawan was the King who lead the war. He had a habit of looking at her a little too long, his gaze roaming over her body in a way that made her want to shower it off with scalding hot water. She made sure never to be alone with him, usually finding someplace else she needed to be in order to avoid him.
The whole situation pissed her off. Her pottery studio was in a town a few hours away and this faire had been a great opportunity to build her business. They made good money here, enjoyed themselves in the battles, and had made lifelong friends in the campground. But, she was seriously considering not coming back next year. All because some creepy asshole wouldn’t leave her alone.
As she watched Elide wait on some customers, she grew angrier. Other people depended on her. She knew they’d understand and support her, but not coming back felt as though she’d be letting them down.
Outside, she heard people speaking in loud, reverent tones and knew what time it was, not needing to look at her watch. She contemplated hiding in the back just to see what would happen. But when she caught the first sounds of his voice, she found herself grinning.
At ten o’clock in the morning, every day, Dorian Havilliard made his way to her shop to serenade her, always with a group of adoring fans trailing behind.
It hadn’t taken long for Manon to recognize some of the faces of the people who came back again and again just to watch Dorian perform. He played his part well, flirting and making up spontaneous songs to please his audience. If ever their adoration crossed the line into inappropriateness, he’d break out the charm and shy away, making his discomfort clear. All while still obtaining a sizable tip.
Manon crossed her arms and leaned against the entrance to her booth, watching him approach. He had a preternatural gift for coming up with lyrics and melodies on the spot. She’d never admit it to him, but she’d come to enjoy his morning visits.
As for his nightly visits to her tent, it was impossible for her to hide her appreciation then, much to her annoyance.
This was his first and only summer working at the faire. He’d been dragged along by a friend who was dating a knight. Rowan Whitethorn was Maeve’s nephew and had been crowned her Knight Commander in the jousting arena for three years running. The rumor mill went crazy at the start of this season when he arrived with a girlfriend who was from Terrasen. Aelin brought an entourage with her, a bunch of friends from college who were looking for one last fun summer to tide them over before heading off into the real world in the fall. Chaol worked as a royal guard and his girlfriend, a pre-med major, worked in the first aid clinic that served visitors and employees alike. Aelin’s cousin Aedion had fallen quickly into a warrior group and rose to become their general, while his girlfriend Lysandra worked as a fortune teller. Manon and her cousins, who had known Rowan for years, had met them on the first day and they’d become fast friends.
And then there was Dorian. Who, within the first week of opening, had become the most popular bard at the faire. The center of attention wherever he roamed.
Manon smirked as he stopped a few feet from her. Today, as usual, he wore a well fitting tunic with Intricate embroidery that took the shape of wyverns. Curls that had not been there at the start of the season hung around his ears.
With a deep bow and flourish of his hand, he said, “Good morning Lady. I pray you had a pleasant evening.”
She managed to keep her expression unchanged, even though the memories of last night threatened to turn her face a brilliant red. Gripping the sword that hung at her hip, she said, “Lady? I see no lady here.”
“Ah, but you are a lady. Lady artisan,” he said gesturing to her pottery. “Lady warrior,” a glance to her sword. “And a lady of pure moonlight,” he said, nodding at the long white braid that fell across her shoulder.
Her hair was a constant source of interest for him. She didn’t think it crossed into the realm of being a fetish, but he very much enjoyed pulling it whenever he had the chance. She did too. And she enjoyed seeing his gem like eyes flash when she lifted the braid and wiggled the end at him.
Elide and a couple of customers audibly sighed at his words. Manon whirled and gave her a deadly look, but the young woman just ignored her, watching Dorian begin to play as she placed a hand on her heart. She’d been pushing Manon all summer to go out with Dorian. Wanting to preserve Elide’s innocence, Manon never revealed what happened in her tent most nights. And finally, with that thought, the blood rushed to her cheeks.
He sang a quick tune that compared her beauty to that of the moon, bowed again, and with a wink, he was off. His followers who returned day after day just to see him never seemed to think anything of his daily routine of singing to her. Either they were simply too enchanted by his voice and handsome looks, or they just didn’t care, thinking it was all part of the act, confident he would acknowledge them when he was out of character.
As he made his way towards the market square, Manon caught sight of someone who did notice, and clearly cared.
Maeve watched from across the wide street. Her black eyes held none of the smile that spread across her face, and Manon felt a chill crawl up her spine. She did not like Dorian’s daily ritual of showering Manon with attention. After a moment filled with tension, Maeve turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
Just as her husband gave Manon unwanted attention, Maeve had been doing the same thing to Dorian. He’d mentioned it once or twice, trying to brush it off. But Manon had heard the discomfort in his voice, could see the way he held himself in Maeve’s presence, trying to escape her notice and almost turning to stone when she inevitably did. The other night at one of the bonfires in the camp, someone had teased him about it. Dorian laughed and said after this weekend, he’d never see her again. The comment had hit Manon hard, as she’d realized the same could be said of her. In a matter of days, this season would end and they’d return to their homes on opposite sides of the country. With no reason to ever see each other again.
*****
Managing to escape his fans, Dorian ducked into an alley that led to the back offices. He’d seen Maeve following him this morning, and for the first time all summer, he’d considered not going to Manon’s shop. This was a summer job for him, a one time thing before he started working for his father. But she was an artist whose livelihood depended on events like this. He didn’t want to risk getting her in trouble because the owner had some kind of sick crush on him. The season was winding down and this weekend would be the last. He only needed to avoid Maeve’s interest for a few more days.
“Ouch! Watch it!”
“You watch it! Big oaf. No one told you to do tricks on your horse while you were jousting.”
Stopping at the door to the first aid clinic, Dorian found Yrene examining Lorcan, one of the knights who competed in the arena. Like the other jousters, the guy was huge, and Dorian couldn’t help but admire Yrene for not taking any shit from him. Lorcan spotted him watching from the entrance and rolled his eyes.
With his elaborate costumes, zealous following, and natural charm, Dorian was not the most popular of people among the warriors at the faire. He got along well with Rowan and Fenrys, but some of the others looked down at him for his portrayal of the flirty bard. He suspected it had more to do with the tips he made, money that he didn’t need due to his family’s wealth. Chaol and Yrene were the only ones who knew he’d be donating all of it to charity at the end of the season.
Yrene lifted Lorcan’s arm, moving his shoulder around in the socket despite his grimace and stifled groans of pain. “You’ve definitely torn something,” she said, pushing into his joint with her small fingers. “You’ll need to get an X-ray.”
“You can’t just put it in a sling? So I can joust on Sunday?” he asked, relieved when she let go of him, only to wince again when his arm landed in his lap.
With a scathing look that made Lorcan recoil slightly, she said, “If you want to damage it further, sure. I could do that. And then you’ll definitely need surgery. As it is, you might get away with some physical therapy. Which will not be fun. But if you continue jousting, you’re looking at hospital time.”
“Shit,” he said, dropping his head into his good hand. “It’s the finals this weekend. Maeve is going to kill me. After she fires me.”
Not wanting to hang around and interrupt her work, Dorian quickly asked, “Any idea where Chaol is right now?”
Yrene shrugged as she pulled a sling out of a supply cabinet. “Maybe near the battlefield? He mentioned they needed extra help setting some things up for this weekend.”
“Thanks,” he said. Then to Lorcan, “Good luck, man.”
“Yeah,” Lorcan replied, sounding utterly defeated and giving Dorian an odd look. “Thanks.” It was the tone, the actual gratitude in the word, that made Dorian realize the look was one of kindness. At least, Lorcan’s version.
Sneaking along the paths he used to stay away from the crowds, Dorian emerged near the stands overlooking the battlefield. This Saturday the two armies that had survived the summer would face each other for one final battle.
Maeve had been smart to set things up this way, making the war and jousting into a months long competition, ensuring a build up of fans and repeat visitors. She had a good mind for business, he just wished she’d stop leering at him.
Even if he wasn’t focused entirely on Manon, there was no way he’d involve himself with Maeve. There was a darkness surrounding her that reminded him of a spider, weaving an intricate web to control everyone around her, and disposing of those who resisted her manipulations.
Though he had never spoken to the man, Dorian had heard her husband was just as creepy. One night at the camp, his name had been mentioned, causing Manon to visibly shudder. She clearly didn’t like the guy, and that was enough for Dorian to dislike him too.
As he sat and watched Chaol and some warriors setting up the dais that would hold the royal thrones for the final battle, Dorian wondered if he was making the right decision for this fall. His father had demanded he come work for the family company. That Dorian had refused to get a business degree meant little to the man. He would see his son replace him as CEO whether Dorian liked it or not.
As it always did when he thought about his future, his mind eventually traveled back to Manon. This summer had been amazing, due in large part to her. She’d captured his heart from the first day. It took a full week of songs before she showed up at his tent one night. After that, he’d waited. Waited for that look she’d give him at the end of the night, when the bonfire was burning down and the camp was growing quiet. The look that said the song he’d written for her that morning had left her wanting him. The look that invited him back to her tent where they’d stay up too late, making love and playing question and answer games, the easiest way to get her to talk about herself.
Gods, how was he supposed to say goodbye to her in just a few days?
They had not spoken of it, neither one wanting to bring up what they both knew was coming. It wasn’t like they’d never be able to see each other again. But there was a weird sense of finality to the end of the faire season. The end of this crazy, fun summer. The end of their late night dalliances. The end of their late night talks, which he would honestly miss the most.
His bench sagged as Chaol sat down heavily beside him, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Ready for lunch?” Dorian asked, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt.
Chaol sighed, tired from helping to build the dais with a half day’s work still to come. “Yeah. Was Yrene busy?”
They stood and began to walk towards the food stalls. “Lorcan got injured. She might be done, but I doubt it.”
“Shit,” Chaol said, stopping in the middle of the street. “Will he be able to joust on Sunday?”
“Doesn’t look like it. At least, Yrene said no. Why? What’s the big deal?”
"He’s supposed to go up against Rowan in the final. Lorcan is the only real competition Rowan has. I overheard Erawan talking about the possibility of this final weeks ago. They’ve been hyping it up to the fans.”
Dorian shrugged. He didn’t pay attention to the jousts or the war standings. Especially once the Blackbeak Coven was defeated last week. Manon had been disappointed, but also oddly relieved.
“You don’t get it,” Chaol continued. “Maeve and Erawan are going to be pissed.”
That made Dorian smile. “Good. Maybe she’ll leave me alone then.”
*****
Sunday came with beautiful weather and a crowd that was electric with anticipation. Yesterday’s final battle, won in an impressive fashion by Aedion’s troops, had drawn record numbers of spectators. Maeve and Erawan had sat on their thrones, overseeing everything with bored faces and an air thick with arrogance. Most of the employees knew how little they were acting, but the viewers ate it up.
Today was the final of the jousting tournament. Being easier to follow from the stands, it was more popular than the war re-enactment. This year’s finalists promised to put on a good show. Until Lorcan injured his shoulder in his semifinal against Fenrys. He’d still managed to win, knocking Fenrys off his horse out of sheer spite, sending him to the final against Rowan.
When it was announced he couldn’t compete, Maeve had gone ballistic. Apparently, she’d destroyed her office, leaving a mess of papers, a cracked laptop screen, and a broken chair. Erawan had kept his cool, though a few twitches of his black eyes spoke volumes about his inner state of mind. Everyone assumed Fenrys would be given Lorcan’s place. But the notice board outside the arena had remained blank after Rowan’s name - The White Hawk vs.___
Last night, the talk around camp was all about who she would name to joust against Rowan, with some joking that she’d make Erawan do it. Rowan had seemed to welcome the chance to knock the bastard onto his back. Maeve was his aunt, but there’d never been any friendship between them. He worked here because he loved it. And now that he loved Aelin, it grew more and more likely that this might end up being his last year.
As people milled about in her shop, Manon felt a strange anxiety wash over her. Muscles tense, goose flesh rising up her arms, she looked out into the street expecting to see Erawan there. But it was just regular visitors making their way through the market, noisy and excited.
Slowly, she realized what felt off. The voices of the crowd had never been louder than Dorian’s voice. She looked at her watch and felt her stomach flip. 10:24.
He was never late. Never.
Just then, she heard commotion from the jousting arena. Over the heads of the crowd, she could just make out Asterin’s blond hair as her cousin waved for her to come over.
Pushing through the people, she found not only Asterin but Chaol and Aelin too, all three standing in front of the notice board, staring up at it in shock.
Just as she never had to check her watch for Dorian’s arrival, Manon didn’t have to read the board to know who Rowan’s opponent was. Instead of flipping, her stomach turned to stone and sank.
The White Hawk vs. The Black Bard
“That fucking bitch,” Aelin whispered.
Manon grit her teeth, her hands shook and she was too angry to even speak.
“Where is he?” Asterin asked.
Chaol shrugged, also unable to speak, too horrified with concern for his best friend.
Fenrys ran up suddenly, almost knocking them all over. “It was Erawan,” he said, breathless. “Some sick game between him and Maeve.”
Manon forced herself to swallow, to breath, to not go scratch that bastard’s hellish eyes from their sockets. “Why didn’t Dorian just tell him no?”
“I don’t know,” Fenrys said. “They must have forced him somehow.”
Asterin turned to Manon and they shared a look. The only way to make Dorian agree to this was if Manon had been threatened in some way.
“Rowan won’t hurt him,” Aelin said confidently.
Finally, Chaol spoke. “Maybe not on purpose! Dorian’s never ridden a horse. Rowan can deliberately miss him and he could still fall off and get trampled.”
“Shit.” Asterin and Fenrys said at the same time.
The sound of trumpets wailed and people began rushing to get into the stadium. As the others debated what to do, Manon took off, ducking beneath the stands to get to the fence that surrounded the jousting yard. It felt like time slowed down, and when she finally reached an opening with a view to the field, the announcer was already calling out the competitors names.
There, at the far end, sitting precariously on the back of a black stallion, was Dorian. Clad in black armor, the counterpoint to Rowan’s bright silver, he struggled to hold the lance steady. Dorian was muscled and strong, but this was a skill he had no experience with. Holding a lance properly took practice.
Rowan, atop his white horse, was within shouting distance. Manon called to him, but he didn’t hear her over the crowd’s cheers and the helmet he wore. She kept calling for him, only stopping when she glanced at the royal box. There, Maeve sat, stone faced and angry, glaring straight ahead. Next to her, wearing the tacky fake crown he sported everywhere on the grounds, was Erawan.
Manon wasn’t surprised to feel his eyes on her, his slimy stare making her feel as if she might vomit.
Just as she tried to get Rowan’s attention one last time, the trumpets blared and the horse reared and took off, thundering down the field towards Dorian.
*****
Dorian kicked at his horse, hoping that would get it to move. If it had been up to him, he would have simply sat here, letting Rowan charge and knock him off with his first pass. Hell, if it had been up to him, he’d be in the fucking stands.
But no. Erawan had stopped him early that morning, offering him the chance to joust. When Dorian had laughed in his face, Erawan had made it clear that it really wasn’t an offer.
He’d seen the way his wife looked at Dorian, knew that there was something going on between them, knew that Dorian’s protestations were lies. Erawan had insisted that If Dorian refused, the bard’s paramour would be punished.
Dorian had stopped laughing then. They both knew he had never been with Maeve. And somehow, Erawan had found out about him and Manon.
“I own this town,” Erawan had said. “There is nothing you can do. If you run, I will find her.” He’d clapped Dorian on the back as if they were friends. “What do you say young bard?”
Dorian had nodded numbly, agreeing to put on a show, make it look real, and not throw the match.
So now, here he was. However many tons - did horses weigh tons? - of animal rushing towards him, Rowan’s white tipped lance leading the way.
Fuck it, he thought, giving the horse’s side another kick. The beast reared slightly then hit the ground running.
Dorian just barely managed to hang on to the reins as he wobbled in the saddle. His lance almost slid from his grip, almost landed tip down in the earth, threatening to propel him into the air like an acrobat. At the last second before catastrophe, he got it under control, just as Rowan’s lance grazed his side, going wide of a strike. The crowd cheered, and though his helmet muffled the sound, he knew it was deafening for the people in the arena.
Their horses continued running until they were on opposite ends. Some lackey of Erawan’s came running out, pretending to offer him advice or assistance. Dorian ignored him, trying to focus on holding the lance up to the proper height. By the time he got it wedged under his arm, the horn sounded and his horse took off, unprompted.
He was able to hold the lance up the whole way, but he almost fell off the horse. For the second time, Rowan’s attempt missed. Dorian knew it was on purpose, and he was grateful. But the way the crowd had begun laughing was honestly starting to piss him off. He knew he couldn’t win. He just wanted to survive. But his pride was beginning to surge enough to overtake his fear.
The third run had the same result as the first two. Rowan missed, Dorian clung to the saddle and the lance and didn’t die. The horse guy came out again, seeming to adjust some of the straps. Dorian watched to make sure he didn’t actually loosen anything, and the guy gave him a nod.
Thinking someone was calling his name, Dorian twisted around to find Manon leaning over the fence, wild-eyed and desperate to get his attention. He lifted his visor and winked at her. The gesture appeared to make her angry and she shouted again but the words were lost to the crowd.
Hoisting the lance up and securing it under his arm, the reins tight in his hand, Dorian was ready for the horn this time. The horse pounded down the yard and time seemed to slow to a trickle. He felt every hoof beat, heard every puff of air from the horse’s mouth, saw the silver armor getting closer and closer. At the last second, before squeezing his eyes shut, he angled the lance towards that flash of silver.
The force of the impact threw him back in the saddle. His feet remained in the stirrups though, leaving him arched awkwardly on top of the horse. Pain radiated up his arm like a wave until the entire thing went numb and he had no idea if he was still holding the lance. With a grunt, he forced himself upright into a sitting position. The horse came to a stop and pawed at the ground, as if in celebration.
The applause and cheers hit him almost as hard as the blow he’d administered to Rowan. Looking down to where he still somehow held the lance, then turning in the saddle to see Rowan pushing himself up from the dirty ground, Dorian slowly realized that he had won.
*****
Manon was running the second she saw someone made contact. The dust was thick and she couldn’t see what had happened. At the sight of a riderless white horse trotting towards her, she sped up, almost tripping over Rowan, who laid sprawled on the ground. His helmet had come off and he had a big grin on his face.
When she reached Dorian, he was sliding off the horse, the weight of his armor pulling him down faster than he could handle. She caught him just before he could land on his ass. Propping him against the stallion, she tore the helmet from his head and yelled, “What the fuck were you thinking? You could have been killed!”
Dorian, a little dazed, a little breathless, said nothing. He pulled her close and kissed her.
The crowd erupted, roaring their approval and chanting his name. “Black Bard! Black Bard! Black Bard!”
Yrene came over with a small medical bag, but Dorian waved her off, then went back to kissing Manon. When he let go, she stumbled backwards, still clutching his armor. His horse was strutting around them, loving the attention, while flowers rained down around them from the stands.
It was tradition for the victorious knight to gather the flowers and present them to Maeve; the Knight Commander honoring his queen. But Dorian had not been aware of the tradition. And she knew he wouldn’t have done it anyway.
Manon watched as he bent down, slowly so as not to fall over, and picked up a handful of poppies and daisies and whatever other blooms had been tossed onto the field. Dropping heavily to a knee, he smiled brightly and offered her the prize of wildflowers.
She shook her head, unable to keep the grin from her own face. Taking the flowers, she bent to kiss him, but he pulled her down onto her knees.
“I don’t think I can stand up,” he confessed against her lips.
Manon laughed and went right on kissing him. The cheers turned to a loud buzz in their ears that they ignored along with everything else.
Eventually, Rowan appeared, offering his hand to Dorian, both in acknowledgement of a well fought match, and to help him up. Manon moved to leave but Dorian refused to let go of her hand. She was glad for it, and gripped it tightly when she remembered Maeve and Erawan in their viewing box.
The two “royals” looked anything but. Maeve clapped in a meager attempt to save face at Dorian’s insult with the flowers. And Erawan glared at them both, his hate for them rising off his skin like heat in a desert.
Dorian squeezed her hand and Manon remembered why they were out here, why Dorian had risked his life.
“I know why you did this,” she said. “I wish you would have found me first.”
“What would you have done?”
She smirked. “I would have sliced him up with my sword.”
"My lady warrior,” he said, his face dropping with exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off.
“My bard in shining armor.” She caressed his cheek and he turned to kiss her palm. “Do you really have to go back to Rifthold?”
It was the first either one had spoken of what would happen tomorrow. She knew this wasn’t the time or the place, but something inside her needed it to be. She needed to know that she’d see him again. She needed-
“I’m going wherever you are,” he said simply, as if there had never been any question.
Manon smiled softly in answer, wrapping her arm around his waist to support him off the field.
*****
The next summer, without its star in the jousting arena, the Morath Renassaince Faire saw a marked drop in attendance.
Rowan had joined his new wife in Terrasen, telling his aunt to shove it. He’d taken several of the other jousters with him, leaving them one main attraction. Cairn didn’t last long however, as no horses would allow him in their saddle.
Other parts of the faire suffered too. Without the Clay Witch selling her wares, and no all-female warrior band fighting in the war, interest waned. Artists began to close their shops. Re-enactors and food vendors found other venues.
It was as if Rowan’s departure doomed the faire. And within another year, it did just that. Maeve and Erawan closed the faire and moved away, leaving the structures empty.
The town lost business, but like others who had dealt with the Perringtons in one way or another, they were glad to see the couple gone.
But the locals still spoke of that final good year. The year when a hapless, yet handsome, bard bested the reigning Knight Commander in the jousting tournament. How he knocked the White Hawk from his horse, winning in one pass. And how he spurned the evil queen and won the heart of a witch instead.
*****
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haru-sen · 4 years
Text
Angst!AU
First off, thanks to the anon ask that sparked me actually writing this out.  It’s been a rough week.  But this was fun.  Second, it’s a draft and details may change when I actually get around the writing the fic.  
The Jesse on Route 66 chapter takes place a little before this. 
“He’s four hundred meters out. The vehicle is heavily shielded. I have not detected an escort.”  Zee’s drone floated beside your hovercycle.  “But this is still ill-advised.”
You shrugged, idling on the low rooftop, taking cover in the shadow of a massive viewscreen advertising a new fantasy drama.  The actors were pretty, but the fight choreography looked too stilted.  If you were at home, you would probably be bullied into watching it.  If anyone still wanted to be in the same room as you.  
“You can request backup.”
“Don’t need it,” you said, mapping the trajectory of the armored car.  If it was just the one vehicle, Zee was enough.  You just had to get her through the physical barrier of hardened shielding.  She could penetrate the firewalls on her own.  And more importantly, Zee was the only one not mad at you right now.  
“They would come.”
You frowned.  It was really unlike Zee to harp on this shit.  “It’s not necessary.”  
“Neither is going after Cian Barrett on your own.”  
“I’m not on my own, I have you,” you said, not taking your eyes off the car.  In this moment, you could almost forget that she wasn’t Athena.  You could forget that Athena wasn't really Athena any more. You could forget that Blackwatch was nothing more than a memory of scandal. You could forget...so you did.  That part of your brain wasn’t necessary for this job.  
It was like slipping into your old armor.  It was like coming home.  The world faded away.  There was you, Zee’s drone, and Barrett’s car.  Everything else was secondary.  
There were no identifying marks on your bike or your armor. The form-fitting suit was all matte black and shielded for direct combat. The helm, styled after a motorcycle helmet, covered your features entirely.  Not your usual outfit, but your “Keres” identity had political links.  Best to be incognito for now.  
The sun was just beginning to dip, and the traffic was heavy. Zee would be able to jam the emergency transmissions, but there would be a lot of witnesses.  There would be calls to emergency services. You were running this operation in broad daylight, and you couldn’t summon the urge to care.  
“This is very reckless,” Zee said.  
“Yeah, but Hong Kong is our territory,” you said, gritting your teeth behind your helmet.  “Are you saying we can’t do this in our own backyard?”  
“...It’s the only reason I’m agreeing to it,” Zee said primly.  “But this is our backyard.  Try not to shit where we eat.”  
You chuckled, a little surprised by her use of profanity.  “It’s nothing you can’t handle.”  He was three hundred meters out.  The overlay on the inside of your helmet fed you more statistics.  The vehicle’s armoring class was higher than you expected, but it had side windows.  Windows were always a structural weak point.  You waited for Barrett’s car to reach the next intersection.
On cue, the light shifted to red, stopping the car in front of him. There was a slight reverberation as Zee tethered her drone to your bike.
You shifted gears, and then suddenly you were dropping forward, accelerating even as you fell.  
Barrett’s car was a thick monstrosity, black and purple, custom-made by Vishkar: hard light kinetic shields, front and rear turrets, a Farraday cage overlay to prevent hacking.  All of that was geared to stop bombs, guns, or cyberattacks.  None of it would stop you.  
You leaned into the turn, holding yourself at 45 degrees off the ground, the bike still accelerating as you slipped into traffic. You pulled yourself upright so you could slide between stopped cars.  You took the innermost lane hovering on the border of oncoming traffic.  
Barrett’s stopped car was just ahead.  
“Cut it,” Zee said.
You released the controls, letting her take over as you drew the spike. Eight inches of hardened omnium, the point already starting to glow with heat. It was a simple tool, perfect for shorting out Farraday cages and breaking glass.  Feet jammed in the stirrups, you rested your left arm across your chest, the spike in your metal hand.  Powering up the prostheses and the tool took half a second. And as you passed Barrett’s car your arm snapped sideways, driving the metal into the glass with inhuman force.  
You pierced a thick line through layers of glass, polymer shielding, and then tore through the metal frame, breaking the continuous line of the circuits.  Now there would be a hole in the hard light armoring and the Farraday cage.  In seconds, the spike grew too hot to hold, so you let it go, swinging yourself off the bike.   You just had to carve the hole.  Zee would open the way.  
“I’m in,” Zee said, as the locks popped.
Grinning savagely behind your helmet, you yanked the door open, even as someone within emptied their gun at you.  You jerked back behind the door, getting a glimpse of an omnic bodyguard switching weapons.  
“Zee?”
“Working on it,” she snapped.  
If you’d been alone, you could have used an EMP, but if you’d been alone, you wouldn't be able to pull the data from his devices.  And that was more important than simply killing Barrett.  Not that you planned on sparing him.  Not after what Sakai had let slip. It had taken a lot of work, but in the end, you’d gotten what you needed from what was left of- You winced inwardly.  You didn’t need to think about that right now.  
You drew your gun, angled it, and fired into the car at where the bodyguard had been sitting.  You heard the shots connect, metal rending metal.
“Watch where you’re shooting,” Zee snapped.  
You were never in any danger of hitting her, but if your bullets made it out of the vehicle... You gritted your teeth.  A ricochet probably wouldn’t kill a civilian.  You swung around the door, gun raised.  
The omnic was a smoking wreck.  An armored woman lay bleeding on the ground.  
An older, dignified “gentleman” in a suit, Barrett was pressed against the partition, his own weapon raised at you.  But his hands shook violently. There was blood on his face and in his gray hair, but you didn’t see any serious wounds.  
“Where is she?” You snarled.  
“I don’t know whom you’re talking about!” Barrett shouted defiantly, words blending together in his thick brogue.  
“I think you do,” you sneered, taking aim at his knees.  
“Incoming!” Zee shouted as light flared in your peripheral vision.  
Three things happened at once.   The delivery van in a neighboring lane opened up, half a dozen armored Talon troopers pouring out. And then a sunburst struck the front of Barrett’s car.  You dove to the side, taking cover behind the rear bumper of the vehicle, and then a wave of force rolled you under the next car as an explosion rocked Barrett’s vehicle-though it didn’t come apart.  All around you, car windows shattered from the concussive blast.  
“Is that-?”  You winced, dragging yourself out from underneath a jeep.
“No, not one of ours,” Zee said sharply.  “You need to get out, now.”
“KA-BOOOOM!”  The voice was male, the accent distinctly Australian.  You blinked as you watched a heavily singed blonde man kick Barrett’s front tire. “Hahaha!  You’re blowing up! And this tire is blowing out!”
You staggered to your feet, ears ringing.  There were armored Talon troopers sprawled across the asphalt.  And twenty yards away, Cian Barrett was rabbiting down the crowded streets.  
“Fuck,” you snarled.  
“Move!” Zee shouted in your helmet more forcefully than you’d heard in a long time.  You ducked low, running past prone troopers.
“How did you miss them?” You hissed.
“-I don’t know,” Zee said, her voice distant in your hear. “Transmitting this back to base.”  
“I think they’ll see it on the news,” you huffed.  
There was a ping in your helmet as someone tried to call you.  You ignored it.  
“There’s no way they know about Sakai,” you growled.  Because the only people who knew what you’d done to Sakai and how you made her talk, well, they were on your side, even if they weren’t very happy with you right now.  
“This isn’t for you,” Zee said, even as a Talon trooper raised her gun at you.  “Drop!”
You dove forward, rolling through a brackish puddle, splashing foul liquid everywhere.  It was good thing you were wearing a helmet.  
“Come here.”  A chain shot over your head, a massive hook sinking into the woman’s armor, and suddenly she was airborne.  You turned your head, watching as a massive man in a gas mask yanked her to him.  
“What the hell?”
“Junker mercenaries,” Zee said.  “They’re here for Barrett too.  Avoid them.”  
“Lucky, you butthead! I know you can hear me!  I know this tech can withstand bigger explosions, even if Hong Kong can’t! What the hell is going on?” A very familiar, very angry voice shouted over the comms.  Someone had hacked your settings, not hard considering it was her hardware to begin with.
“Busy!” You shouted, trying to catch sight of Barrett.  In the distance you saw an older European man rounding a corner-
“Yeah, well so am I!  I have the fucking Minister of State Security on hold! Auntie has shorted out the power grid in a six block radius.  Oksana is trying to take out any peripheral electrical surveillance. What in the ten hells do you think you’re doing?”
You flinched.  “I was going after Barrett.  But I’m not the only one.”  You hesitated.  “We didn’t know about the backup.  Or the Aussies.”  You didn’t say whether or not you would have still made the move if you had known.  Better not to go there.  
There was a moment of distracted silence.  She was verifying your claim. “I see that...OK.  Look, you need to get out of there.  Those Australians can take the fall.  You don’t need to get caught up in it any more then you already are.”  
“Barrett has information I need,” you said tightly, vaulting over a low wall as you dodged down an alley, running parallel to the street you saw Barrett turn down.
There was a heavy sigh.  Because they all knew what you would do to get that information.  
“Give me some more time, Lucky.  We can find them too.  You don’t need to cut the answers out of every single Talon agent you dislike.”
“It’s therapy,” you hissed, swearing as dirt and garbage erupted behind you.  A concussive blast nearly knocked you off balance.  “You’re always telling me I need more of that.”
“This bomb’s for you!” The Junker cackled, rapidly closing the distance.  
You swung around, raising your gun.  
The Junker blew past you, literally hoisted by his own petard.  He just waved, winking at you as he rocketed through the air.  
Behind him, three more Talon troopers surged forward.  
So many targets, but it wasn’t a hard decision.  
The visor of your helmet overlaid the shot trajectories, even as you raised your gun in your left hand. Three T-Zone hits, three corpses toppling.  The skill was unnatural as fuck, but you wouldn’t argue with the results.  
You turned back to see the Junker, with his goddamn peg-leg, meters ahead of you. He squinted at you for a moment.  
You surged forward.
“Oh good, I had no idea where he went!” The Junker chuckled as you passed him.  In that moment, he tossed something in front of you, even as you jerked to the side, narrowly missing a steel-jawed trap.
“Aww, c’mon,” he groaned.
You just shook your head and kept moving.  You were very tempted to shoot him, but if Talon was here for him and the big guy, then you might be better off letting him live.  The old you might have been more concerned about the chaos.  But Cian Barrett was getting away.  And that was unacceptable.  
“Zee, I’ve lost visual contact.  Do you-”
“He’s two blocks north,” another voice chimed in.  “You can cut though that alley up ahead and jump the fence.”  
You inhaled sharply.  After what you had done to Sakai, you didn’t think she’d speak to you for another year or two.  And maybe you deserved that. “Thanks,” you said after a moment.  
“Yes, well, be more careful,” she said quietly.  “I’m mad at you, but I’ll be even madder if you die before we can talk about it.”
Dying might easier.  But you were smart enough not to say that out loud. “I’ll be home tonight,” you said.  “If I can wing it.”  
“Kara misses you,” she said hesitantly, in a way that might mean someone other than Karalika missed you.  Which made you smile in spite of the situation. Karalika probably did miss you, but she’d be fine.  Everyone else spoiled her.    
“Yeah, and if you make a bigger mess of this, I’m going to feed her sweet bean paste till she shits all over your room!  Picture it! Bean shits everywhere!” Your “boss” shouted over the comms. “You’ll be mopping the goddamn ceilings for days!”  
If that happened, maybe you’d stay in Hong Kong a little longer.  You turned down the alley, still hearing the peg-legged Junker hopping along behind you.  The fence was three meters high but you leapt onto a closed dumpster, pushed off a support pole, and flung yourself over the chain links.  You dropped down with a heavy thud and picked back up.
“Zee, you have my ride ready?”
“In a minute,” she said, sounding distracted. It should not have come as a surprise, she was balancing a larger workload now.  
With the explosions nearby, the crowds were thinning. You scanned the street- And there he was! A few blocks up, Barret shoved a street vendor and tried to duck into a shop.
You moved quickly through the press, following him into the little electronics stand.  
Sweaty and disheveled, he slumped against a headphones display, panting.  He was not doing a very good job of hiding.  You glanced sharply at the shopkeeper who ducked into a back room.  
Raising your gun in your right hand, you seized him by the collar.  He flailed vainly against the metal.  
“Wait! No! My people will pay handsomely for safety!”
You held up him by the throat, watching him twitch and shake, fear in those pale gray eyes. Your helmet was opaque.  He would not see anything but his own distorted reflection. “Your money means nothing.  I want information.”
“I-I-” He stammered.
“Widowmaker,” you snapped.  “Where are they storing her?”  
He shook his head frantically.  “I don’t know!”
“Agent Sakai seemed to think you did,” you growled.  
“That was a month ago!  I don’t keep close tabs on all combat assets.”
“Bullshit! Where the hell is she?!” You squeezed tighter, rage making your arms shake.  
“I don’t have a fucking clue!” He shouted back.  “They keep the freaks with O’Deorain.  Widowmaker, Sigma, Reap-”
Glass smashed as a giant hook hurtled through the storefront.  You spun, holding up Barrett as your shield.  That thick chain wrapped around his waist.
Maniacal laughter sounded, far too close.  It made your blood run cold. The giant Junker was huge, and only wearing bits of armor, with lots of visible flesh.  The piggy tattoo on his bulging stomach said “Wild Hog Power.”  Barrett screamed as “Wild Hog Power” reeled him in.  
It really wouldn’t do for Barrett to be ransomed.  He was Moira’s financial advisor, and one more nail in her treacherous coffin.  You slapped your gun back into your left hand, letting your helm’s targeting software direct your shot.  
A neat red hole burst in Barrett’s skull.  Much neater than Sakai had been.  But Sakai had been personal.  
“Wild Hog Power” shook Barrett like a doll, the corpse flopped around, neck flopping at an extreme angle. “Wild Hog Power” was breathing hard, hunched over Barrett.  Bestial and berserking, this one was less human than most.  He looked up then, clocking you instantly.  He began spinning his chain.  
Your insides shriveled, an atavistic reaction.  This was a very dangerous place to be.  “Zee-”
“Go out back!”
You jumped the counter, narrowly dodging that damn hook.  More gunfire blew over your head, and you rapidly crawled out the back exit, finding your hoverbike waiting.  
“Thanks!” You hissed, even as you hopped aboard, staying low.  “Chances of extraction?”
“Not any time soon,” your boss huffed angrily.  “I’m busy doing damage control.  Looks like there was a lot of it- mostly property, but also quite a few civilians with shrapnel injuries. Hospitals will be overcrowded.  We’re offering additional support to the locals. You can lay low for now.”
“Understood,” you said.  Your safehouse not too far off.  Checking your mirrors, you saw the Junker pair standing together in your dust, watching you make your escape.  
**
You went radio silent.  You were sore, but you’d gotten off lighter than you deserved, given the amount of mayhem you’d helped instigate.
Your safehouse was well-stocked and decorated to someone else’s taste. It was filled with Pachimari paraphernalia, though there were all kinds of stuffed animals on the couch. Kittens, hamsters, even a piggy.  You shuddered slightly.  “Wild Hog Power” had taken Barrett mid-sentence, but you’d already known about Reaper. Sakai had spilled everything in end, both figuratively and literally.
You showered first, setting aside your battered gear for repairs.  Then you changed into sweats. You considered external healing, but there was no need.  As long as you got a good meal, you’d be back in fighting shape after dinner.  
The kitchen was full of novelty appliances and decorated in an alarming shade of pink enamel: the fridge, stove, sink, cupboards, everything. You’d been here a week and you still weren’t used to it.  But it wasn’t all terrible, there was a bubble tea maker, and you fiddled with that – doing it from scratch wasn’t hard.  But the machine took a few minutes to set up. You started the rice cooker too.
You had filled the fridge yourself, with fresh groceries and a beautiful raspberry chocolate cake covered in ganache. You were still working on improving your recipe for fish head curry. The freezer was packed with dimsum.  Idly, you began heating up a pan of oil. Your body needed a lot of calories post-combat and cooking gave you some time to meditate.  
The Talon troopers had not stepped in to save Barrett from you.  Talon had not been waiting for you. They’d only come out when the Junkers were in range. So Talon had been expecting those Junkers.   Your helm had captured enough footage that you could research the men. Zee had forwarded a large file to you.  
The demolitionist was a man named Jameson Fawkes.  He was a caricature of all the shitty, fried, explosion-happy maniacs you’d met through the years.  Nwazue had been painstakingly responsible.  Hell, Vo had been a pain in the ass, but- You exhaled slowly.  Vo hadn’t been so bad.  Not really.  You stared at the fridge.  She would have loved that cake.  
“Wild Hog Power” was a man named Mako Rutledge.  There wasn’t a lot of information about him.  But you knew “incredibly dangerous” when you saw it.  Both men had accumulated massive bounties and were wanted in several countries. You’d be surprised if they made it out of Hong Kong alive.  
But that wasn’t your problem, you didn’t need to go borrowing more trouble. You had more than enough.  
Your problem was how to save Widowmaker, especially since she didn’t especially want to be saved.  
Your problem was that you knew exactly who was wearing that stupid skull mask and calling himself Reaper.  But you didn’t know why, and that was just as awful.  You had theories, of course, but even the best case scenario made you sick to your stomach.  
Your problems all stemmed from the past, the sort of unresolved bullshit that only worsened over time. Jesse had been trying to get in contact with you, but you’d been putting him off.  You still weren’t sure if you wanted to see him now, no matter what kind of intel he offered.  
But you would, eventually.  Not because he’d been your friend.  Not because you were ready to forgive him.  Not because you missed him. But because you needed every advantage you could get in this war.  
“Lucky, you need to see this.”  Zee’s cultured voice came on over the sound system.  A security monitor flicked on.  You stared incredulously as the two Junkers traipsed up the stairs and through the halls on the building, clearly looking for someone.  They were still several floors below you. You had no idea how they’d tracked you here.  
You could run.  You knew this city pretty well.  There might not be fighting.  There might be more collateral damage.  It was hard to say.  
You could fight.  The building was not unoccupied.  It would not survive. There would be more collateral damage.  
You could try diplomacy.  But you weren’t entirely sure if those men were capable of rational thought.  The Junkers were insane. Look what they had done to their own country.  You certainly didn’t want to invite them in but...
But the enemy of your enemy was useful to know.  
You went back upstairs to change clothes.  
**
It only took them a few minutes to reach your door.  But you were ready. You had changed into a simple black jumpsuit.  It was short sleeved and with a flattering cut, the fabric draped elegantly. You put on makeup, just enough to be a polished hostess.  You didn’t play a honeytrap any more.  Not if you could help it.  Your only jewelry was a thick white band around your left wrist.  It had a pearlescent glow against your dark metal arm.  You took a deep breath, checking the cameras and finding them loitering outside your door, Fawkes fiddling with a goddamn mine, Rutledge blocking the entire hall.
You opened the door, and stared coolly at Fawkes, wondering if he would really detonate the bomb right here.  He better not.  
“Eh?” Fawkes gaped at you, clearly shocked that you’d just opened the door.  
“What are you doing?” You sighed, one hand on your cheek.  You sounded more like an exasperated teacher than a security operative.  That was intentional.  
“Err...nuffink.” He shoved the mine behind his back like a child.  Up close, he was younger than you first thought, though life had not been kind to him. He was scorched and sooty, patches of hair missing, his clothing near rags.  It didn’t look like he cared.  
Behind him, Rutledge regarded you silently, possibly surprised that you had answered the door without attacking, possibly trying to identify you as the woman on the bike.  But with the mask in place it was too hard to tell.  
“You were-” Fawkes jabbed his finger at you accusingly.  
“Yes, I was there,” you said.
There was another awkward moment of silence as they tried to process your declaration.  Honesty was certainly the best policy, when it got you a tactical advantage.  
You regarded them politely.  “Well then, are you going to come in for dinner?”
There was another long stretch of silence as the men looked at each other trying to figure out if you were being sarcastic.  
Rutledge tilted his head back, and you realized he was sniffing the air.  
Fawkes blinked rapidly.  “I don’t like prawns.”
“Are you allergic?” You asked, stepping back to let them come in.  
He glanced back at Rutledge, panic on his face.  This was not how he pictured the encounter going.  You didn’t think most people he met invited him inside for a meal.  
“No,” Rutledge said. His voice was low and dangerous.  
“No, just don’t like’em,” Fawkes fidgeted, and then shoved the mine down his pants.  
You nodded.  “There are slippers if you want,” you gestured to the shoe rack by the door.  It was good manners to take off one’s shoes, though you weren’t going to press the matter with them. You walked back to kitchen, not looking to see if they used them.  You walked down the hall, half expecting a bullet or a hook in the back.  You fiddled with your bracelet, trying to keep your stance relaxed.  
There was a crashing noise, and you flinched, before looking over your shoulder, to see Fawkes trying to shove the broken shoe rack into some semblance of its previous shape.  Rutledge was holding up a very large pair of Pachimari slippers.  They would have fit Reinhardt. You had no idea if they would fit him, but your support staff stocked a broad range of sizes.  
There was a distinct rhythm as Fawke’s leg clicked against the wood.  But it sounded like he was wearing a single slipper.  Maybe one of those furniture leg felts would work on the peg-leg.  You had not considered that.  He followed you from the foyer into the kitchen.  You went to the freezer and pulled out the rest of the dimsum.  You could steam the dumplings, sticky rice packets, and bao, and maybe you’d have enough for Rutledge.  
“Whatcha making then?” Fawkes asked, looking around the kitchen in wonder. He sniffed the air a few times, his eyes bright.  He had terrible posture, shoulders hunched as he eyed the stove with distrust.  
“Fishhead curry and dimsum.”  The curry was still simmering.  “Would you like something to drink?”  Coffee in the jittery demolitionist would be unwise.  Alcohol might be worse. You checked the bubble tea machine.  “I have milk tea with boba.”  
“I would kill for some!”  He nodded vigorously, rubbing his hands together.
“Sugar?” You asked, your metal fingers twitching as you poured.  
“Half!” He did not have an indoor voice.
The machine dispensed bubbles, tea, and sweetener according to his order.  You offered him a cup with a metal straw.  
Squealing, he took the drink from you and then Rutledge reappeared.  Without a word, he snatched the cup out of Fawkes’ hands, popped off the lid, and sniffed.  Then he looked at you.
You poured yourself a cup and took a drink.  Using poison had definitely occurred to you, but with Rutledge’s clearly altered biology, there were too many variables. The tea was a little too sweet, but the tapioca bubbles were the perfect texture.  
“Come on, pig face!  If it ain’t poisoned, give it here!”  Fawkes grabbed for the cup. Rutledge let him take it back, apparently not bothered by the name calling.  
“Would you like some?”  You asked, taking another drink.  You had beer, but you purposefully did not want them drunk.  You didn’t need them rowdier.  
“Full sweetened,” Rutledge said after a moment.
You nodded and made him a cup as well.   You gestured to the round table.  “Please, have a seat.”   The chairs would probably hold.  Your boss got a kick out of making equipment way more durable than it needed to be, just for fun.  
Fawkes straddled a chair, slurping his drink and watching you intently like a feral animal.  
Rutledge carefully sat down, adjusting his mask so he could drink.  
“Fancy pad,” Fawkes said, clearing his throat while he looked around.  
“A friend’s place, I’m only visiting,” you said, not exactly lying.  You stirred the curry.  It was fragrant with spice and coconut milk, but needed to thicken a little more.  You checked the steamer, finding the shrimp dumplings and the soup dumplings to be ready.  You placed the metal steamer tray on a mat on the table and gestured to the cupboard.  “Bowls and plates are up there. Chopsticks and silverware are in that drawer.”  You returned to the stove.  The oil was hot enough for the deep fried taro pouches.   You tossed them into the oil, watching them sizzle.
“Ooooh,” Fawkes was suddenly over your shoulder.  “Wozzat?”
“Fried taro, with ground pork filling.” You paused, glancing over at Rutledge.  He was eyeing the steamer tray of dumplings.  He had not gotten up for plates or silverware. “The yellow and kind of translucent ones have shrimp,” you told Fawkes, gesturing at the food on the table.  “But the round white ones are pork.”  
“Eww,” Fawkes scowled at you.  “I don’t like prawns. Buggy little bastards taste like shite and are filled with-”
“You don’t have to eat them,” you said firmly.  “But where I grew up, there wasn’t food to waste.”  
Fawkes squinted at you.  “But here you are in this fancy city pad-”
You flipped the fried taro with cooking chopsticks.
“-Stealing work from honest Junkers, and acting like-”
You had to maneuver around him to get a plate for the taro. He was getting worked up.  You glanced briefly at your left wrist, wondering if you had made a mistake.  
“Get out of the way,” Rutledge barked.  “Can’t you see that she’s busy?”
You raised a brow, a little surprised by that reaction.  
Fawkes was too.  He blinked inquisitively at his partner.
“Be useful: set the table,” Rutledge said gruffly.    
Fawkes snapped to attention then, skittering over to the cupboard to grab plates and utensils.  You turned back to the roiling oil and began fishing golden brown taro cakes out of the pot.  You filled the plate, and set it down on the table. They were steaming hot and would burn your mouth. Rutledge sat there stoically, watching your every move.  He had not touched the food.  In the corner of your eye,  you saw Fawkes gracelessly slapping a handful of silverware onto a stack of plates.  
You set the rice cooker on the table and checked the steamer trays.  The sticky rice and bao were done.  And the fish head curry was a deep orange color, with pieces of okra, taro, and eggplant cooked soft in the sauce.  You would have liked to simmer the sauce a little longer, but you couldn’t help the timing.  You turned around to see Fawkes seated with two forks and a bowl.  It looked like you had two spoons, a bowl, and a plate, and Rutledge had two plates and pair of chopsticks.  
You brought the pot of curry to the table, and then went back to retrieve more utensils and rice bowls. You set them in the middle of the table, and started scooping rice. You passed the bowls around, noting that still none of the food had been touched.  Paranoia or manners?
Fawkes straddled his chair, surveying the table greedily.  
But Rutledge looked at you expectantly.  
“I am not religious,” you said, unsure if he wanted you to bless the meal. “But I do not offer the courtesy of my kitchen to my enemies.”  
He nodded.  “I am Roadhog.  That’s Junkrat.”  
Professional names then.  “I am known as Keres.”  
“Hooley dooley, Carrie, you got some fancy grub,” Fawkes, who was Junkrat, reached forward and grabbed a taro dumpling with his hands.  “Hot! Hot! Hot!”  He bounced it in his hand while you served yourself some curry.  Junkrat seemed like a more fitting name.  
Roadhog used his hands as well, carefully snatching dumplings and other appetizers, but setting them down on his plate. He wasn’t eating directly from the communal dishes, and you appreciated the courtesy.  
You raised a brow as Junkrat grabbed his own share of curry and began squirting Sriracha into it.  
“You might taste it first,” you said, because you had been liberal with the spices and the peppers.  
“I eat gunpowder for breakfast, Carrie!”  He jabbed his fork at you, eyes blazing.  “Don’t need no drongo telling me how to eat a fish head!”
You chuckled.  “All right.”  You sipped your tea watching keenly as Junkrat shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, grinning triumphantly at you.  It took a few seconds, but as he swallowed, his face began to redden, his cheek twitching.  Sriracha really wasn’t that hot.  But the peppers you’d used were pretty potent.
Roadhog spooned half the curry onto his plate, splitting the fish head and taking the larger portion of that as well.  
They were two different kinds of dangerous.  Junkrat needed to be balanced – too much stimuli and he flew into a manic episode.  Too little and he stirred up trouble to keep himself from being bored. Roadhog was a pressure cooker, holding it in until he hit critical mass.  Keeping them both calm took different strategies.  
Doing so was less difficult than it sounded. You were used to dealing with dangerous difficult people.  After all, back in Zurich you’d been so good with-
You stopped, mid-bite.  Yes, that’s exactly what the Junkers reminded you of.  Your goddamn Blackwatch hardcases.  Fuck.  The wheels of memory ground out another realization: Hell, when you’d first joined up, your manners were only marginally better than Junkrat’s.  That was such a long time ago...
The blonde man was still chattering about how the fish curry wasn’t that hot, while he piled more rice into his bowl and shoveled it down his throat.  Then he loudly drained his cup, still protesting that he had no trouble with spices.
Roadhog noticed your hesitation and slowed his eating.  
You took a drink and went back to your curry.  It could have used a little more tamarind.  The coconut milk mellowed the sharpness a little more than you expected.  
“Well, as long as you find it acceptable,” you told Junkrat when he finished his rant about his tolerance for spicy food.  “I’m still working on the recipe, so I understand if you think it’s lacking.”
He blinked.  “Oh, no.  ‘S good.”  He slurped down another bite and gave you a thumbs up.  
“I’m glad,” you said.  
“Meant to say, that’s some arm you got there,” Junkrat chirped, knocking on your metal limb with his own prostheses. “How’d you lose it? Shark?  Salty? Hamster?” He mimed biting motions with his hands.  
“Terrorist attack,” you said, taking another bite of curry, though in that moment you only tasted ash.  
“Bomb?” Junkrat asked.
“Yeah,” you said, though it had not been that straight forward.  
“Who?” He asked eagerly.
“Talon.” You took a sip of your tea, the sweetness bracing you.  
“Oh yeah, they’re absolute drongos,” Junkrat cackled.  “Keep inviting us around, like we want to join their stupid club with their dumb scrap metal lackeys.”  
“So they’re trying to recruit you?” You asked.
“Mebbe,” Junkrat gave you a sly look.  “Mebbe they’re after me treasure.”
You laughed a little too hard at that.  
“You don’t believe me?” He puffed up then, smacking his bare chest. “Me and Pig Face are rich! We could eat like this every day if we wanted to!”  Madness flared in those eyes.
Under the table, you rested your bracelet against your knee.  
“Shut up, idiot,” Roadhog grumbled.  
“She’s laughing-” Junkrat’s head snapped to the side, reminding you of a mongoose about to strike.  
“You told a joke,” Roadhog’s voice was dangerously low. “Sometimes people laugh at your jokes.”
Junkrat crossed his arms, looking sullen.  
Children with their delicate egos.  You gave a wry smile.  “I thought it was a pirate reference.”  You tapped your knee.  
“Oh,” Junkrat looked at you sideways.  “Of course it was!”  He laughed a little too loudly.  “I really had you two going! This is a dinner party, Roadhog!  You gotta be personable. And I am nothing if not a courteous house guest!”  
Even with the mask on, even if you’d never seen his face, you could feel Roadhog’s exasperation loud and clear.    
“They were really invested in grabbing you today,” you said.  “But there are a lot of cells in Talon,” you said.  They pulled off heists and robberies, though it was usually for things other than money: tech, hostages, an unsavory means to an end... “I can’t claim to know what their intentions are.”
“Of course they want us to work for them! You saw us out there! Regular professionals! We were on a roll!” He grinned at Roadhog, jabbing him with a bony elbow.  “Eh? Eh?”
“Stop that,” Roadhog growled, picking up his plate to drink down the curry sauce.  
“But you did steal our kill though.  He was worth more alive,” Junkrat said, narrowing his eyes at you.  
“Sorry, personal business,” you said with a shrug. “I lost more than an arm to those bastards.”  And given what you had learned from their dossiers, you probably could have left Barrett with them, confident that he wouldn't survive the experience.  They had no love of “suits.”  But you hadn’t known that back in that little electronics shop.  
“Yeah, I get it,” Junkrat heaved a dramatic sigh.  “There are some things money can’t buy.”  He grinned at Roadhog.  “But if that’s the case, you should still try the proper application of high powered explosives!”  
You laughed softly, in spite of the situation.  He was a crude, vicious, and dangerous child.  Maybe he reminded you a little of Vo, of Fitzpatrick, of Távio, and others. Maybe you were just getting old. “I know it’s effective, but I don’t have your talent in that field. Never picked up the knack for anything beyond the basics.”
“I could show you a trick or two,” Junkrat flashed you what had to be his idea of charming smile.  Somewhere between a leer and the awkward smile of a student portrait, he showed far too many teeth.  And he waggled his eyebrows at you.  
You were far too old for this shit.  But you put on hand over your mouth, trying to smother your snickers.  
Junkrat grinned at Roadhog, nudging him with his elbow.  “Suppose she fancies me?  She did invite us in for this real intimate dinner. Ladies don’t just roll out that hospitality for anyone.”  
Roadhog just shook his head.  
“Unless she’s interested in you,” Junkrat murmured a low shocked voice. “Hooley dooley, mate! You don’t think-”
“No, you don’t think,” Roadhog said setting his plate down.  “This is business.”  
Junkrat blinked.  “But dinner-”
“Friendly business,” you said.  “A simple “getting to know you” sort of event.  Though let me emphasize, I don’t share food with my enemies.”    
“Not government,” Roadhog said, utensils set at straight on his plate, indicating he was done.  “Not Talon.”  He looked around. “Corporate security? PMC?”
“Sort of,” you said.  
Junkrat scowled.  “We don’t work for suits.”
“I represent the Peaceful Life Society,” you said.  
Junkrat snorted.  “That’s a silly name.”
“I’m still not sure if it was meant to be ironic,” you said, sipping your tea.  “But yes, it is.”
“Triad business?” Roadhog crossed his arms.
“It could be,” you said.  “We can talk business.  We can talk about cake.  There is no pressure. I’m not here to try to strong arm you.”
“You wanna hire us, Carrie?” Junkrat asked.  
“I have work, if you’re interested.  I have cake, if you aren’t.”
“But we can only pick one?” Junkrat frowned.  
“No. We can just start with dessert,” you said and got up.  You brought the cake out of the fridge.  And when you turned around, Junkrat was hovering over your shoulder, flitting back and forth, staring at the cake.
“Look at that, Roadhog.  Just look at that beauty.  Just covered in chocolate, a goddamn mudslide of chocolate. It’s gonna be too sweet,” he moaned.  “It looks pretty, but they overdid it-”
“It’s dark chocolate,” you said, a little indignantly.
“And all that coating is gonna be gummy pasty sugar shit-”
“It’s not fondant,” you scowled, genuinely offended by the thought.  
“It can’t be as good as it looks, there’s no fucking way!” He wailed, clearly more interested in being dramatic than listening to a word you said.  
You glanced over at Roadhog feeling a growing respect for his levels of patience.  “Would you like a slice?”
He nodded.  
You almost asked if he wanted Junkrat’s slice, but decided to be the mature adult here.  You set the cake on the counter and cut two large slices for you and Roadhog, and one small one for Dramarat.  Against your better judgment, you made coffee to go with it, possibly making it half-caf because your guests were so excitable.  
“Let’s go in there.  I don’t feel like clearing the table right now.” You handed each man their own plate and fork, and poured yourself some black coffee.  You took a seat in a single chair, while the Junkers took the couch.
Junkrat poked at the plushies, giggling to himself as he tossed the pig at Roadhog, nearly missing the other man’s plate.  
“Watch it!” Roadhog snapped.  
You set your drink down on the glass coffee table and took a bite of the cake.  There was a generous spread of tart raspberry liquer filling between each layer of chocolate cake.  Smooth chocolate ganache replaced the frosting, with fresh raspberries adorning the top of the cake.  It was rich with just the right amount of sweetness.  Gabriel would have-
You did not finish that thought. It would have sat badly with your curry.  Instead, you set the plate down and took a deep swig of coffee.   When you looked up, Roadhog was delicately eating his slice while Junkrat was still staring forlornly at his own piece.  
“How is it really?” Junkrat tried to whisper, but he was about as good at it as Reinhardt.
“Find out for yourself.  Idiot.”  
“I’m not like you.  I can’t just eat anything. I’m a connoisseur!”  
Roadhog just shook his head in disgust.  
Junkrat begrudgingly took a bite, grimacing the entire time.  Uncertainly pinched his already pointy features.  He chewed, slowly relaxing as he tasted the cake.  The transformation was nearly instantaneous.  He went from pissing and moaning to an open mouthed quiet awe.  He stared reverently at his slice and then shoved the rest into his mouth.  
You sipped your coffee.  
“Hooley dooley that’s good shit,” he murmured, mouth full of crumbs. “Can I have more?  Before pig face eats it all?!”
You still couldn’t see much of Roadhog’s face, but you could feel the heat of the glare directed at Junkrat.  
“You both can have the rest.  I’m pretty full,” you said, picking up your plate.  There was three quarters of a cake left.  Maybe they could take it to go.  
“Are you sure?”  Junkrat squinted at you.  And then hopped up, bouncing into the kitchen with glee.  
...Oh, maybe you should not have given him that much sugar.  
But then Roadhog was on his feet, lumbering into the kitchen with heavy steps.
“Hey, back off! This is mine!  Carrie said I could have it!”  
“Fifty-fifty,” Roadhog said, pushing Junkrat out of the way.  He lifted the knife and made a sharp cut.  
“That looks more like sixty-forty!”
“Get your eyes checked,” Roadhog said, taking a slightly bigger piece.  
“Come on, don’t be such a pig!” Junkrat jumped, trying to snatch the cake out of Roadhog’s hands.
“We can always get more cake,” you said.  
“...Really?” Junkrat perked up.  
“Yeah, I don’t mind going for more dessert,” you said, even though the bakery was closed. If they pushed, you could get ice cream or something.  
“Oh,” Junkrat grabbed the remaining portion.  “I guess that’s OK then.” The importance of the distraction was to get them to disengage.  You did not want them coming to blows in the apartment safehouse.  Both men returned to the living room, Roadhog taking the far corner of the couch.  Junkrat sat closer to you, eating happily while he poked at the plushies with chocolate-smeared fingers.  
“Didn’t figure you for the stuffed animals type,” Junkrat said, turning over a pirate Pachimari in his lap.  He bounced it a few times, then looked around rapidly, then tried to act casual slinging it to the side.
“I didn’t decorate,” you said with a shrug.  “But they are really cute.”  
“I guess they are,” Junkrat jammed his hands into his pockets. “If you like that kind of thing.”  
Roadhog coughed.
“I mean, I don’t,” Junkrat sputtered.  “I’m a man of sophistication and means.  I just know that they don’t make the pirate one back home.  They were limited edition,” Junkrat said, staring longingly at the pile of plush.
You sighed.  This location was going to be metaphorically burned after this encounter.  You could make some good will offerings.  “My friend won’t mind if you take some.” You paused. “If you had someone back home whom you thought might like one.”
“Oh.” Junkrat perked up. “Really?  Because I think Little...James might like one.  Just some neighborhood kid,” he added quickly.
Roadhog just sat very still.  
“And his little sister...Jamie might want one too,” Junkrat grinned.  
“Go for it,” you said sincerely. “Think of them as...party favors.”  You glanced at Roadhog who  just sat there eating his cake.  
“Carrie, you throw the best dinner parties!” Junkrat squeezed an armful of plush, some of them squeaked. “If more people did it like you, dinner parties wouldn’t be so goddamn boring!”
“Thank you,” you said. “I try.”  
“But I don’t know about working for your Triad buddies.  We’re free agents!  We don’t like being tied down!”  Junkrat looked up from the plushes, expression grim.
“I understand,” you said.  “If you’re fighting Talon though, I’d like to collaborate some time. Or  at least not get blown up or shredded by the two of you in combat.  I’d extend the same courtesy, of course.”  
“Carrie, you’re a nice lady who owes us some more cake.  I would never-” Junkrat pressed his hands to his chest.  “Never ever ever.”  
“That’s a relief,” you said.  You hadn’t expected them to onboard today.  This was just first contact.  You could cultivate the ties over time.  
“Truce,” Roadhog said.  The cake was gone, but there was no trace of it on his fingers, lap, or mask.  
“Truce,” you said with a smile.  
**
Junkrat had stuffed his bag full of toys, though you didn’t miss the piggy tucked on Roadhog’s hip, almost completely hidden by the chain.  Junkrat was snoring now, draped across Roadhog’s back.  He
“If you’re interested,” you said, offering him your card.  “We can talk about it over cake.”  
Roadhog grunted, accepting it.  Those massive hands delicately placing it in a pocket.  He paused, looking down at the bracelet your left wrist. He snorted.  
“Hardlight projector?”
“Yes,” you said.
He nodded.  “Military grade?”
“Of course.”  Because you could be friendly and well-armed. Always hope for peace, but prepare for killing the shit out of your enemies.
Roadhog stared at it for another few seconds, clearly contemplating the other way this encounter could have gone.  “Thank you for the meal,” he said, ducking to go through the door.  
“I had fun,” you told him.  “We should do it again some time.”
**
You sat on the roof, admiring the brilliance of the skyline.  A shuttle would pick you up soon.  A local cleaning service would take care of the facilities.  The Junkers had come and gone with minimal damage. Cian Barrett was dead. Zee had access to his files.  Not a bad day’s work.  
Zee’s drone hovered by your shoulder.  “You still have a way with delinquents,” she said.  
“Takes one to know one.” You fiddled with the bracelet.  It wasn’t your best weapon, but you could use it well in close quarters.  “You can take the girl out of the bar-”
“That is such a crass statement with racist overtones,” Zee said, her tone frosty.  
“Sorry, you’re right.  I don’t need to be repeating that shit,” you said.  You tilted your head back.  You’d spent a couple months in Phuket before you had found Sakai.  You’d picked up some of the lingo, the ways to blend in.  You’d need to shed those habits sooner rather than later.  “How are things back home?” You asked.
“Settling.”
“That could mean any number of things.”  
“You know Feng was never mad about what you did.  She was worried about you.  She still is.”
“I know.”  You toyed with the a large bulldog plush that had somehow been left behind by the Junkers.  If Oksana didn’t want it, maybe Karalika would. “But Oksana...”
“She needed time to come to terms with what she saw you do.  She’ll get past it.  She adores you too much. This was an eye-opening experience about our line of work. Her father has always sheltered her.”
“Her father-” You scowled.
“Will get over himself when she calms down.  He exaggerates all faults. Honestly, all of you are so overwrought and emotional.  Presenting the On Sing Serial Drama: tune in next week for more shocking events and emotional fallout in a real time comedy of errors,” she said in biting tones. “Foolish children. These things take time.  You have to account for that, Lucky. Stop being so impatient.”  
You smiled wryly.  “Thanks, Auntie.  You really do know best.”
“I know, and while you are acknowledging my wisdom and experience, let’s talk about what’s going on with you.  You really need to talk to another professional about what’s going on in your life,” she told you primly.  “Don’t give me the “oh, who’s going to understand the psychological effects of brainwashing, and faked deaths, international conspiracies” speech.  That’s cult of exceptionalism foolishness. Conspiracies aren’t what’s sending you to therapy, it’s your manner of handling the stress. Psychologists understand complications, betrayals, PTSD.  That is what you are asking for help with, untangling your feelings and yourself.  This isn’t about politics or tech.  Your situation may be unique, but your reactions?  Textbook.”
You winced.  “You broke me down faster than I did Sakai.”
“Yes, well unlike you, I’m not playing around, or trying to draw out the suffering,” she said.  “And unlike the others, I don’t care what you did to her.  She earned it.  But I do care what it implies about your mental state, and how it affects the rest of the family.”
“I went too far,” you agreed after a moment.  “I’m not sorry.  Not yet.  But I know I went too far.”   Maybe not far enough to join Talon as a double agent, commit atrocities to win their trust, and then finally exact your brutal revenge.  And that was the best case scenario in a certain Reaper’s case.  
“Make sure you tell that to everyone else.  Ask for their help in keeping you honest.  It will go a long way in earning you some grace.”  
“Yes, Auntie,” you said with a heavy sigh.  You stared out over the city. The night was warm.  “I still have one question.  How did they locate me so quickly?”  You gave the drone a sharp side eye.  
“You need allies.  They have survival skills,” she said, telling you everything you needed to know.
“With friends like you, I definitely need more allies to watch my back,” you scowled, though you couldn’t muster any real ferocity.  
“I had full faith in you,” she said solemnly.  “And total control of the discretely placed turrets.”  
You just shook your head.  “Auntie-”
“You cannot slaughter your way through this, Lucky.  Not if you want to protect the others.  Do you think Oksana is ready for this war? Are you willing to risk it?”  She didn’t give you a chance to respond.  She already knew your answer. “No, you need to be smart and use diplomatic methods too.”
“You’re not wrong, but I think I just used up all my diplomacy,” you said dryly.  
“You should probably work get it back soon,” she said.  “Jesse McCree has just arrived in Shanghai.  He has...information. And he’s insisting that he tells it to you in person.”
****
Yes, you should know all the ally characters referenced, except Karalika.  I’m fine spoiling in the comments if you want to guess. 
My week was stressful.  10-11 hour shifts, a sick cat, cat had teeth extracted Friday and is high out of his mind (or had a stroke? I don’t know.)  I’ve had force feed him a feed a few times this weekend.  He keeps falling off things and walking into walls. He’s not using the litter box.  I am super tired. 
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oneofthemillionarmy · 4 years
Text
The Impossible Order | Ch.2
Summary line: Mr. Min is a stoic boss who will never outwardly show appreciation for you. Not until you’re gone does he recognize how much you do. And what you do matters to him.
ceo!Yoongi | best.friend!Hoseok | romance, fluff, angst, and stuff
Loosely inspired by Secretary Kim and this third bullet point of the prompt list
Last chapter
~•~
Last night, one of the Peruvian suppliers was able to promise 250 ct worth of tourmaline, but it would be delivered in two weeks rather than the originally intended week and a half. Knowing your boss is one for deadlines and punctuality, you believe he’d prefer Hestia Sourcing. Despite your own gut telling you that Peruvian Treasures will pay off in the long run. Regardless of the turnaround time from your main supplier, the 200 ct in two weeks will keep the remaining four projects afloat before the regular shipment. However, you still report the remaining two supplier response and quotes, also providing your own input. Mr. Min says he prefers Hestia; as expected.
“How goes the status on our tourmaline crisis?” Mr. Min asks as he sips on his third cup of coffee this morning.
“Hestia Sourcing has already been officially contacted for their shipment of tourmaline to arrive in a week and a half. Jimin is currently working with Kim Taehyung on the new design for the frame. Seokjin has already crafted two other designs for you to look at today before he meets with Yoo Jae Suk tomorrow. Beyoncé loves alexandrite, but the tourmaline was intended to match with her costumer designer’s vision for the Met Gala, so he’s unwilling to make changes. Your father had already ok’d the change for your parent’s anniversary gift, so we can switch their gemstones with alexandrite instead. The JP team has already started working on the mold for the Jubilee. And marketing just emailed me the final draft for the letter to the customers and PR is still working with marketing for the ethically sourced advertisement. They are utilizing internet ad platforms, both short clip video ads and on social media.” You handed him your tablet for him to read over the final draft letter and Seokjin’s designs.
“Tell marketing to go ahead with the letter. Also, tell Seokjin that I would also like to see his first design with silver instead of rose gold.”
“Yes, Mr. Min.”
“Today I’m meeting with Jasper and Jester Industries over Zoom at 12:30. Tell the tech team I want to use the hologram projector during this meeting because we’re showing them the prototype today. Speaking of prototype, I need to see the prototype from the TP team by 10. Go to L’Orange today for lunch today; I want the lamb chops. James and Soobin will be coming at 1:30 to go over the purchasing of the mine sites for the cobalt mining. Check back in with me at 2 on the Kim Taehyung project and the marketing strategy. I want to see Seokjin’s new designs by 3. And check with our supply team if we’re maintaining our upkeep of inventory. If not, I need a list before 11 this morning along with suppliers’ response for turnaround time and quotes.”
“Yes, Mr. Min.” You had your hands clasped behind your back the entire time.
“Another coffee please.”
“Yes, Mr. Min.” Without another word, you step out and take out your recorder. You play back his directives as you get the coffee.
~•~
“Hey, Hoseok.” You sigh as you pour hot water into your instant noodle bowl for lunch.
“Hey, Sunshine.” You chuckle. If the either of you were the sunshine, it’d be him.
“How’s Yeontan?”
“He’s fine. The vet says that he’s a little underfed, but otherwise, he’s still the most adorable Yeontan-ie that has ever lived.” Hoseok gushes at the puppy in his lap as he drives on his way back to his home. Hoseok will be holding onto Yeontan until the weekend.
“Ok. That’s good news. Was he good at the vet?”
“He hates the vet. You should know that better than I do. I was a dog catcher for 30 minutes. And he caused a whole waiting room full of dogs into a frenzy. Did you know that one of the people there brought their snake? I hate those. Yeontan almost fought a snake! You have no idea how hard it was for me to finally grab Yeontan before anything drastic happened.” You laugh as he goes on about his heroic deed of saving your pup from a snake.
“You did very well. Thank you, Hoseok.”
“Never mind that, Blessings. Hey. Are you coming over today after work?”
“I might. My boss has been very extra today. Every ten minutes, his chat bubble pops up adding 3 more things to do. But honestly, with the amount of things going on today, he shouldn’t have anything else left to do tonight. I might actually get off work on time.
“Good. Good. ‘Cause I was thinking –“ before Hoseok can finish his words, you hear the sound of a car swerve.
“Hoseok? You ok?”
“Yeah. Some idiot w-“ and the line cut off.
~•~
At 12:15, you were nowhere to be found. You left a message to Yoongi that you had to take the day off. Everything you were requested to do was already set in motion like a Rube Goldberg machine. You texted him saying that there are cups and cups of coffee in the fridge ready for him. If he wants hot, he’ll have to wait another day. And as promised, everything Yoongi needed was here. He had everything he needed. You just weren’t there to provide it.
“Where’s Y/N?” Seokjin asks as he comes in at 3pm like clockwork, “I would’ve thought she’d give me that 20-minute warning like she always does when I have a meeting with you.” She does that?
“I don’t know. She took a half day. I haven’t seen her since 11 or something.” Yoongi says nonchalantly as he looks over the Seokjin’s work. Seokjin just blinks at that before he starts slowly, “That’s not like her. Is everything ok? Do you know what happened?”
“No.”
“It’s just not like her to –“
“I like it better in silver this way.” Yoongi cuts him off, gesturing to the new designs.
“Heh. Yeah, Y/N said you would. I wanted to show you the rose gold one first anyway.” Seokjin chuckles as he sits down across the table from him, “Speaking of Y/N,” I wasn’t speaking about her…, “You got the supplies list for JP, TP, and HP, right? She told me you were working with the cobalt mine sites today. She told me to tell you that since cobalt is one of the supplies on the list, and the mine site wouldn’t be ready just yet, she contacted 3 different cobalt miners and selected Arrows for the cobalt supply.”
“She should’ve come to me first about the different miners. We have our upcoming product from HP –“
“The ceramic tiles for Ms. James’ bathroom. Yeah. She contacted HP. They require 300 g and Arrows is the only one with the adequate amount of supply. It will be here in 5 days.” Seokjin stands up and walks over to Yoongi’s kitchen, “All the other suppliers have been contacted. She sent me the list and wants me to report it to you.”
“You’re just a designer for the jewelry department,” Yoongi says as he looks through his email to see if you sent him any recent emails. Nothing.
“Give me some credit. I’ve got a brain and it’s used for more than just designing. Don’t forget, before I was a designer, I was also your assistant too.”
“Yeah, a pretty bad one.” Yoongi snorts. It’s why he needed you.
“We were just a startup! We literally just graduated then.” Seokjin protests as he come back over and sets down a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of Yoongi.
“I thought Y/N only had iced ones left.”
“She did, but she instructed me to heat up one for you before we go over the list with you.” Seokjin scoots his chair closer as he whips out his tablet to bring up the supplies list, “And one for after.”
~•~
“Mr. Jung has suffered a serious blow to the head and is currently unconscious. We don’t know when he will wake at this point. His left arm has scarring from the glass shatters from the window when the car was impacted. His left leg has a hairline fracture and the patella was dislocated but has already been set back. Luckily, his left leg is the worst of the limbs. There’s bruising on the right thigh and right elbow also has bruising. The bruises are likely from holding on to the dog during impact. His right arm has some muscle tears do to strain.
“Right now, our biggest concern is when he will wake up. He had internal bleeding in the brain but the blood has been removed and there’s no clotting, in his brain or anywhere near his spine. Everything is where it needs to be, and there’s nothing that indicated long term brain damage or trauma. But we won’t know for sure until he wakes up.” The doctor nods his head and leaves.
You sniff as you cross your arms, staring at your best friend lying in the hospital bed. His head is wrapped as well as his left arm. His left leg is currently suspended in its cast. By his left eyes and cheeks, are massive bruises that still look sticky and gooey.
If only I didn’t let him take Yeontan…
“How’s my dog?”
“We checked in with the vet hospital nearby. Your dog has no extreme injuries, only mild bruising. The doctor wants him to stay overnight for observation.” The nurse reports to you. You shiver from the lonely air of the hospital.
“You can go in and see the patient right now, but please do not touch him. And visiting hours will be over in 40 minutes.” The nurse gently reminds you before you nod, thanking the nurse and heading in.
Walking towards Hoseok, your nose feels the burn as tears well up in your eyes. Before you even reach Hoseok’s bed, the tears already overflow out.
“I’m so sorry Hoseok. This is my fault.” And he’s a dancer too…oh my God, he’s a dancer….his limbs…
Your tears quickly turn into hysterical sobs, thinking too many things at once. Your greatest prayer is that he wakes up and he is completely healed. You start hyperventilating so you sit down and take deep breaths.
Although you were instructed not to touch him, you couldn’t resist to at least clutch to the hospital blankets next to his right hand, your knuckles touching each other’s.
“Please wake up, Hoseok. I’ll never have you do anything else for me. I’m sorry if I ever took advantage of you. Please know that I never once took you for granted. You are my dearest friend and I don’t want anyone else for a best friend. I promise to hug you more. I promise to cook for you. I’ll do it at your house. You don’t have to come to mine. I’ll clean up my mess after too. I’m here for you, I promise. I really am. I’m not leaving you, I swear to God. Please just wake up and be ok. You’re gonna be ok. I promise.” You turn to look to the hospital window to make sure no one sees you. You grab his right hand and lean down to kiss it, “Please wake up.”
Your phone in your pocket vibrates and you take it out.
The board members meeting is tomorrow at 8am. Please gather the data and reports from the teams ready by 6am. I will look over it before the meeting.
“Fuck you. No. Not now.” You grit your teeth and put the phone back in the pocket.
Your tears are both sad and angry now, but you know you need to calm down. Nothing drastic.
You take a couple deep breaths before you wipe your tears and take your phone out again to write an email. You look up as you think for a moment. Make that three.
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