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iamanartichoke · 3 years

Note

Fic prompt: If you feel like doing another hurt/comfort with Mobius, I would love a version of that end scene where Loki's freaking out but it actually is our Mobius. So Mobius listens to everything Loki has to say, and then they just kind of...take a breath, I suppose, before whatever they're going to do to fight Kang - perhaps Loki gets some tea, and/or an actual meal, a little sleep maybe (has he eaten since that cake on the train or slept since that brief nap in ep 2??), or whatever comfort-y stuff you want - I just need that sweet fic healing lmao.

@scintillatingshortgirl19 Thank you for the prompt and I hope you like it! <3

Summary: Takes place at the end of episode 6, where instead of saying "Who are you?" Mobius knows Loki and they pick up from where they left off in the void. Word Count: 1956 Author’s notes: I'm not feeling super confident with these prompts, so please don't judge me bear with me as I dust off my little writer-brain gears and try to find my footing with these new characters and characterizations.

Completed prompts.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mobius is saying, holding his hands up, but Loki can’t stop talking. The words are spilling from him; he’s tripping over them, and from the look on Mobius’s face Loki knows he’s not making sense, but still, he can’t stop.

“He’s set on war,” Loki babbles. “We need to prepare, Mobius.”

“Hang on.” When Loki pauses to take a breath, Mobius reaches out and places his hands on Loki’s shoulders. It’s almost comical, the way he needs to reach, as Loki towers over him. Yet Loki feels very small, too, and doesn’t protest the contact. “You’re speaking faster than my brain can process words. Breathe, okay? Start at the beginning.”

Loki doesn’t know when the beginning was. It could have been the moment he’d leapt up and grabbed Sylvie’s arm before she could land a fatal blow to their enemy; it could have been all those days (or months, or hours, Loki has no idea; time, for him, has completely ceased to exist) ago that he’d landed in a Midgardian desert and the TVA immediately swarmed upon him.

“You’re not understanding me.” Frustration colors Loki’s tone. “There’s no time to stop; he’s - they’re - coming.”

“You’re right, I’m not understanding you.” Mobius lets go of Loki’s shoulders and rubs the back of his neck. “I want to, but you gotta slow down and fill me in, okay?”

“Maybe we should take him somewhere,” says B-15. Loki had barely noticed her but now he steps back, his gaze flicking from her to Mobius, taking in the confusion on both of their faces.

“You don’t look so good,” B-15 adds, taking in Loki’s appearance. He must be a sight, he realizes; his hair is matted and tangled and he feels grimy, his skin caked with so much dirt and blood from injuries he doesn’t remember getting.

But, what difference does it make? Loki turns back to Mobius, desperate. “Mobius, listen to me. Sylvie and I -”

“Come on.” Mobius cuts him off. He moves in, taking one of Loki’s arms. “You can tell me everything, okay, Loki? I just need you to calm down and to come with me, preferably before you pass out. Hauling around a five hundred pound demigod wasn’t on my to-do list today.”

Loki bites back a sharp retort. He’s vaguely aware of B-15 taking his other arm, and it’s only once Loki’s shoulders slump and he allows himself to be led away from the shelves that the exhaustion hits him. He’s been running high on adrenaline for hours, and now that he’s moving slowly, supported on either side, all of that energy seems to drain from him at once. His knees buckle.

“Careful,” Mobius says. Were it not for him and B-15 holding him up, Loki is certain he would have collapsed. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on placing one foot in front of the other, not caring where they’re going. The archives, the time theater, one place is the same as another.

They move through halls that are bustling with activity, minutemen running and disembodied voices crackling over speakers. They don’t know it’s pointless, no amount of hunters in the field will matter or make a difference.

He thinks he says so, or perhaps he just imagines he does. Neither Mobius nor B-15 acknowledge him, at any rate; they only keep moving and after awhile, they arrive at the dormitories, where Loki has not been since the first day Mobius brought him here as an official TVA employee.

“Why are we here?” Loki asks, confused.

“So you can get a shower and a change of clothes,” Mobius says simply, “and then we can have some coffee and you can tell me what happened after the void.”

Loki sighs, and then nods, resisting the urge to insist that everything else could wait (until when?), because Mobius isn’t understanding the precariousness of the situation, but he knows it won’t do any good.

“Fine,” he says instead, giving up. The sooner he does what Mobius asks, the sooner Mobius will listen.

He’d not realized just how badly he needed that shower and change of clothes until he’s scrubbed the dirt and blood from his skin and allowed the hot water to beat over his sore muscles and rapidly-forming bruises. For lack of anything else to wear, he puts on a clean suit, fastening the cuffs firmly around his wrists and buttoning the collar up to his neck.

He’s sick of this outfit; he never wants to see it again but, without his magic, he has no other choice.

In the dormitory kitchen, Mobius is brewing a pot of coffee. He looks up when Loki walks in, and his mouth quirks in a half smile. “Better,” he says, “but you could still probably use some sleep and a meal.”

“Stop fussing,” Loki snaps, irritated with Mobius’s sudden desire to hover over him like a governess hovering over a petulant child who won’t eat his peas. “I hate coffee, by the way.”

“You’ve never had my coffee,” Mobius retorts, sounding unbothered. “Just sit down, okay? You still look like hell, is my point. When’s the last time anyone fussed over you, anyway?”

Loki makes a scoffing noise as he drops down into a chair at one of the small kitchen tables. “I’m sure my mother did at some point, I don’t remember.” Actually, he remembers very well that it was always his mother who looked after him when he was sick or tired or lonely, until he’d grown too old to allow himself to seek her out for comfort.

But he doesn’t want to think of his mother, who is lost to him and perhaps lost to the real Loki as well, the sacred timeline’s Loki, if enough time has progressed and Malekith has indeed run her through with a sword and left her bleeding out on the palace floor.

Loki shudders as he thinks of it, remembering the sight of his mother’s lifeless body projected onto a screen. He’d been helpless to stop it, utterly powerless, just as ultimately he’d been powerless to stop Sylvie.

His mother, dead. Sylvie, lost to him. The timeline destroyed - the end of everything. The weight of it all crashes over him; had he not already been sitting, the sheer despair of it would have brought him to his knees.

Loki drops his head into his hands instead, thinking back to Mobius’s words that first day: you were born to cause pain and suffering and death.

In retrospect, Loki knows that Mobius was merely fighting dirty, using whatever words necessary to break Loki down - the ends justify the means, and all that - but he wasn’t goddamn wrong.

How could Loki have ever believed, even for a second, that he could possibly change?

We write our own destinies now, he’d told that creepy little clock hologram, and she’d smirked, seen right through the words because they were rubbish and they both knew it.

Good luck with that.

Loki doesn’t realize he’s crying until Mobius sets down a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. He lifts his head and rubs tiredly at his tear-stained cheeks, unable to meet Mobius’s gaze as Mobius sits down across from him with his own mug.

“Here,” Mobius adds, reaching into his inside blazer pocket. He pulls out a slim, red candy stick wrapped in plastic and hands that to Loki as well.

Loki stares at it. “What is this?”

“Something better than grapes or nuts,” Mobius says dryly. “It’s a Twizzler. Popular Earth candy. I’d say don’t tell anyone I’ve stashed a bunch, but …” He trails off and shrugs, glancing around at the kitchen with forced amusement. “Doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”

He pulls out a second Twizzler and unwraps the plastic, then bites into the candy. Loki watches him for a moment, and then imitates him. “Gross,” he says, after he’s taken a bite. It’s a very bland candy, with texture not unlike rubber. “Think I prefer grapes.”

“Well, maybe Twizzlers are an acquired taste,” says Mobius.

Loki finishes the Twizzler anyway, and then takes a sip of coffee. He does usually dislike coffee, but either he’s hungrier than he’d realized or Mobius has a gift, because this cup is actually quite good.

“Okay, now let’s go back to the beginning,” Mobius prompts, after a silence. He drums his fingertips against the table. “What happened? I’m assuming you were able to enchant the murder cloud?”

All of the words that had been spilling from Loki’s lips before, so desperate to be released, now get stuck somewhere in his throat. He wraps his hands around his mug and takes another sip of coffee, wondering idly how long it had been since he’d actually had something warm to drink. Or eat, for that matter. The train on Lamentis, perhaps. A moment ago, a lifetime ago.

“We did,” he finally says. Despite the coffee, a chill breaks out over his skin and he sets the mug down, choosing to fold his arms as if to fold into himself for warmth. “We made it past Alioth and found him - the one who’s responsible for all of this.”

Just like that, the words are no longer stuck. Loki pours out the entire story, starting from when he and Sylvie had crossed the threshold into the citadel and ending with his own tumble back through the tempad’s portal into the TVA.

But he omits the kiss, only mentioning that Sylvie had distracted him to get the upper hand. He’ll never speak of it - either that Sylvie had used his feelings for her in order to betray him, or that he’d fallen for it (of course he’d fallen for it; for a few seconds there, he’d let himself believe - but, it doesn’t matter, it wasn’t real, and there are bigger problems now).

“She closed the portal before I could get back through it,” Loki says. He notices that he’s twisting his fingers together so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. He forces himself to stop. “I can only imagine she finished the job after that because, well.” He barks a laugh that sounds, even to his own ears, broken and pathetic. He used to be so good at maintaining a cool, calm facade but it, like so many other things, had been steadily breaking apart, piece by piece. There is very little left to guard the scared little ice runt who trembles at the core.

“Look at the timeline,” he adds; he laughs again and rubs his eyes against a fresh wave of tears.

For a long time, neither of them say anything. Loki finishes his coffee and Mobius eats two more Twizzlers before another word is spoken.

“So we lost.” Mobius’s voice is hollow. “We lost before we could begin to fight.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mobius shrugs. He runs a hand over his short, gray hair before letting out a laugh of his own. “He Who Remains,” he repeats, more to himself than to Loki.

Loki allows a beat to pass. “We have to try to fix it, Mobius.” The only way to ease the weight of his guilt, Loki knows, is if he goes back and tries to make it right - or to die trying.

“How are we supposed to do that?” It’s Mobius’s turn to rub his eyes. His shoulders slump and for a moment, he looks very tired. Older. Loki studies him and wonders, fleetingly, if the real Mobius is someone’s father. “I don’t even know where to begin, Loki.”

“I might.” Loki straightens. Deep down, beneath the anguish, a seed of determination has taken hold and he focuses on that; a lifeline. “But you’ll need to trust me.”

#charlotte writes #follower celebration prompt series #loki series spoilers #loki spoilers #loki tv series spoilers #loki series positive #loki + mobius (platonic)#hurt/comfort #validatemepls #i was listening to the titanic soundtrack as i wrote this lmfao

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enmy-writes · 3 years

Text

Baby Avenger

Summary: (Y/N) is one of the youngest avenger members and some government officials repeatedly let her know of “her position.” So, she lets them know exactly what her position is.

Word Count: 2100

Fandom: MCU Avengers

Pairing: Avengers x Reader

Genre: Fluff, soft, slight angst and sadness, & family love.

Rated: 18+

Content Warnings: profanity, death, abandonment, bullying, this is my first ever post of any fanfiction ever so it’s probably bad

**** This is my first ever imagine that I have ever finished and published. Please give me feedback and let me know what else I should write! I’m very excited and nervous so please let me know if you enjoyed this :) I’m thinking of making this Y/N character into a little “Baby Avenger” one-shot series, so let me know your thoughts ****

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Baby Avenger.

Baby. Avenger.

In her head, her stomping can be heard throughout the whole Compound and all of its residents and guests can hear her anger. They know she’s going right to the meeting room; not the team meeting room, but the meeting room they use when they have special guests in for a meeting.

The new government officials who are now “in charge” of the Avengers since The Snap Part 2 were in for the day to go over the general plans that the Avengers have been coming up with. They’re nicer than those in charge of the group from the Accords, but in no way were they nice to majority of the group as a whole.

(Y/N) (L/N) happens to be the second to youngest member on the team coming in at an age of 18, second only to her best friend Peter Parker

(Y/N) is an orphan, the typical origin story of any superhero. Her parents spent their last minutes pushing her out of their burning house in rural Pennsylvania. Actually, it was her father who got her out of the flames and by their fishpond 100 meters from the house. Her mother was inside, trapped under a steal beam in the basement.

(Y/N)’s mother was a scientist who worked in secret in a little band of scientists who tried to accomplish their own small victories in testing the alterations and limits of humans. The goal of these scientists is to stay out of sight of the CIA, FBI, S.H.I.E.L.D., and other government agencies. Most of them are left alone and those who get found are either immediately sent to a high security prison or recruited to continue their experiments for a certain country/agency.

(Y/N)’s mother decided to give herself her treatment she was working on instead of potentially kidnapping someone in the everyone-knows-everything kind of town that they had been living in. Her experiment and life studies were all in trying to find a way to unlock the rest of the human brain so that more than that small percentage is being used at a time. It has been hypothesized that humans could do a lot if their brains just used itself more.

The only problem is when she gave the treatment to herself, she was unknowingly pregnant, and the treatment attached onto that small lifeform instead of her own. She created a super baby.

No one knew the exact answer to what is on the other side of that tunnel of science. No one knew what opening the mind could do, there were only theories to support ideas. Plenty of scientific evidence, but it meant nothing with no legit proof.

Well, turns out that those on the team of “you will gain the ability to read minds and shit unlike any human” were the correct guessers.

(Y/N) can read others’ minds, move things with her mind, slow down time in her mind to be able to successfully breakdown a situation and perform the best possible reaction to anything that comes her way. Oh, and the color spectrum is broader for her, allowing her to see a significantly more amount of colors than a normal human (including seeing the aura’s and heat that people give off. Very useful in the few missions she goes on.).

But her parents are dead.

After setting small (Y/N) down, her father ran back in to save the love of his life. Or, well, that’s what the towns’ people say to romanticize the situation. A brave man trying to save his family.

In the end, her father had shaken his head, laughing at the moment like a mad man with tears running down his face. He pulled (Y/N) in for the tightest hug that he had ever given the girl—which is tight considering how close the two really were. They were just like two peas in a pod, the light of each other’s lives, basically soulmates.

But love makes you do crazy things.

“You listen to me, (Y/N).” He gripped her face in a painful grip, cheeks sure to be bruised later. “I will always love you. Don’t doubt that, baby girl, okay? I love you so so so so much” By this time, tears are pouring off his face, the neon flames coming from the house reflecting off his wet face. “Mommy… mommy just needs me now, baby. I need mommy, too. We love you so much.”

It had confused her, his words. Nothing could prepare her to watch her father run back into the house, leaving her by the pond with nothing but a small bag of little family things like pictures, little stupid gifts, and a notebook she had stolen from her mom’s bookshelf one day.

Her mother’s grandfather had been friends with Howard Stark, both science men having been in the same circle of famous inventors since before WWII. While neither her mother nor father personally knew his son, Tony, he was still listed as the godfather to the child. With no close friends allowed in their secret circle, old bonds and pacts that her grandfather had with the older Stark led to a blind trust in the man.

Tony Stark had agreed to be the godfather during a one-week bender in his 30s, and when he was yelled at about it, he chose to just keep it there because “the chances of this happening is very slim.”

But here we are, Baby Avenger.

The officials who are here now actually were the same people that used to do check-ins and such with them pre-Accords, so they knew the team better than any government official save for the rare union that the team members may have with government officials. (Y/N) randomly has one with the Queen of England (she did a favor for Her Majesty once, and now they have tea every third Thursday of every month).

They knew that Tony suffered from panic attacks, and they knew Steve was going through a never ending loop of an existential crisis, and that Bucky will most likely always be having an identity crisis, and that Sam cries to sleep a lot around a certain time of year that renders him almost useless in his sleep deprived state he puts himself into. They know EVERYTHING vulnerable about the team.

So, that means they know how when she first got to the team and to Tony that she wouldn’t speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary. It took her almost a year to be able to speak more than a sentence to every person she was around. No one was too upset, though, Tony was trying to figure out how to save himself and rebrand his whole legacy and the Avengers weren’t really a family family yet like they are now. (Y/N)’s shyness made it much easier on the adults to figure out their stressful situations.

The officials, though, never got why she wouldn’t speak to them. They actually pushed her progress back more and more with taunts and comments such as “Oh, the baby can’t speak?” or a “Get your phone out! She’s about to say her first words!” every time she did go to say something.

Tony soon got fed up with it and filed a lawsuit against them which threatened their agency enough to pull them out and let a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent be a liaison for them. After their presence was rid of, (Y/N) grew exponentially with her new family. She was still home schooled, but now she had Peter Parker as a friend and world geniuses as her teachers. She was an only child, but now she’s a big sister to Morgan and has plenty of people on the team that are dubbed her siblings (since they don’t act their age majority of the time to be considered aunts and uncles).

While she’s trained to fight, (Y/N) doesn’t go out on the field much unless they need her brain or her extended vision. She likes to remain behind the computer screen and help that way. She’s invented a way to make prosthetics like Bucky’s become more available to the general public and has started a school/home that’s three miles from the Compound for orphaned kids, mutants, super kids, and those who aren’t accepted where they come from.

In conclusion, (Y/N) is 18 and not useless in any way, shape, or form.

So why, why, do these absolute short dick idiots decide that they can come into here, her home, and push her around like she hasn’t contributed more to the Earth and society in the short 18 years than their middle-aged asses?

Eyes narrowed and seeing red, she stomps her way down the last hall, shoving herself into the door of the meeting room and throwing it open.

The team stays unfazed, knowing she’d show up pissed at some point. The officials, though, jump in their seat and turn to look at her.

It wasn’t the biggest meeting, the original Avengers plus Bucky, Sam, and Wanda sit around the table. Though, Rocket and Groot are here sitting along the back wall, looking bored as hell. Thor must have drug them along.

Fists clenched, (Y/N) narrows her eyes more. She’s been here since the first attack. Sure, she didn’t fight since she was like, 8 or so, but she was in charge of her man-behind-the-computer work. She’s been a part of the team since the beginning, and these assholes are too big of pricks to acknowledge that.

That’s what’s pissing the girl off. This could have been a meeting for every one of the fighters of the team, which she wouldn’t go to because that’s not her role. This meeting, though, was scheduled as “Originals plus the newly appointed leaders only.” She’s an original.

SHE IS AN ORIGINAL.

SHE. IS. AN. OG.

AND YET, they remained in telling her she wasn’t invited because “The Baby Avenger doesn’t need to join big kid conversation.”

She locked eyes with her adopted father and her best friend, aka Peter Parker, aka the only reason she knew this meeting was still being held.

Poor, lovely Peter. He grew confused when his best friend wasn’t sitting in between Mr. Stark and him for the meeting, especially when the officials referred to the meeting as they did. He was just there to take notes for Mr. Stark, not that the man wouldn’t remember it all. Pepper thought it’d be a good idea if Tony had written evidence to anything said in these meetings so that he wouldn’t be pouring statements out of his ass without proof, and poor, lovely Peter got elected to take such notes.

When he noticed you weren’t there, he had sent you a text asking where you were and that your drink that he brought you was right next to him.

“(Y/N)! It is so great to see you, my wonderful flower.” Thick arms wrapped around her as a golden man squeezed her tight to him. Thor and (Y/N) had a special relationship. They’re always close and do the most innocent of tasks together like flower crowns, step-by-step painting classes, and making those Tik Tok crocheted blankets made with that big yarn. He even had taken her to Asgard (back when it was a planet) for a royal ball where she was the guest of honor. They’re just soft together.

Though, rage blocked that softness that normally occurs between the two. Pushing off of him, she points her finger at the men in the front. The officials look like they’ve seen the devil and all of Hell and (Y/N) can see the fear pouring off of them.

“Let’s get this clear,” she says as she slowly stalks her way up to them. “I am an Avenger. I am an original Avenger. I know about 3,000 ways to kill you in this room at this very moment with anything. I drink tea with the fucking Queen on Thursdays, and I’ve created a better orphanage/school system in 2 years than this country has in the 250 years it’s been around. Don’t you EVER call me a fucking baby again, you fucking hear me?”

By this point, she’s right up in their faces, her glare unwavering and them sweating. The silence in the room was great and seemed to go on forever. The team held their breaths, some trying not to laugh and some scared of backlash that might be trust upon the girl.

With one last eye narrow (you could blindfold her with toothpicks at this point), she whips around and walks back to Thor, placing herself sideways on his lap and relaxing into his hold. Peter passes her (Drink Order) down the table, and (Y/N) takes it.

Clint, Bucky, and Sam try and hide their laughter when the meeting starts again as they look at their long-time teammate cradled and curled up in Thor’s arms, head on his shoulder and under his chin as she sips her drink with an angry look in her eyes and a pout on her face.

All wrapped up like a baby.

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

Teach me something 4

I’m sad Calgary went home but at least the Blues did, too.

ANYWAY here’s the last part of Teach me something (unless I think of something else to write about), and let me tell you, this is s o f t Matthew (in my opinion)

The song at the end is called Fathers and Sons from Working: the musical

I hope you like it!

Read the other parts: part 1// part 2 // part 3 _______________________

“One last thing before the bell this is going to be really quick so I need everyone’s eyes on me,” you spit out in one breath, “I posted the homework problems online on Hess’s Law and those are due next class so please make sure you do them!” You managed to get everyone out, praying that all your students actually listened to what you said.

Making a mental note to send out an email to the class, your students rush out the door and on their way to lunch. Trying to set up quickly before you had your next class, you hear, “Hey, mom?” coming from behind you. Your son, Oliver, is standing in the doorway, a worried look on his face.

“Hi, Ollie. Do me a favor, get out the hot plates from under these cabinets and put two on each bench, ok?” He puts his bag down by your desk, bending down to help you out with what you need.

“Mom?” he asks again.

“Ollie.”

“Does Dad know what we’re going to tonight?”

“Well, that depends. Did you tell your father?”

“No. I thought you did.”

“Oliver, I told you. You were the one who wanted to do this, and you asked me not to tell Dad, so I kept my word. If you want to tell him before we leave tonight, then that’s up to you.” You look over at your son, just standing there in staring at a hot plate. His curly hair just like Matthew’s, the same eye shape, but your eye color, built like his father, but not as much of a pest.

“What if he doesn’t like that I’m doing this because it isn’t hockey related?”

You let out a little chuckle at how nervous your son was. You couldn’t help it. “Your father wants nothing more than for you to be happy. He doesn’t care what you do to get there. If you want to tell him before we leave, then that’s up to you, just know that I’m driving either way and we have to pick up Tessa from her swim practice so she’s going to smell like chlorine.”

“Mom, he’s going to think it’s dumb!” Oliver whines, sitting down on one of the stools.

“If he says it is then you tell him it’s dumb that his mouthguard was never in his mouth when he played. How your father even still has teeth is beyond me,” you say, sitting down next to your son with your lunch. If he was going to talk during your lunch period, he might as well eat with you.

“Mom!” he whines again, getting his own lunch out.

You stare at your son as you chew on the sandwich Matthew had made for you the night before. You couldn’t believe your baby boy was a freshman in high school already, let alone worrying about what his dad would think of tonight. “Is this something that you’re proud of?”

“Yeah,” he says, staring at his own sandwich.

“Then, bub, your father is going to be happy. Dad doesn’t care how you get there,” you tell him, ruffling his hair, “As long as it doesn’t end up with you in jail.”

He laughs, swatting your hand away from his hair. “I just hope I don’t mess up.”

“I won’t care if you do,” you shrug.

“And you already have your tickets?”

“Ten seconds after they went on sale I got three of them.”

“And Aunt Rory will be there?”

“Aunt Rory will be there with Uncle Logan.”

“What about Uncle Johnny?” he asks, talking about his godfather, Matthew’s old teammate.

“Everyone who you asked to be there will be there. And if they aren’t then I will personally drag them by the ear for another night and make them pay for my ticket.” He laughs, thinking you’re joking. When he realizes you’re not, his eyes go wide.

“And none of them have told Dad?”

You can’t help but laugh at his worry. Even he has to know it’s just nervousness for tonight. “I told everyone that if they told your father then we would no longer associate ourselves with them.”

“Mom! Isn’t Aunt Rory Tessa’s godmother?”

“Yeah, and Uncle Johnny is your godfather, what’s your point?”

“Can you do that?”

“I can and I will if someone disappoints my son. Don’t think your father wouldn’t do the same. But you gotta get going! The bell’s going to ring and you have French on the other side of the school,” you tell him, trying to ruffle his hair again.

“I’ll see you tonight?”

“Bye, bub,” you say, kissing his head before he runs out the door.

The rest of the school day goes by with every free minute having your mind occupying by Oliver’s worry over Matthew’s opinion. It’s not like Oliver was giving up hockey for this; he was doing it in addition. Plus, if Oliver wanted to stop hockey and do this with his life, you were going to support him, whether Matthew liked it or not.

You get home before Matthew, patiently waiting until you had to go get Tessa from her swim practice, making dinner for the two of you, putting some aside for your daughter to scarf down while you were in the car. “Babe, I’m home!” Matthew calls right as you finish the food.

“Good timing!” you say as he kisses you hello, taking off his suit jacket. Now that he was a retired player, the Flames had him doing things in the front office. What exactly he did, you weren’t sure, but frankly, you were too scared to ask at this point. “We have to hurry up: Tessa is done with practice in half an hour and then we have to get over to the high school for Oliver.”

“Is Oliver’s practice bag still in your car?” Matthew asks, sitting down with you to eat your first dinner alone in what was probably months. You look at him, pretending to think if it was. He probably thought that Oliver had a game tonight. “Ollie brought it to school with him today, I think.”

Matthew just shrugs, seeing to buy it. The two of you eat a fast dinner, remembering to grab food for Tessa. Oliver had said they were having pizza tonight together, so you didn’t need to worry about him. You just to worry about Matthew.

The two of you run out of the door on your way to get Tessa, Matthew grabbing one of his old Flames jackets on the way out. He loved seeing his son playing hockey, it took him back to the time when he did, just like his dad used to watch him and Brady. You felt bad lying about Oliver having a game since he loved going to them so much, but this was Oliver’s secret that he wanted you to keep.

Driving to the pool where Tessa had swim practice, Matthew couldn’t stop talking about something that was going on with the team. You tried to pay attention, but just like when you were talking to him about science, you had no clue what the other was saying. You filled it his breaks in speech with “That’s nice, honey,” and “Oh, interesting.” He knew you didn’t understand anything, but you let him talk anyway because it made him happy.

“Hi, mom, hi dad,” Tessa says, bouncing into the car. Matthew hands her the food you made for her, not saying anything as she snatches it and starts diving in.

“So how’s my little barracuda?” Matthew asks her, prompting an eye roll from his daughter.

“Dad, I told you, we’re just barracudas. We’re not little anymore, we’re 11.”

“Yeah, no, not how this works,” Matthew says, “You’re my little girl until I die.” You can’t help but smile as Tessa groans, knowing how much Matthew loves your children. Oliver really didn’t have anything to worry about.

“Don’t be a pest, please, you aren’t on the ice,” you tease as you pull into the high school.

“Are we picking up Oliver from here? I thought he was getting a ride from the rink?” How your husband thought anything is beyond you, but that wasn’t the issue right now. Tessa was doing everything she can not to burst out laughing at Matthew’s naivety.

“No, we’re going in,” you say, getting out of the car.

“Why?”

“Babe, please, just trust me,” you say, dragging him into the school.

“Why are we going in this way? The rink isn’t here.” Matthew whines, Tessa stifling a laugh. You were getting there just in time that you could sneak in as the doors were about to close, you may or may not have convinced a student into keeping the door open until you showed up.

“Shush.”

You find your seats, Rory, Logan, and Johnny all already there.

“What are we doing here? What are you guys doing here?” All of you but Matthew knew what was about to happen, the other three just smiling and shrugging. “Y/N, aren’t we going to miss puck drop?”

You try your hardest not to laugh as the director steps out on stage to introduce what was about to happen, “Don’t worry, we won’t miss anything.”

“Hello and welcome to opening night of our show this year: Stephen Schwartz’s Working.” The audience starts to clap, Matthew looking more confused than anything. “We have a really great show tonight, including some freshman talent that we look forward to having for the next four years, our seniors that will be leaving us, and everyone else in between!” She goes on to say a little more, Matthew completely confused as to why you were there and not Oliver’s nonexistent hockey game. The show is short enough for there to be no intermission, which means that Matthew had no time to ask questions until after the show.

Most of the show goes by, Matthew anxiously checking his watch for the puck drop that wasn’t going to happen.

After about an hour, Oliver walks out on stage for the first time. You hear Matthew suck in his breath as he takes your hand in his. You look over at him, a smile on his face bigger than one you had ever seen, and Oliver hadn’t even done anything yet. He had no idea Oliver was in this, nor did he know what was about to happen. You rest your head on Matthew’s shoulder, Oliver swinging a guitar from his back to his front, you not even noticing he had it there in the first place. Neither of you knew if Oliver could even play guitar.

He starts strumming, goosebumps covering your skin as you get lost in the melody of the somber song he’s about to sing. Matthew could barely keep it together as his son started singing. “I hear a lotta songs say ‘where you goin’ my son?’ Now I know they’re true. Boy, you never stop to think how fast the years run, now they’re taking you.”

Listening to the song, Matthew thinks about the day Oliver was born. Fourteen years ago felt like yesterday, you sitting there in the hospital beaming down, Matthew remembering his heart stopping as soon as he held son, tears welling into his eyes, Oliver’s little hands reaching out to touch Matthew, opening his eyes and yawning immediately after; Matthew thinking that everything in that hospital room was all he could ever love, until Tessa came along, too.

“I remember you was three ‘n’ a half, your ma and me, we’d sit there after things got quieted. We’d laugh at some new word you said, how tough you were to get to bed, and we’d plan the night away. Planning for your kid”

Those few nights when three-year-old Oliver and baby Tessa fell asleep at night at the same time, you and Matthew sitting on the couch, watching TV. You were so tired, the school year just getting into the swing of things, the hockey season about to pick up, after Oliver had that nasty fall that sent him to the hospital. He remembers you talking about an excited Oliver got seeing his daddy on TV, baby Tessa squealing as she copied her brother’s noises. Matthew sat there, listening to you, thinking about how he could never have pictured a better life.

“I was your hero then. I couldn’t do no wrong as far as you were concerned. You thought I was the best of men. The tables hadn’t turned, you hadn’t learned how little time it takes. And daddies make mistakes.”

Matthew felt a tear escape from his eye, not even realizing that he felt so emotional over the song. He didn’t know if it was the fact that the song was about a father seeing his son grow up before his eyes, or that it was his own son sitting there singing. He knew Oliver didn’t have a perfect picture of his dad; hell, he watched his dad get in fights nearly ever game, probably knew every swear word that existed by the time he was seven. Matthew was the reason Oliver ended up in the hospital for the first time when he was three, all the other times after he had started playing hockey because Matthew did, and so did his dad.

Oliver keeps singing, every line taking Matthew to another place in his own childhood or his life as a husband and a father. When he was younger, he thought his greatest accomplishments would be as a hockey player, but damn, he was wrong. It was this, right here. It was Oliver, Tessa, you, the life after hockey and the life inside your home.

You hear Matthew sniffle, feeling him move a little. You look up at him, wiping a tear that had fallen down his cheek. You can’t help but smile, thinking of how happy Oliver will be that his father actually is proud of him. You sit up and kiss him on the cheek, setting back down on his shoulder as Oliver enters into a monologue, still strumming along on the guitar.

“This may sound square, but my kid is my imprint, you know what I mean? This is why I work. Every time I see a smart young guy walkin’ by dressed real sharp, I’m lookin’ at my kid. You know what I want? I want my kid to tell me he’s not going to be like me. I want him to look at me and say, “Dad, you’re a nice guy, but you’re a freakin’ dummy.” Hell, yes. If you can’t improve yourself, you improve your posterity. Otherwise, life isn’t worth nothin’.” Matthew doesn’t hear the rest of the song. He could previously count the number of times on one hand when he’s cried the way he was now: the night he proposed to you and you saying yes, both times you told him you were pregnant, and the first time he held Oliver and Tessa. He’s trying his hardest not to make any noise. He did not need anyone looking at him sobbing like a child while his kid is putting on a performance like this.

He glances at Rory and Logan, both of them beaming at the stage like he was their own son; Johnny looking completely lost, but he knows that he’s proud of his godson, too.

“Now it seems I always knew, why I do the things I do and the things I never did. Why I work my whole damn life: so’s I could give a better life than the one my dad could give me/ I give it to my kid.” Oliver stops strumming, everyone bursting out in applause. You and Matthew were probably the loudest ones cheering, not caring if you caused a scene for your own child. Tessa was trying to shrink into her seat out of embarrassment while the two of you were the only ones standing up and screaming. Oliver tried not to break character; trying to keep the straight face once he heard his parents voices, his dad’s voice, as the rest of the cast came out for the finale. “You think about a piece of work. Even, let’s say, Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. This beautiful work of art. But what if he had to create the Sistine Chapel a thousand times a year? Don’t you think that would dull even Michelangelo’s mind?”

Matthew couldn’t stop smiling: Oliver and Tessa were yours and his Sistine Chapels. He couldn’t think of anything better than what he had. Honestly, he wants Oliver to have a better life than he had, like the song says, but he doesn’t think that’s really possible. He doesn’t think anything could top what he has.

The song after Oliver’s is the last one, everyone leaving the stage and coming back out for bows. Oliver is one of the last people out. Matthew has no idea, but you know that it means he’s one of the most important people in the cast. Regardless, everyone you were with; Tessa, Rory, Logan, Johnny, all of you couldn’t help but jump up when Oliver came out to bow. You could see the red form on his cheeks through the makeup. He looked like he was looking for you in the crowd, even though he wouldn’t be able to see you with the light shining in his face.

Everyone starts to file out of the auditorium, Matthew just sitting there like he’s unable to move.

“Are you mad we didn’t tell you?” you ask, the rest of your group standing around you. “He thought you wouldn’t like that it wasn’t hockey and got nervous.”

“I wish he would have told me,” Matthew says. “I’m not mad.

“You just have to tell him that.”

You all get up to go meet Oliver out in the lobby of the auditorium. You see him standing there with someone else in the show. “Oliver you were amazing!” you gush, definitely embarrassing him in front of his friend as you hug him. Johnny and Rory praise his performance, Matthew standing back while Tessa even compliments him.

Oliver looks at his father, nervous as his dad stands behind you. You push Matthew towards his son. He’s obviously a little hurt about Oliver not wanting to tell him, but he’ll get over it. “Are you mad?” Oliver asks.

“Mad? Of course,” Matthew stops. You can’t help but smile at the way he was teasing your son, even though Oliver looked genuinely afraid, “I’m not.”

You hear Oliver release the breath he was holding as Matthew takes him in for a hug. “Fuck, I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“Matthew! Language!” you scold.

“He plays hockey, it’s nothing new,” he shrugs. “But, bud, why didn’t you want me to know about this?”

“It wasn’t hockey so I didn’t think you would enjoy it as much. You always say hockey is something we share and that’s what you love about it,” he says, not looking at his dad. You could tell Matthew’s heart was breaking a little bit over that.

“Oh, come on. I loved it because it made you happy.” Oliver looks up at him. “That’s all I care about.”

“Told you,” you say, shrugging, knowing that Oliver would hate to get overly sentimental.

“Mom!” Oliver says, Matthew just laughing.

“But tell me more about this show. I really only paid attention when you were on stage,” Matthew says, running his hand through his hair.

“It’s a musical from, like, the 70s, or something,” Oliver starts to stay.

“Yeah, I was in it when I was a senior in high school. I was the teacher,” you cut in.

“That’s right, you would have been in high school when this came out.”

You and Matthew both look at Oliver, who seems to really believe the statement he just put out there, “How old do you think we are?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Your grandparents were born in the 70s. We were born in the late 90s,” Matthew says, his voice getting a little higher out of frustration.

Rory, Logan and Johnny are standing with you, laughing at the fact that your children think you’re twenty years older than you actually are. “Hey, Johnny, Rory, the kids know you’re both older than us,” you point out, Oliver and Tessa nodding in agreement, their laughter stopping as they realize the kids probably think they were born in the 60s or something.

“Your father has no concept of science, you two have no concept of math or time, oh my god, I’ve failed as a teacher,” you start to mumble, Matthew still having a minor freakout over his children’s opinions on your age.

“Shit, we’re all old,” Matthew lets out.

“At least we’re going to be getting older together,” you say, this time trying to embarrass your kids. Matthew pulls you in for a kiss, Tessa and Oliver groaning over your PDA.

“Ah, you have a lifetime of this, kids,” Matthew says, kissing you again as you leave to go home.

#Matthew Tkachuk #Matthew Tkachuk imagine #flames #flames imagine #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

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chasingthepoguelife · 4 years

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Lonely Boys Do Stupid Things Part 1

Lonely boys do stupid things Part 1

(gif credits to @rafecameron)

Summary: Rafe is tired of an already boring summer, constantly being judged by everyone on the island, and is looking for a challenge. When the group is introduced to the new girl hanging out with Kiara, Topper suggests a challenge and Rafe accepts only to be conflicted along the way.

Author’s: So in this world Rafe is still a bad guy, just not a “I killed a cop and have all these daddy issues” bad, Topper hasn’t developed yet, and also John B hasn’t dragged anyone into his stupid shit and there is a civil ground between kooks and pogues and Ward isn’t a “I love two out my three children and murdered my friend” dad. For reference, I do not support Rafe’s canon character. I’m just blinded by the attraction I feel for him and I love Drew, but will never condone or excuse Rafe’s actions. Also, I’m not writing y/n with many descriptions. I know all types of people might read this and I want to make everyone feel included but I also don’t want to do it the wrong way so I’m leaving a lot of physical features up to the reader’s imagination. I would also accept tips and constructive criticism to be more of an inclusive writer.

Warning: For part 1 I don’t think there is anything.

Another summer week has come and passed for the kooks of Figure Eight. The Cameron kids made quite the headlines last year, Sarah dating a boy from the Cut, and the eldest Rafe Cameron, having to save one of his father’s many businesses after almost running it to the ground. The chatter and nosiness of other Figure Eight residents died down in the winter, but they always stick their noses in the Cameron’s business around summer time. Rafe awaited the month of September where he could escape to the mainland again, but after only two weeks down, and what felt like two years, he had no idea how he would survive the next six weeks.

“Come on get up!” Rafe heard with a pillow meeting his face. He looked over at his clock, 1:30pm, and was greeted with Sarah hovering over his night stand.

“Sarah, I have no desire to go anywhere except for the kitchen, “Rafe groaned.

“I’m not going to let you wither away like a pathetic sap. Get your bathing suit on and head outside. We’re meeting John B and Kiara, even your friends bothered to tag along.”

“Why do you have to make things even more fucked than they already are?” Rafe questioned.

“If John B and I can move around the island and shut down the lonely gossiping housewives, then you can get on a boat!”

After Rafe groaned and didn’t move for ten minutes, Sarah had to come back in to make sure he was alive and moving.

“Five minutes Rafe!” Sarah yelled, pulling off his comforter.

After fifteen minutes, Rafe managed to get himself dressed and meet his sister and John B on their father’s boat. Ward had suggested they take the boat for a joy ride, all day, wherever they wanted. A year ago, Rafe’s blood would’ve boiled at the thought of a pogue being so close, but things have changed. He actually admires how John B lives his life, not caring what other people think, although he’d rather choke before admitting he looks up to a younger pogue.

“Ok so Rafe’s a sad sack that barley moves and John B as your girlfriend I automatically make the rules so we’re heading south to meet Kie for the day. I’m going to sail so you two make nice and enjoy the ride,” Sarah demanded.

As Sarah started the boat’s engine, the group heard screaming, looking up towards the Cameron house, seeing a tall blonde boy in a pink polo, running like his life depended on it.

“You- said- 215pm- Sarah!” the boy gasped out of breath.

“No Topper, I’m pretty sure I said 2,” Sarah said sarcastically.

After almost a year, Sarah is still playing jokes on her ex- boyfriend and brother for the way they treated John B and his friends.

“Rafe boy, you tired of me already?” Topper laughed.

“Obviously, look at my new best friend here,” Rafe pointed to John B.

“I’m going to get us beers if this is how the whole ride is going to be,” John B said.

“You tired of us already Rafey?” Topper joked.

“I’m always tired of you and Kelce,” Rafe laughed.

“You know he’s on some better path spiritual shit this summer, giving up booze?” Topper said in disbelief (A/N: in season 2 I want better for Kelce as in he deserves better friends)

“It has to be better than this. I don’t want to deal with everyone’s judgmental shit so I keep a low profile, and all that’s got me is a boat ride with my sister and John B, and to see more pogues!”

Rafe and Topper have become more tolerant of the residents of the Cut, but no doubt they wake up every morning still thinking they’re a gift to this planet.

“I don’t know if I can handle another 6 weeks of this shit, I’m going insane!” Rafe yelled.

“I’m sure we will find something to fill those weeks. If we go looking long enough, something fun will fall in our lap,” Topper smirked.

John B had come back with drinks for the group, actually engaging in civil conversation with his girlfriend’s ex and her loopy brother. The boys have adjusted to this civil relationship, something Figure Eight residents loved to gossip about. Not too long after, the kook boys started to see that they would be arriving shortly after passing Heywards, marking their entrance into pogue world. Rafe will never admit it, but the pogue he hates the most is Pope Heyward. He hates how hardworking and smart he is, how his father would do anything for him, but more so how he has an entire group of friends ready to drop everything to help him. Topper is his good friend, but there’s no way he’d do half the things John B and JJ do for Pope.

“There’s Kie on her dad’s boat,” Sarah pointed out. “I’m going to anchor down close to hers and we can figure it out from there.”

As Sarah found a good place to drop the anchor, everyone on the boat could here Kie and another voice mixing of loud laughter. Kie was running around on the boat deck as another girl the group had never seen before followed behind her. Surprised by the presence of unknown person, the group couldn’t help but stare.

“Kie!” Sarah waved enthusiastically. The one good thing out of last year’s madness was that Sarah got her childhood best friend back. Kie and the unknown girl started making their way onto the Druthers as it is bigger than Kie’s boat. Everyone watched the girls make their way on, especially Rafe. He wasn’t sure what to make of this girl, but he definitely noticed her long legs climbing onto the boat and that’s when he thought, what else she was capable of doing with legs that long. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a new voice.

“I’m y/n”, she said as everyone stared.

“Nice to meet you, y/n, I’m John B, this is Sarah, that’s Topper, and that last one is Rafe.”

As y/n took in the new people in front of her, Topper noticed how her eyes kept lingering on Rafe.

“Kie, are you going to tell us about your new gorgeous friend?” Topper smirked.

“No, she won’t, but I will!” y/n chimed in.

“Well obviously I’m y/n. I’m 18 years old. I’m new to the Outer Banks. My dad had to move us out here for a business deal that he’s got going with Kiara’s dad, I have a 14-year-old brother, and at any time you can either find me in the water or looking for snacks.”

“Where do you live y/n”? John B asked.

“Not too far. My parents managed to find a cute little house in the Marigold neighborhood. (A/N: I made this location up) Everyone except Kie stopped in their tracks. The group although already divided, had nothing to do with the residents of Marigold. Anyone in that area of the island was neither a pogue nor a kook. They really had no identity as they were not rich enough to be kooks but not poor enough to be a pogue from the Cut. Most people living there are Marigold born and raised, considered to be more of an outcast than pogues. The rest of the island didn’t know how to label Marigolds. There wasn’t enough money to buy a yacht, but you could still eat enough everyday and rest your head on a comfortable big bed every night.

An awkward silence lingered in the group that no one knew how to break. Kie pulled y/n by the arm and explained.

“Y/n I told you, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with where you live, but on this island, everyone is classist and territorial. You’re better off saying you’re from my neighborhood to make it easier for you.”

“This group is already messed up, what’s one more thing to stir the pot? Welcome to the group y/n!” John B cheered.

As the tension cleared in the group, the sun came out in full force. Sarah steered the Druthers further out into the ocean for a nice swim. The music began bumping, drinks were passed around, and y/n felt like she knew the group for years. After a few hours, the only ones who needed a break were Topper and Rafe. The two climbed back onto the boat to rest.

“So, for a Marigold this new girl seems decent?” Topper questioned.

“She’s alright, just not for me. The last thing I need on top of all this other shit is for me to be seen around the island with a girl like that. The Figure Eight would have a field day.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Topper smirked. “This is something you’ve never experienced before. It would be a challenge. She’s not the worst thing to look at, you could have some fun with her.”

“Top if I really wanted to, I could have my pick of any pogue or kook chick in my bed like yesterday,” Rafe boasted.

“No man, hear me out. You have 6 weeks left. I challenge you to make her head over heels for you in that time. It will give you something to do, you’ll get some and then poof you leave for the mainland. By the time you see her again she’ll be over it. Plus, she seemed to focus on you a bit longer back at the docks so she probably already has a thing for youI get why we had to change with the pogues but at least they know where they stand. This girl thought she’d move here and live like she’s the main character of a tv show but it’s only going to cause more problems, “Topper shared his concerns.

Rafe had to pause for a moment. Last year he would’ve said yes right away, but lately he’s been finding himself questioning his morals and values, thinking if he behaved more the gossip would stop. It would be wrong to mess with someone like this, but he is bored after all, and he doesn’t want to look like a pussy in front of Topper. He looked out into the ocean watching her swim so happily amongst the waves.

“This is going to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” Rafe declared.

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #pope heyward #kiara carrera #john b #sarah cameron #Outer Banks #obx #topper thornton

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only-here-for-jatp · 3 years

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The Secret Chord pt 1

A season 2 speculative fic

Alright @random-nerd-3 here it is.

This chapter features: Juke. Lots of Juke. Also brother-sister Carlos and Julie time.

Read it on Ao3 here

And below ~1800 words

It’d been a really long day.

Like a really long day.

Like the kind of day that somehow managed to seem like the Fortunately, Unfortunately book from school.

Fortunately, they were determined to play the Orpheum! Unfortunately, they had no idea how to do that.

Fortunately, they created a plan with the help of Willie, and it worked! Unfortunately, they’d then been kidnapped by Caleb and forced to play in his house band.

Fortunately, Julie managed to take a step and be brave for them and play on stage solo! Unfortunately, this meant she thought the boys had vanished from existence.

Fortunately, the boys appeared, and she could be relieved that they were safe and sound! Unfortunately, they weren’t, the jolts were still going to destroy them as they hid in her studio.

Fortunately, she’d found them, collapsed in the dark. She saved them

She saved them.

Now here she was able to touch them. Touch them. She was laughing and sobbing and warm as she huddled with them in this group hug. She never wanted to let go of these boys who meant so much to her, who pulled her through her grief and offered her light. She held on as tight as she could to these boys, scared that any minute the magic would be broken. Scared that any minute this would be a cruel trick of fate and she would lose the ability to touch them.

That they’d cross over and would be gone in the blink of an eye.

She didn’t want them to go, didn’t want them to leave. Yet she couldn’t fathom what might be left in their unfinished business. Here they were happy and safe and okay, so what could be left?

The warmth was slowly seeping out of her, replaced by cold and panic. She could feel her breathing become uneven and ragged. She couldn’t leave them. She couldn’t let go. If she let go, if she took her eyes off them for even a second, they might vanish. She couldn’t. Just couldn’t. She was gulping for air and her boys were looking at her with the beginnings of concern, the smiles sliding off their faces.

This was their moment of joy and celebration; she couldn’t ruin it. Ignoring her racing hearts and burning lungs and plastered a smile on her face. Hoping the boys would let her get away with the obviously fake performance.

She spoke, hoping her voice was stronger and more sure than she felt. “I need to go talk with Carlos and grab some stuff, but could I stay down here with you guys tonight?”

The boys offered her a soft smile, sensing a little her cause for concern. Truth be told they were grateful, their own gnawing anxieties demanding to be recognized. None of them wanted to let go of the other for fear of losing this precious magical moment. They would be more than happy to bundle Julie up in their arms and never let go.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d all slept in the loft together. There’d been movie nights a plenty in order to catch the boys up on popular culture. Not to mention the late-night whispered song writing sessions where Luke and Julie sat together on the couch. They would be so close that every now and again they would sink into each other on accident. Sheepish smiles would grow across their faces as they reluctantly put the distance back. This time though would be a very special kind of first and the boys felt warmth spread through them as it was proven once again how important they all were to her.

Julie noted the boy’s eager nods and smiles as she retreated from the hug. Her anxiety and panicked still crawled over her skin as a sense of restlessness tugged at her from the inside, begging her to run.

Reggie and Alex stepped away slowly, their eyes never leaving her face. Luke on the other hand trailed his hand across her back, down her arm, and lightly toyed with her fingers before intertwining his hand with hers. He would follow her anywhere, but right now, he was simply desperate to never let go.

Julie shivered as she felt Luke’s not quite warm hand tracing down to her fingers. Even though he may not radiate heat, a trail of heat still followed. She watched as hid hand slipped into hers and gripped it tight. Her eyes darted to his as the rest of the world fell away. They were still tinged with red and dark circles hanging beneath. His actual physical state may scream exhaustion, but his eyes felt so alive. There was light and love pouring out surrounding her and filling her up. She let the feel of his hand in hers ground her as his smile and his joy and his relief traveled through her soothing her restless anxiety, and at least temporarily ridding her of the fear and panic.

Every now and again the thought flashed across her mind that these boys and Luke especially, may be dead, but they brought her to life. A genuine smile spread across her face and she watched Luke perceptible relax as she did. Julie lightly swung the hand that was holding him and with a laughing tone remarked “I guess you’re coming with me”

His smile shifted into one he knew caused pretty much everyone around him to melt as he leaned down to whisper three words softly into her ear.

“As you wish”

Julie and Luke meandered their way to the house, enjoying comfortable silence and frequent meaningful glances. She couldn’t help the flashes of joy every time they made eye contact and the sudden overwhelming shyness when she looked away. Something was changing and shifting with each small smile and hand squeeze. It was making her feel a little breathless with anticipation, like she wanted to push and rush. Everything in her wanted to pull him close and wait for everything to break and explode and move.

Instead she kept walking, one foot in front of the other, each step growing heavier as she made her way to Carlos’ room. She didn’t quite know how to explain the rollercoaster which had been the past month and thought maybe it’d be better to leave out Caleb. When she arrived outside Carlos’ door, she hesitated.

Luke squeezed her hand and whispered, “You’ve got this handled no doubt in my mind, but if you want some support I’m here.”

Julie could feel herself soften as she squeezed his hand back, “I’ve got this. I’ll meet you in my room in a few minutes?”

He nodded and reluctantly let go of her hand. Sliding out as softly as he had begun, making sure to trail his fingertips along her palm and up her fingers to her fingertips before moving quietly to her room.

Carlos took the news surprisingly well and with all the excitement of a ten-year-old boy. In fact, the most accurate world was thrilled, especially after he did the man-of-the-house threatening bit should these ghosts hurt her. She’d wrapped him in the biggest hug, knowing that her brother would stand by her, even if it meant facing something, he could neither see nor hear.

The moment though that she knew telling him was the right choice came as she stood by the door. He’d tucked himself in, but he sat up slowly and looked at her for a second. She watched his mouth move as if he struggled to form the words before very softly asking.

“Have they seen mom?”

She moved back to his bed and scooched him over so she could climb in. Within seconds, he was curled up next to her, his head buried in her side. Gently, she rubbed his back and hummed a little tune.

“No Carlos they haven’t. However, I can’t help but believe that mom sent them to me. To us. Not to mention, they’re under strict instructions that if they ever run into her in that afterlife of theirs to tell her how much I love her. If you want, I can make sure they tell her you do too.”

Carlos nodded, already drifting off to sleep. Julie made sure to stay until he was completely out, never pausing in the soft circles her hand was moving in up and down his back. Carefully she tiptoed her way out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

Julie couldn’t stop the smile slipping over her face at the sight of Luke laying in her bed, hands in the air and mumbling something that sounded like a pep talk under his breath.

Luke was in fact muttering a pep talk under his breath because here he was lying on Julie Molina’s bed in Julie Molina’s room doing his very level best not to touch anything. In fact he very deliberately put his hands in the air so he could keep an eye on them the whole time.

More than that from his very first moment with Julie Molina wrapped his arms, he knew she belonged there. Not that he doubted that before, but after nearly losing her in more than one way tonight he couldn’t bear to wait anymore. So here he was in the most incredible girl’s room hyping himself up that he could find the right words to tell her how much he needed her.

When his eyes caught hers though, a little damp and shimmery, but looking at him like he belonged there some of his fear fled replaced with hope. He stood and slowly made his way over to her, “Julie, I-“

Julie knew Luke. She knew the way he found words in the air and could make them into a masterpiece. She knew he would do anything for his friends and his family. She knew he’d done everything possible to never let her down again, to always support her. She could read him as if they were in each other’s heads. So when he cautiously stepped forward, she could see all the feelings swimming in his eyes. How could she not, when they were in her own?

She took her own small step forward, cutting him off, too excited to wait “Me too.” She thought she might burst at the half sigh, half laugh. She continued, reaching out to wrap her arms around him- “You’re a part of me”

His hand cradled her face so gently, while the other pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Now till eternity.” Slowly he moved his forehead to rest against hers. While he didn’t breathe, he could feel hers against his face. Noses touching, he asked “Can I?”

She pulled him closer in response. She could feel the momentum pulsing through her as she tilted her head, reaching for him.

And then….

#jatp #jatp fanfic #Julie and the phantoms #Nickaleb #juke #the secret chord

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mordoriscalling · 3 years

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Life (of) Surprise (4/6)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). The chapter count went up again because I just can’t stop writing this story lmao.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

IV - A Surprise Discovery

Geralt is certain that a stag do shouldn’t involve this much crying.

The evening started innocently enough. They have had a room rented at a fancy club and they’re drinking, talking and playing cards. Geralt would rather do this at home but Lambert and Eskel told him not to be so “tragically boring”, hence the current arrangement.

Geralt’s been spending the day with “the guys”: Eskel, Lambert, Aiden, Vesemir, as well as his soon-to-be brother-in-law Silvio and not-quite soon-to-be brother-in-law Nasir. Jaskier, on the other hand, is away partying with “the girls”: Rozalia, Amelia, Triss, Essi and Yennefer.

Geralt hasn’t heard from Jaskier in a few hours, so he assumes his soon-to-be husband (only two months left to the wedding, and isn’t that a thought) is enjoying himself. Geralt, for his part, is having fun too; the stag do isn’t a disaster at all.

Then, it gets better.

Because Eskel is crying.

They were talking about Essi, commenting on what a lovely person she is. Although she’s not exactly Geralt’s type (he’s into people who are more... feisty), he still agrees that she’s a great woman – loving, warm, intelligent and beautiful inside out. Vesemir commented that there had to be many people mourning the fact that she was taken.

Eskel, upon hearing this, started weeping.

“Should we tell him?” Aiden, sitting beside Geralt, murmurs to Lambert.

“Nah,” Lambert replies gleefully.

They watch as Eskel sheds tears, mumbling about how much he’s in love with Essi but he wouldn’t dare to ruin her current relationship because she deserves happiness and –

To be fair, they have drunk a lot at this point.

Silvio and Nasir are clearly holding back their laughter. Lambert doesn’t even bother and guffaws freely, to which Eskel pays no mind, so lost he is in his despair. Aiden hides his face in the crook of Lambert’s neck, his shoulders shaking.

Vesemir seems more tired and sick of their shit than usual, though sparks of amusement dance in his eyes.

“I wasn’t aware this relationship makes you cry,” he tells Eskel gruffly, playing along.

“It does!” Eskel whines, “I should be her boyfriend.”

Vesemir’s lips tremor but he manages to keep his cool as he asks, “And what’s her boyfriend’s name?”

Eskel opens his mouth to respond but he says nothing. His brow creases in thought – it’s visible how the wheels are turning in his head – and then the moment comes when something clicks in his brain.

“Wait,” he says, understanding slowly dawning in his face.

At this, everyone at the table collectively loses it. Geralt is laughing so hard he’s slapping his thigh. Silvio and Nasir are in convulsions. Lambert and Aiden are leaning against each other, wheezing. Vesemir has to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

Eskel is too happy at the discovery to even notice the amusement at his expense. “I am her boyfriend!” he exclaims with wonder. Letting out a joyful chuckle, he repeats, “I’m her boyfriend!” He reaches for the bottle of vodka on the table. “We should drink to this!”

At the same time, Vesemir answers, “No.” and Aiden replies, “Yes!”

Vesemir plucks the bottle from Eskel’s hands and says, “You’ve had enough for now, pup.”

Lambert starts arguing and Geralt rolls his eyes. He then proceeds to drag his older brother to the side and force a lot of water and some food into him. While he does this baby-sitting, the phone in his pocket rings. As Geralt pulls it out, he’s surprised to find Jaskier’s name displayed on the screen. Slightly worried, he picks up.

“Hey, my loveliest sailor,” Jaskier slurs, his voice unsteady and watery. “Can I –” A sniff. “Can I come?”

Geralt frowns, bemused. “Shouldn’t we spent this night apart?”

“Fuck that,” Jaskier grumbles, “I miss you.”

“You haven’t seen me in five hours.”

“So?” Jaskier asks. “I just... want to see you. Please?”

Jaskier sounds downright miserable. Geralt has nearly come to terms with the fact that he may never master the art of telling Jaskier no but he's not fully resigned to his fate yet.

“Okay,” he answers.

“Are sure, darling? I won’t come if you don’t want to, you know,” Jaskier babbles nervously, “I don’t want to make you do anything you–”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, “it’s fine, come here and bring the rest.”

Ever since their argument three months ago, Jaskier takes extreme care not to do anything without Geralt’s knowledge and consent. He keeps asking about every little idea, fretting and worrying whether he’s not overstepping. Most days, that’s the reassurance Geralt needs to keep believing in Jaskier's words. It does get tiring sometimes, though.

“All right.” Jaskier’s voice goes from resonating from the darkest depths of sadness to cheerful as the sun on a spring day in the span of those two words. “We’ll be there soon, my dearest.”

Geralt hums and hangs up.

After fifteen minutes more of trying to turn Eskel into a more or less functioning human being, Geralt witnesses the other stag do party members arrive. Jaskier opens the door to the room with a bang, his arms spread wide and a grin on his face.

“Geralt!” he exclaims and walks towards him with a prominent stagger in his step.

Before Geralt knows it, he has his arms full of drunk Jaskier. His fiancé peppers kisses all over his face and mumbles something nonsensical while Geralt holds him up, a smile tugging at his lips under all the loving attention.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the rest greeting each other, apart from Yennefer and Triss, who are watching him and Jaskier with a judgemental and an amused look respectively.

“Why are you here?” he asks Yen as Jaskier finally stops kissing him and embraces him instead.

“He was crying about how much he loves you,” she replies with an eye roll.

Triss snickers. “He was telling everyone about it, and I mean it. He wanted everyone in the club to know.”

Geralt stifles a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yennefer and Triss laugh. Jaskier raises his head and blinks up at him owlishly.

“Something wrong, my gorgeous sailor?” he asks.

Geralt really bemoans the fact that even a single look from Jaskier can affect him considerably.

“No, siren,” he sighs, “We should join the rest.”

They ask the staff to bring another table and more chairs, and soon, everyone is sitting comfortably, talking, playing and drinking. Everyone except Essi when it comes to the last part, at least; Geralt quickly notices that she doesn’t touch any alcohol. She claims that she simply doesn’t feel like drinking but Eskel, who sits beside her, starts fretting, concerned that she’s ill.

“I’m fine,” she assures him.

“You sure?” he asks, “You haven’t been feeling well recently. Maybe you should see a doctor?”

Geralt’s the only one watching the exchange, as everybody else is occupied with the ongoing conversation about the rules of Monopoly. He sees hesitation in Essi’s face. She bits her lip, seemingly considering something for a moment, but then looks up at Eskel and smiles. “I think I should,” she replies, “seeing that I’m pregnant.”

Geralt freezes in shock. Eskel’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“The fuck. But we –” he stammers out, “Why, I mean, how –”

“I don’t know,” Essi answers, her eyes wide and apprehensive, “I really have no idea.”

Eskel nods slowly, his expression still absolutely flabbergastered. “Fuck,” he says, with much feeling.

Essi looks at him closely, uncertainty colouring her lovely face. “I know this very unexpected and you never wanted a family but perhaps we can... talk about it? We don’t have to keep it but I –”

Eskel seems to finally snap out of his shocked state. “Essi, no,” he says quietly, taking her face in his hands, “I never let myself have a family, but now that the baby is here... Holy fuck,” he breathes out, one of his palms moving to touch her abdomen. “There’s a baby here?” he asks, his voice cracking. She nods with a watery smile, and he takes her into his arms. His whole frame is shaking now, and there’re tears in his eyes. “A baby,” he chokes out. His tear fall but his whole face is alight with joy.

Suddenly, Geralt’s throat is tight. He knows that Eskel never considered himself a father material because of all the issues he’s been battling since his childhood, just like Geralt and Lambert. Although he was quite a ladies man in his youth, he never allowed any relationship to get serious. Years passed like this, and Eskel’s now in his early forties, which is rather late to become a dad. Essi is six years younger than him, so it’s not early for parenthood for her either.

Yet, they both seem so happy now, and Geralt can’t get enough of seeing his brother like this, smiling and crying as he holds Essi and kisses her.

The rest of the table finally catches on that there’s something important happening. Then, the news is out, which brings their celebration to new heights. Jaskier is so happy and satisfied with himself that Geralt suspects his chest may soon burst from how much Jaskier puffs up with pride.

“See?” Jaskier tells Lambert, “I’m a better matchmaker than you!”

“I made a marriage happen!” Lambert replies.

“I made a baby happen! Beat that!”

Lambert scoffs, the picture of unimpressed. “Maybe you and Geralt are gonna have kids too.”

“We’ve already got two,” Geralt answers without thinking.

Jaskier lets out a shocked gasp, staring at him in disbelief, and Geralt slowly understands what he said.

It’s not that it’s not untrue – they do have two children under their care. The thing is that neither Ciri nor Dara is very likely to call Jaskier their dad. Technically speaking, Jaskier will soon become Ciri’s step-father, but Ciri sees him more as Geralt’s partner. In Dara’s eyes, Jaskier is a supportive, parental figure, but it'd be foolish to think that the boy could ever consider himself Jaskier’s child. Geralt knows that Jaskier realises how silly that wish is but he still seems to hope for it, deep, deep down.

“Geralt–” he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

For a stag do – even two of them at once – it’s too much crying involved.

***

“Shoes off, Geralt, honestly,” Jaskier complains, “Are you doing this on purpose every time?”

Geralt only grunts. His head is spinning, too much to be pleasant, and he doesn’t trust his mouth to form a dignified enough answer. Jaskier’s very drunk too, so he doesn’t comment on Geralt’s response, or lack thereof.

The two of them slowly make their way towards the bedroom. Jaskier’s house is rather large, though, and they’re many objects and corners they stumble into. The rucksack they’re causing makes them snicker but their amusement is cut short when walk by the living room – Ciri and Dara are there, sitting on the couch in front of the TV and observing the two of them with delight.

“What are you two doing up?” Jaskier slurs out, “It’s...” he looks at his hand, where a watch should be, but there isn’t. “It’s late.”

“We found an interesting show on TV,” Ciri replies innocently. Geralt doesn’t believe it for a minute.

“Well, sleep is important!” Jaskier exclaims, gesturing dramatically with the hand he doesn’t use to hold on to Geralt. “Go to bed!”

“Yes, Jaskier,” Dara answers.

“Young people like you should get a lot of sleep.”

“We know, Jaskier,” Ciri sighs.

Jaskier would go on about the significance of sleep for teenagers if he was allowed, so Geralt starts dragging him away. Before they disappear behind the corner, though, he turns back to Ciri and Dara, shooting them what he hopes is a withering look.

“Show’s over,” he growls out.

Ciri and Dara have the decency to look chastised.

Arriving in the bedroom successfully takes them a few more minutes. When they finally do, they go straight to the bed, not bothering to undress. Then, they’re kissing, messy and eager, but their bodies have a problem rising up to the challenge because of the copious amount of alcohol flowing through their veins. Jaskier breaks the kiss quickly anyway, saying that he’s about to be sick, and rushes to the bathroom.

After Geralt is left alone, he tries to process all the holy fucks of the day, primarily the reveal that Eskel is going to be a father and by extension, Geralt’s going to be an uncle. Then there’s the very fact that he marries Jaskier in two months. Geralt also has a memory of seeing Yennefer and Triss kissing during the party, and that is a lot to unpack as well.

The world is spinning as he lays in bed. He registers Jaskier returning and laying down beside him before he falls asleep.

It feels like no time passed at all when Geralt and Jaskier are waken up by noise. The loud thumping bores down into his skull, causing awful, throbbing pain. He sits up, groaning, and Jaskier does the same with a whimper.

Then, they hear Jaskier’s voice sing the first verses of Her Sweet Kiss and, suffice it to say, Geralt has had enough of that gods-damned fucking song and its techno remix especially.

“CIRILLA!” Geralt bellows.

“DARA!” Jaskier yells.

After a torturous minute, the music is turned off, but there’s no blessed silence. Instead, bright laughter reaches their ears. Geralt huffs, irritated, and checks the time on his phone. The fact that it’s one in the afternoon and that there’s a glass of water placed on his bedside table redeems Ciri and Dara slightly.

“Fucking hell,” Jaskier moans, messaging his temples, “I love my life.”

Strangely enough, there isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in Jaskier’s voice. Geralt turns to watch him closely, taking in his pale face, chapped lips and the grimace of pain twisting his features. “You do?” he asks.

Jaskier looks at him, the blue of his eyes as beautiful as always. “I do,” he answers softly, “My life is so much better with you in it.”

Warmth explodes in his chest and Geralt moves closer, kissing Jaskier on the mouth, the cheek, the nose, hoping to convey what he finds himself unable to say. Jaskier responds to the affection with a happy hum, angling his face so get more kisses. Geralt indulges him gladly, pecking him on his forehead, his brows, under his eyes, down his neck.

“So much better indeed,” Jaskier purrs.

Geralt chuckles. “That is thanks to Lambert.”

“Oh shut up.”

Jaskier’s grumble is so grumpy that Geralt can’t help but laugh. Jaskier carries on grouching about being better than Lambert, and it keeps making Geralt laugh.

He couldn’t be more glad that he’s stayed.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #The Sailor and the Singer AU

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Taste of a Poison Paradise, Chapter 2 (Multi) - Joley

Chapter Summary: Jackie embraces her truth, Crystal and Gigi are deeply in the ‘idiots’ stage of ‘idiots to lovers’, Brooke Lynn and Vanessa take new steps in their relationship, and Priyanka continues her affair with Lemon.

ao3 link

When Lemon entered the dressing room, the other girls looked up, but looked a bit confused. “Jan didn’t come in with you?” Gigi asked.

“Jan didn’t even come home with me last night. She told me and Pri to go on without her. My guess is she pulled a Vanjie and went home with the hot business woman,” Lemon shrugged as she took her seat.

“Hey, don’t drag my name into it,” Vanessa huffed, though she supposed she couldn’t be that mad with that being her claim to fame. She was the first of the girls to date a client, and up until now, she had assumed she would be the only one.

Jan arrived a bit later, only about five minutes late, but took her seat as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Hey y’all, did I miss anything good?”

The girls giggled. “I don’t think anything here is as good as what you been getting,” Vanessa teased. “You have Brooke’s friend speaking French between your legs all night or what?”

A broad grin spread across Jan’s lips. “Oh, that’s only the start,” she replied. “God, you guys, I couldn’t even walk right this morning. She ruined me – I don’t think I can have sex with anyone else after her.”

“You bottoms are so dramatic,” Gigi remarked, looking at Jan through her reflection in the mirror.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have a bottom to ruin,” Jan retorted as she took her seat.

“One in particular,” Jaida chimed in.

Gigi rolled her eyes, wondering why she bothered saying anything in the first place. It’s not like Jaida or the other girls were wrong – her crush on Crystal was common knowledge among the dancers. She couldn’t help herself – when she had started working there, Crystal was the first to see through her stoic, standoffish front, something that took the average person weeks. The two of them bonded right away.

But To her dismay, Crystal had a girlfriend when her crush first developed. Though even when that relationship ended, she still did her best to use that as an excuse for not saying anything.

“I don’t see why you can’t talk to her. It’s been two months, it wouldn’t be a rebound,” Lemon offered.

“You’re technically correct,” Gigi conceded, “but it’s complicated, we’ve developed such a friendship in that time…”

“Bitch, that is the oldest excuse in the fucking book,” Vanessa retorted as she coated her brunette locks in a layer of hairspray. “Oh, we can’t date, it’ll ruin our friendship,” she mocked in a ‘white’ voice, “such a cop-out.”

Gigi frowned, strumming her nails against the vanity table. “Doesn’t make it untrue…”

Before Vanessa could reply, Jackie was at the door. She led Crystal, Priyanka, and Kameron in, then took a deep breath. “Ladies, I wanted you all in here because I have something to tell you.”

The girls looked at each other, murmuring with confusion and concern. Was something happening to the club? Were they in trouble? But they quickly quieted down and redirected their attention redirected to Jackie, urging her to continue.

Jackie took a deep breath. “Alright, I suspect this might not be the biggest surprise to you, but this is still difficult for me to say because, you know, it’s something I haven’t really said in my whole thirty-five years.” She pressed her lips into a line and swallowed thickly, doing her best to keep it together. “I’ve always felt a strong kinship with you guys, and deep down, I’ve always known it’s… it’s because I’m gay.”

The girls didn’t give Jackie time to brace herself for their reaction. Within seconds they surrounded her, hugging her tight. Sure, they had suspected it for a long time. Some of them had assumed Jackie was out but simply never mentioned it. But regardless of what they’d previously thought, all that mattered now was giving Jackie their complete, unbridled support.

And Jackie couldn’t do anything but sob. It was a sob of relief, of joy, but also of exhaustion – she had carried that weight on her chest for far too long and her lungs were desperate for the air of freedom. She knew this would only be the first time she came out, and she didn’t know when the next would be, but at least she knew she had a group of girls she could be safe with.

“That’s okay, sweetie. Let it out,” Jan soothed as she rubbed her back. “We’re all so proud of you.”

“The first time is always the hardest,” Jaida agreed. “You don’t gotta go tell everyone, just embracing it for yourself is enough.”

Jackie looked up at Jaida, opening her mouth to speak, only for her throat to run dry. Instead, she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Thanks, you guys. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

When the group hug ended, everyone relaxed into their usual spots. “Alright, ladies,” Jackie prompted, “let’s have a great shift.”

As Crystal and Priyanka returned to the bar, they were still processing their bosses’ confession. “I’m fucking proud of Jackie,” Priyanka was saying. “I almost peed myself when I came out to y’all.”

“Weren’t you already sleeping with Lemon when you came out to us?” Crystal asked as she continued getting her station ready.

Despite a tinge of embarrassment, Priyanka laughed. “Only like, three times,” she defended. Even though she hadn’t been out when she started working there, she had quickly found out that Lemon had no idea how not to be out, nor did she know how to be subtle. Priyanka had realized she had to choose between staying closeted at work and pursuing her budding affair, and the choice was obvious to her.

“Three more than some of us,” Crystal murmured under her breath.

Priyanka scoffed. “Bitch, if you’re still carrying a torch for Gigi, why don’t you fucking tell her already? It’s not the world’s biggest secret, you know. We all figured it out,” she said, then paused for a moment, “well, except her.”

“Therein lies the problem,” she lamented. “It’d be easier if I knew that she only saw us as friends, then I could let it go. But there’s always this… underlying sexual tension between us. I don’t know. I’m confused.”

“Underlying sexual tension?” Priyanka’s brows rose. “She’s the only one of the girls that doesn’t put her bra back on when she comes to get a drink from you… well, neither does Vanjie, sometimes, but the bitch is just forgetful.”

Crystal chuckled softly. “Either that or she’s swinging by the security booth. Did you hear her tell Jaida she was gonna broach the ‘open relationship’ subject with Brooke, like, soon?”

“No, but I think it’s a good idea. Nip it in the bud before things get messy, huh?”

“Why, because it’s too late for you?”

Priyanka opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together. “I… yeah, pretty much. I’ve accepted my life’s chaos, though.”

——

When Brooke Lynn wasn’t visiting the club as a client, she was often there as both a supportive girlfriend and pseudo-manager for Vanessa. She held herself in a confident, professional way that allowed her to walk right through the front door and into the back where the dressing room was without anyone looking twice, let alone question it.

Vanessa looked up when Brooke walked in and smiled, ignoring the way her chest tightened. “Hey, boo,” she greeted, getting up to give her a quick hug and kiss. “I’m glad you’re here, I been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh, good,” Brooke nodded as she sat in one of the empty chairs. “I wanted to talk to you too. Do you want to go first?”

Normally, Vanessa would’ve automatically jumped on the opportunity to go first. But her nerves were still twisting up her insides and she figured she could calm herself down while her girlfriend spoke. “No, it’s fine, go ahead.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and all things considered…” she took a deep breath, “I think it would be a good idea for you to move in with me.”

“Yeah!” Vanessa’s nerves were instantly replaced with excitement – she loved the idea of getting to move in with Brooke, they had gotten so close despite their relatively short relationship. She was there most of the time anyway, and it made her own apartment look like a prison cell in comparison. And it didn’t hurt that she wouldn’t have to deal with rent or a landlord anymore. “I love you, B, I think that’s a great idea.”

Brooke brightened up. “Really? Awesome, we can get started on that whenever, really. Most of your stuff is at my place or here anyway. What did you want to tell me?”

Vanessa deflated a bit, reconsidering the whole idea. Of course she was still attracted to Kameron and didn’t plan on throwing out the ‘open relationship’ idea entirely. The timing, however, felt off. Inappropriate. Cold, even. “You know what? It ain’t nothing important, it can wait.”

“Are you sure? If something’s wrong, you can tell me, I want to know.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Vanessa looked her in the eye so Brooke could tell she was being honest. “It just isn’t worth bringing up right now, I’d rather focus on this moving gig.”

Although Brooke wasn’t entirely convinced, she decided to let it go for the time being. “Alright. I’m gonna go grab a drink and let you finish getting ready,” she got up and kissed her cheek before heading back into the main room.

Vanessa ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled deeply. She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. “Well, that got fucked up,” she muttered.

“You good, girl?” Lemon asked as she took her usual seat. “Usually you have a smug grin on when Brooke leaves the dressing room. The open relationship thing didn’t go over well?”

“It didn’t go at all,” she answered. “I was gonna, but then she asked me to move in with her… and I fucking love her, of course I wanna take that next step. But I couldn’t just jump from there to that just ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about getting fucked by Kameron.”

Lemon nodded and listened, fixing her hair and makeup in the mirror as well. “I mean, I can’t exactly be a moral compass here, but I get your concern. You guys haven’t done anything yet, have you?”

“Nothin’, just some flirting and shit. All hands-free. And mouths-free,” she confirmed. “You know I’d never wanna do something to hurt Brooke. Been on the other side of it before, shit sucks.”

“You guys love each other,” Lemon reassured. “I’m sure you’ve built up the trust to have that sort of honest conversation.” Under her breath, she added “must be nice.”

Vanessa didn’t catch it. “Guess you’re right, it’ll work out eventually,” she decided.

“Atta girl,” Lemon patted her shoulder as she got up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got my nightly home wrecking to do.”

Vanessa looked up as Lemon left, only to make eye contact with Brooke, who was standing in the doorway with a glass in each hand. “How long you been standing there?” she asked hesitantly.

Brooke walked in and sat in the same chair she’d been in before, setting one glass on the counter and holding onto the other one. “So… Kameron, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised. She’s beautiful and you do have a type.”

She furrowed her brows, unsure of how to process Brooke’s reaction. “You’re not mad? You don’t even look pissed or nothing.”

“Well, no offense babe, but with your line of work, I’ve already wrapped my head around the idea of having to share you. Sure, it’s a little different comparing clients to someone you’re actually interested in, but I can’t fathom it being that bad,” she explained. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll pick up a cute little side piece while you two are going at it.”

Even with the explanation, Vanessa was still perplexed. But she was getting her way, so she supposed she couldn’t really complain. “You still want me to move in though, right?”

“Of course I do,” Brooke answered without hesitation. “This doesn’t change how I feel about you or about us. We’ll try the open thing out, see how we feel, and take it from there.”

Vanessa finally allowed herself to relax. “Alright, yeah, sounds good to me.”

“Good,” Brooke hummed and finished her drink off. “I’ll see you later,” she said, giving Vanessa a kiss before she left again. But this time, instead of going back into the main room, she went out the back door. She fished a cigarette and lighter out of her purse and lit it, then leaned against the wall as she took a drag.

“Thought you were trying to quit,” Gigi remarked. She had been outside for a few minutes, wrapped in a long, black robe with a lit joint held between two fingers.

Brooke exhaled, smoke blowing through her mouth. “Well, I just gave my girlfriend permission to fuck the security guard, so I’m having a cheat day.”

Gigi furrowed her brows as she took another drag. “Kameron? Why’d you do that then?”

“Because I love her and trust her but at the same time, I’d rather know what she’s up to instead of her lusting after another woman behind my back. Also we’re moving in together. It’s been an eventful night. So… open relationship it is.”

“Look at it this way, you’ll probably be fucking more once you live together, maybe it’ll wear her out,” Gigi offered.

Brooke laughed softly. “That isn’t as reassuring as you think it is, Geege.”

“At least you’re getting some.”

“No progress with Crystal, I take it?” Brooke asked, then dropped her spent cigarette on the ground and put it out with her shoe.

Gigi shook her head. “And with this gig plus school, I haven’t had time to find some distraction sex. You know how it is, right? When your brain gets stuck on something and the only way to dislodge it is by railing a pretty girl?”

“Yes, I remember being twenty-two. First time I got my heart broken by a straight girl,” she recalled. She looked at Gigi with a fond smile. She saw a lot of herself in the dancer, felt something of a kindred spirit. “Let me get a hit of that, wanna see why Vanjie loves that shit so much.”

Gigi covered her mouth with her free hand to giggle. “Sure, go nuts,” she said and passed the joint to her. She lingered close to Brooke, watching her curiously.

Brooke took a drag the same way she would off a cigarette. While it felt the same physically, she did prefer the way the weed made her feel. “Hm, yeah, I get it,” she said as she passed it back to Gigi. But as she did, there was a moment where their eyes met, where their shared loneliness, with sex on their minds. They started to lean closer, their lips parting…

“Nope,” they said in unison, pulling back and laughing.

——

Once the club had closed for the night, Lemon was sitting up on the bar while Priyanka was cleaning up. “You coming home with me tonight, Pri?” she asked, batting her lashes and swinging her legs.

“Can’t,” Priyanka sighed. “I promised Mark I’d watch some stupid fucking documentary with him when I got home,” she rolled her eyes.

“Who cares about him?” Lemon whined. “We haven’t had sex in like, almost two whole days. I’m literally dying.”

Priyanka finished her task then came around the bar, trapping Lemon between her arms as she held onto the bar. “You are the neediest bitch I have ever met. You know that, right?” Despite her ‘scolding’, she started kissing Lemon’s neck.

And of course, Lemon was happy with any small victory. “I think you like it, though. I think you get off on being needed, on knowing that I’m thinking of you when I need to be sexy on stage.”

“Do you really?” Priyanka asked. “Do you think about how good I fuck you while your shaking your ass for a crowd?” she asked, moving one of her hands between Lemon’s thighs. “Let it get you all worked up and let them think you’re just really into your job?”

Lemon’s legs instantly spread when Priyanka’s hand slipped between her thighs. Even though she didn’t like feeding Priyanka’s ego, she couldn’t pretend the dirty talk didn’t affect her. “Mm, of course I do, easy when no one makes me come like you do.”

“Good girl,” Priyanka praised, then rewarded her by slipping two fingers inside of Lemon’s panties, then slowly easing them into her pussy one after the other. “Look at you, already wet. You really were just thinking about getting fucked, weren’t you?”

“Fuck…” Lemon breathed out, bucking against Priyanka’s fingers, trying to writhe in time with her thrusts. “I was, couldn’t help it.”

Priyanka smirked, kissing up Lemon’s neck, then along her jaw and the shell of her ear. “My needy little whore,” she cooed as she fucked her harder and faster.

Considering most of their coworkers hadn’t left either, Lemon did make an attempt to stay quiet. She bit down on her lip, just whimpering as she rocked against her fingers.

But Priyanka didn’t make it easy on her. He curled and twisted her fingers, knowing every which way to make Lemon squirm and whine. She kept it up, fucking Lemon through her orgasm and even a bit after that. She then eased her fingers out and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Think you’ll make it through the night now, you insufferable baby?”

Lemon rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll survive,” she giggled as she hopped down from the bar. “I’m gonna go get changed, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She wrapped her arms around Priyanka’s waist, gazing up at her and stealing another kiss before leaving.

“You better wipe that bar down thoroughly,” Crystal remarked when she returned from the kitchen.

Priyanka groaned. “Ah, fuck, forgot you were here.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t wanna interrupt. But seriously, clean that shit up.”

11 notes · View notes

xxx-cat-xxx · 4 years

Text

all the things we never said

Summary: Five times Nat and Tony watch over each other and the one time they don't need to any longer.

Word Count: 10k

Tags: Nat & Tony’s Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Blood and Injury, Sickfic, Recreational Drug Use, Angst and Banter and Humour, MCU canon compliant, Team as Family, Feelings

A/N: The tumblr version is out! Huge thanks to @whumphoarder for being the world's best beta reader and my personal punctuation fairy. And thank you to @quietlyimplode for all your continuing support.

Link to read on AO3

1. Trust Issues

It’s their third mission together, but the first one they have to tackle alone. Cap, Hawkeye and the Hulk are off defending Bulgaria from a sudden invasion of slimy goo monsters, but Nat has been planning this mission for months. She fought Fury tooth and nail to go through with the original plan until he begrudgingly agreed and sent Tony along for backup.

So now it’s her, alone, inside the Hydra base instead of a team of two, and Tony is waiting outside in the forest with the quinjet, growing more restless every minute.

“JARVIS, how long?” he asks, twirling a box of Tic Tacs between his thumb and index finger. He opens the cockpit window, sticking his head out and searching the forest for what must be the hundredth time in the last few hours.

“Agent Romanov was supposed to return to the meeting point seventeen minutes ago,” the AI replies matter-of-factly.

“Twenty and I’ll go in,” Tony decides, letting out a long breath. “I told her she shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“Sir, the whole point of an undercover mission is for your identities to stay hidden. No offense, but neither your face nor your suit would contribute to that aim.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Tony sasses back. “But I’m not gonna wait outside while our resident Scary Redheaded Assassin is getting murdered by a group of neo-nazis.”

“That is quite an honorable sentiment, sir. However,―”

The AI doesn’t get a chance to continue, because at that very moment Tony makes out a familiar black-and-red shape emerging out of the green of the forest. She’s moving quickly―though not as quickly as he would have liked her to. Even from this distance he can see that Nat’s acquired a limp at some point during the three hours she was inside the base.

“Jet!” he thinks he can hear her shout even before he can clearly make out her face.

“What?” he calls back.

“Start – the fucking – jet!”

Tony, of course, doesn’t listen. The suit is open next to him, already waiting, and he doesn’t hesitate a second before he gets inside and fires up the thrusters. There is no chance in hell anyone would mistake the red-and-gold armour for anything other than Iron Man, but something about the fact that Nat is currently being followed by at least a dozen Hydra agents tells Tony that their cover was blown long ago.

He dials up to top speed, rushes over Natasha’s head and fires a round at the agents behind her―not enough to kill, but enough to hold them off for a while. Then he swoops down, and, for once glad about the lack of comms and his inability to hear her protests, scoops Nat up under her arms and flies her directly onto the quinjet.

The landing through the half-open door is less elegant than he had hoped for. Nat ends up more or less crashing onto the ground while Tony quickly curbs the speed. When he opens the suit, the assassin is still lying there like a heap of bones, making no attempt to move—which, given her usual alertness, is frankly alarming.

“Nat? You alive over there?” he inquires.

The heap moves and her face becomes visible, paler than fresh snow against the dark red of her hair. “Get us out of here.”

“How bad are you―”

“I’m fine,” she snaps with obvious strain in her voice.

“I thought you were better at lying.”

“Stark. Start the fucking jet.” She glares at him, which is much less scary now that she’s practically lying on the ground, but still enough to make Tony turn on his heels and get into the pilot seat.

It’s a good thing he does, because the Hydra agents have apparently recovered and are less than half a mile away from the jet now, carrying heavy artillery. Tony lifts them up just in time and, resisting the urge to fly a victory lap over their heads since time is a priority now, evades the guns with an elegant loop.

Maybe not the best idea, because the plane swerves and Nat’s body hits the jet’s opposite wall with an audible thump. She doesn’t cry out, but he knows she wants to from the way she gasps sharply before cutting herself off. Tony curses himself and concentrates on pulling the quinjet up at a gentler angle. The moment they reach flight level, he puts it on autopilot and heads back to check on his teammate.

Nat has maneuvered herself into a half-sitting position, leaning against the wall, but that’s about it. There’s blood on the ground around her, and more is marking the path she slid across the floor. Her breaths are coming out in small gasps of barely concealed pain.

“That’s not looking too good, Widow,” Tony remarks while retrieving the first-aid-kit out from its storage unit in the wall.

“Neither is your face.” She delivers the prepubescent insult with an expression so straight that it’s almost comical, before weakly stretching out one arm towards him. The left is curling around her stomach, blood spilling out in between her fingers in small gushes in rhythm with each breath. “Here, take this.”

There’s a pen drive in her opened palm. Tony has to grin, and there’s a weak smile on her sweaty face too, because this means she was successful after all. He stores the pen drive in the pocket of his track pants, then crouches down and starts to remove Nat’s jacket.

“What was the problem, huh?” he asks conversationally, mostly to distract her from the pain the movement must be causing her. “Someone recognised your phenomenally inconspicuous hair colour?”

“Fury’s fucking bullshit intel,” she says hoarsely, voice tense. “Gonna have a word with him when we get back.”

“I’ll be sure to clear out before that happens,” Tony remarks. He carefully helps her lie down on the ground, using her jacket as a makeshift pillow. “But I’d pay a fortune for the video.”

Nat weakly flips him off, but Tony is suddenly too distracted trying to find the bullet hole in all the blood to continue the sass. “We need to take off your shirt,” he assesses, his voice sober now.

There’s a beat where she just looks at him before clumsily starting to peel it off. There’s a lot in that look—doubt, calculation, resignation—and in the end he’s not sure whether it’s trust that’s winning her over or the knowledge that she doesn’t have any other choice. And that hurts a little, somewhere deep inside, because he couldn’t care less about Nat’s boobs while she is bleeding out in front of him. But then again, the circumstances in which they met probably put him in a less than favourable position.

Nat is visibly having difficulty lifting her arms, so he helps her pull the shirt over the head, careful not to touch any more skin than necessary. There’s so much blood underneath the fabric that he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else even if he’d wanted to. Tony knows first aid in theory, but he’s never had to use it on someone with a bullet wound, never really had much contact with blood apart from his own. The last time he was in a similar position, it was Yinsen taking his last breaths under Tony’s hands in a cave in Afghanistan, and no, he’s so not going there now.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep and measured breath. “What do I do?”

With muttered instructions, Nat guides him through assessing the wound. They decide that the bullet has to stay in for now. The next friendly hospital is only half an hour out, but she’s fading fast, lost way too much blood, and putting pressure on it has priority until they arrive.

“You could have just waited a few weeks and gone in with backup, you know," he comments while ripping open a packet of gauze, mostly to keep her talking; he doesn’t honestly expect anything he says would alter her stubbornness.

“Now where's the fun in that?" She slurs the words a little around the edges, but the sass is enough to reassure him that she’ll be alright.

Nat talks Tony through applying a pressure bandage, her body shaking more and more underneath his fingers, revealing just how much willpower it’s taking her not to pass out. Sometime around the point when Tony applies the last of the bandages, Nat’s eyes slip closed and her body goes limp in his grasp. She’s pulled through—through the procedure just as the mission—and Tony feels the weirdest swell of pride well up in him at being part of her team.

Nat stays mostly unconscious when he contacts the hospital and starts the landing sequence. Tony carefully dresses her in one of Cap’s spare shirts, because you never know what kind of pervert will be filming their arrival. It makes her look a bit like a child wearing her father’s clothes.

She wakes with a gasp when the paramedics enter and lift her onto a gurney, and Tony makes sure to stay in her field of vision to give her a familiar face to look at all the while until they enter surgery.

As soon as the doors have closed behind her, Tony pulls out his phone. He’s gonna have that word with Fury himself.

Three months later, when he reads a report about Natasha being shot on a solo mission and refusing anesthesia during the surgery at the local hospital, it dawns on him that the reason she let herself give into unconsciousness this time is because somehow, somewhere, there had to be a glimpse of trust.

2. Red Wine Stains

There was a time in his life when Tony used to like galas. Or maybe like is a bit of a strong term―he used to enjoy looking at dressed-up people and being looked at, flirting a little here and there, and, most importantly, the drinks. He definitely used to like the drinks.

Today, he wishes he could have some of that glamorous feeling back, just to get his adrenaline pumping a bit. The past week held a Doom Bots attack and a sewage robot gone wild and the launch of the new Stark phone and a fight with Pepper and a Dum-E malfunction, and it’s only Thursday. The wine is cheap, the food tasteless, the people boring, and Tony is tired. Fall-asleep-under-the-car-he-is-repairing kind of tired, because yes, that has happened before, much to Pepper’s dismay.

But exhaustion is not something he admits to people, so sunglasses and make-up are his beloved companions this evening, closely followed by the group of misfits that moved into his tower not too long ago and are currently gathered around him, answering the questions of at least a dozen TV crews enclosing them in a semi-circle.

Thor, in a suit that seems to be from the 19th century and nevertheless look stylish on him, is telling a story about a gigantic wolf he once taught to play fetch, with Bruce nodding along, looking awkward as ever. Nat is wearing a stunning high-slit white gown, red curls made up in a fancy bun. She has been having her fun this evening introducing Steve to an endless number of pretty admirers, just to leave him alone in the middle of the conversation, much to his embarrassment.

“And now a question for Iron Man,” the aritificially cheerful reporter announces, turning away from Thor and towards Tony. “Mr Stark, there were rumours that you underwent a heart surgery at the end of last year. While I’m pleased to see that you’re back in action, I’m curious to know whether you’re concerned that your health issues affect the Avengers’ capability to defend us in case of another attack like the one of New York?”

Tony steps forward while the crowd of onlookers falls silent. The reporter pushes the microphone into Tony’s face, but the motion seems to slow down as it happens, the world coming to a screeching halt around him.

Breathe, he thinks. Just breathe, you got this. And then: What if they come back? What if you aren’t strong enough? What if you can’t defend anyone this time?

“Mr Stark?” the reporter asks again.

Breathe. In, out, Tony tells himself. Come on, it’s not that hard.

“I, uhm…” He licks his lips, dimly aware of the cloud of reporters around him, the journalist in question regarding him with a frown. More aware though of his shaky hands, the sweat gathering on his forehead, his speeding heartbeat. “I think…”

In, out. In out. Inoutinoutinoutin―

“I think I can answer this for him,” Natasha takes two steps towards him, reaching for the microphone, and the next thing he knows, she stumbles on her high heels and knocks her glass of cheap Burgundy all over his extremely expensive suit jacket. There’s ohhs and oh my gods coming from the crowd of reporters. Nat pretends to apologise and then all he can hear is his own ragged breathing while she is pulling him away towards a side door.

“Tony―” she starts, a hand on his arm. He takes a step back, reflexively, his back hitting the wall behind him.

“I’m f-fine,” he gasps, trying in vain to get his breathing under control, “Just a sec.”

“I know, Tony,” she says calmly, not judging, not freaking out. He knows he shouldn’t, either. And he wants to calm down, god does he want to, but he’s past that point now, his heart galloping in his chest and his breaths turning into wheezes.

“I can’t―”

Fight or flight kicks in and he stumbles away from her without caring where he is going, aware only of his racing heart and the ever-tightening grip around his chest until she pushes him through yet another door into a bathroom and Tony’s legs go weak under him. He sinks to the floor, wheezing. Hugs himself, clutching a hand to his chest.

There’s no oxygen, no fucking oxygen in this room, and Tony needs to get out, needs some fresh air, but he can’t even get up right now. He’s going to die for sure, weeks before his 43rd birthday, on the floor of a men’s bathroom with red wine soaking through his shirt, and what a headline this will be.

“You’re not dying,” Nat says, fierce and still almost annoyingly calm, and god, did he really say that out loud? Tony has just enough wherewithal left to feel a surge of embarrassment. “You’ve been through this before,” she continues. “You’re gonna be okay.”

The room is getting blurry around the edges and he knows that he really needs to breathe, but he’s got no idea how to get there. And then Nat kneels down in front of him, removes his tie and opens his shirt buttons with quick fingers, and there’s just the slightest bit more air getting into him with each wheeze.

Suddenly, his mouth is watering. Tony hunches over and Nat can just slide out of the way before he heaves up two mouthfuls of wine, coffee, and bile, coughing and choking as he does so. This is bad, he thinks dimly. He hasn’t been sick from a panic attack in a while now. He draws in a choking breath and then another and another before retching again.

He really doesn’t want Black Widow out of everyone to witness him like this, but at least Nat doesn’t say anything stupid like “just breathe” or “calm down” or try to hug him, and that’s a marginal relief. What she does is cower down next to the puddle of sick and take Tony’s hands in hers, almost gently, and then presses them rhythmically. “Focus on that,” she orders, and, left with no other option, he does.

After minutes that feel like years, it finally becomes a little easier to draw in air. Panting, Tony rests his head back against the wall, his whole body bathed in sweat. Just breathes, in and out, while the bathroom slowly comes back into focus. He holds on to Nat’s hand for another minute or so, almost afraid he’s going to lose his tentative grasp of his mind if he lets go. It takes a while until he gathers himself enough to pull away from her.

“Now you’ve got something for the paparazzi,” he says halfheartedly, trying to calm the trembling in his body.

She looks at him, not missing a beat. “Nah. Panic attacks are way less sexy than drug orgies. No coke, no headlines.”

Tony lets out a breath. “No luck for me then.”

Nat gets up and starts pulling paper towels from the dispenser to clean up the mess on the ground. Her dress, Tony realises only now, also suffered in the red wine stunt.

After a few more breaths, he makes it unsteadily to his feet to help her. She stops him midway, takes the sleeve of her suit jacket and wipes tears he didn’t notice before from his cheeks, a sober, almost kind look on her face that he’s not seen before. It confirms his suspicion that this wasn’t her first time seeing someone panic, and something makes him wonder whether she’s been on the other side as well.

“Let’s get back to the action,” he tries to sound convincing as he makes for the door, then remembers the palm-sized red wine stain on his own shirt. “Or maybe I’ll get this cleaned first.”

“Like hell you’re going anywhere right now.”

“But―”

“Nope.” With a movement faster than he can blink, she fishes his phone out of his suit jacket (purely showing off, because he knows she’s got her own communication device hidden away somewhere in that fancy long dress).

Tony makes a weak attempt to snatch the phone back, which she doesn’t even acknowledge. The screen lights up upon receiving her fingerprint and she seems almost disappointed that there’s nothing to hack into.

“Nat here,” she says into the speaker. “Meet us at the back entry.”

Tony can make out Happy grumpily giving an answer.

“Yes, the back entry. No, nobody’s hurt.” She raises an eyebrow at Tony. “No, Happy, you don’t need a gun. Meet you outside.”

They keep silent until they’re in the car. Tony is used to being the one to start conversations around Nat―around almost all the Avengers, actually―but the panic attack left him completely drained and somehow he doesn’t feel the need to pretend otherwise.

“You know,” she speaks up once they are halfway through Manhattan. “Steve had a breakdown when it was snowing last winter. Full-on flashbacks and all. Took me an hour and a bucket of tea to calm him down.”

Tony turns his head towards her, trying to keep his face neutral while she goes on. “Bruce sees a therapist once a week.” She hesitates, as if weighing whether to disclose anything else or not. “Clint and I… let’s say we’ve been there, too. We all know what it’s like.”

He swallows. “This… doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I know that. But it means you’re not alone with it. It’s not a weakness, Tony.”

“I never said it was.”

She regards him knowingly. “Do me a favour and get some sleep tonight, okay?”

Tony thinks of the laundry list of things he has to finish and of the talk he and Pepper have to have before he can ask her to stay with him when he goes to sleep, both of which―talking and sleeping―he’s been putting off for reasons. But Nat’s right―it has to happen at some point.

“Yeah, okay.” Then, after a moment, “Thanks, Nat.”

"Thanking me?" Nat raises an eyebrow. "You sure you didn’t have too much to drink?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it,” Tony grumbles.

“You owe me a new dress and another chance to set up a date for Steve,” she states. But when she looks at him, her eyes are warm.

The next day Nat convinces JARVIS―with help of some useful computer skills she picked up over the years―to disable all alarms and let Tony sleep in. At the breakfast table, she regards the newspaper Steve left lying around after coming back from his jog. The headline talks of the Black Widow’s inability to walk in high heels, and Nat, who did a roundhouse kick on four-inch stilettos just the other week, quietly smiles to herself.

3. Matchmaker

“Hey, Big Guy.” Tony rests an arm on Bruce’s shoulder, startling the scientist out of his chair by the hospital bed. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s finally asleep, I think,” Bruce answers quietly, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.

“Damn.” Tony shuffles closer to the bed and looks at Nat, all frail and small in between a nest of blankets. She is deathly pale, except for the red fever spots on her cheeks, and her eyes are almost vanishing in the dark rings below them. There’s an oxygen cannula under her nose, and despite theoretically knowing that it had been bad, that pneumonia is something that regularly kills people, the seriousness of the situation hits him only now. “Damn, Bruce, she looks so young.”

Too young for all of this, he doesn’t say.

“I know,” Bruce sighs. “Trust me, Tony, I know.”

“‘m not asleep,” Nat protests belatedly, blinking an eye open and slowly turning over to them. “Hi.” She raises an eyebrow at Tony.

“Hi, disease monkey.”

“Fuck you, Tony.” Her voice catches on the last word and she tries to clear her throat, but ends up coughing, and then hacking, hunched forward over herself, until Bruce helps her to a half-upright position and holds her there until the fit subsides. No one mentions the flecks of blood on her hand when she pulls it away.

Bruce hands her a tissue and frowns down at her. “You know, this wouldn't have happened if you'd taken proper care of yourself.”

“Well,” she croaks, “Next time I infiltrate a Hydra prison, I’ll make sure to take a fluffy blanket and a hot water bottle along with me.”

Tony chuckles even while Bruce throws up his hands. “Why am I doing this job again?” the scientist complains. “I should just get a LinkedIn profile and be with people who don’t actively try to get themselves killed once a week.”

“You should get a nap,” Tony interjects. “You look like you’re about to join her.”

“I’m just tired,” he retorts.

“Which is why you should sleep, Big Green. Clint will be here in a couple hours and I’ll stay with her till then.” Tony nudges Bruce aside and settles down on the plastic chair next to the bed. “I got this.”

“You got what?” Nat croaks, but then redirects her gaze at Bruce. “Really, go sleep.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Bruce fidgets with the monitors. “You should take something before I leave—your temp’s almost up to 103 again.”

Nat rolls her eyes while Tony comments, “He’s terrible, isn’t he? How come you haven’t killed him yet?” He leaves a dramatic pause. “Oh, right, immortality and so on.”

“You’re so funny, Tony,” Bruce retorts, without any heat.

He hands Nat a fever reducer and helps her sit up enough that she can swallow it with a sip of water. Then he leaves, emphasizing again to call him in case anything happens.

“He likes you, you know that?” Tony drops casually once he’s gone.

“What are you doing here again?” Nat just gives him a look that’s probably supposed to be threatening but is mostly just tired, and doesn’t reveal any surprise at Tony’s observation. Tony might be good at reading people if he concentrates on it, but Nat is a natural.

“Before you murder me with one of the knives I know you’re hiding somewhere in this bed, I’ve come bearing gifts.” Tony looks around to make sure Bruce is gone before pulling Nat’s tablet out of his leather jacket.

“Ah.” She doesn’t say thanks, but her face lights up a little. While she texts Clint and probably hacks into some country’s police reports to make sure the aftermath of her mission was handled successfully, Tony goes to get a big mug of coffee and his own toy to fiddle with.

The tablet has disappeared once he returns, undoubtedly hidden in the same place as her knives. Nat, meanwhile, is trying hard to hide the shivers now wracking her frame. A glance at the stats shows that her temp has ignored the fever reducers and hit 103, so it’s probably a good thing she put the tablet down on her own; Tony is not the person who’d like to try and convince her to rest.

“You can leave,” she tries once more. “I’m fine on my own, and Bruce must be asleep by now.”

Tony really wishes he could read her, just to know whether she actually believes he would go if she just asked him enough.

“I would,” he says lightly. “Buuut, Pep kicked me out of the lab and this is the best pretense to keep upgrading my new gauntlet watch design.” He nods down to his own tablet he just produced.

It’s not true, strictly speaking; before coming here he’d been immersed deeply in SHIELD’s classified video feeds, observing Clint conduct the evacuation of the prison Nat managed to open for them the previous night. But that’s nothing she needs to know for now.

Nat doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but gives up arguing. She flaps her hand tiredly. “Knock yourself out.”

A few minutes of silence and she’s coughing again, her whole body shaking under the strain of it. This time, she hacks up strings of red-tinged mucus into a small basin that was waiting on her bedside table. Tony isn’t one to comfort sick people and Nat isn’t one to accept comfort from anyone but a select few, so instead of putting a hand on her back and telling her she’ll be alright, he goes to grab another pillow that she can put behind her back to prop her up.

“Water?” she asks when she can catch her breath again.

Tony hands her a glass, then takes the basin with a barely concealed look of disgust and disposes of it in the sink in the adjacent room. “Try and catch some shuteye?” he suggests when he returns.

Nat just shakes her head and clenches her teeth when another round of chills passes through her body.

He recognises the look on her face. Bone-deep exhaustion, but still fighting against sleep, most likely because of the fever dreams. Been there, done that. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the Hydra goons wouldn’t touch Nat in the almost two weeks she spent in the prison until she gave the rest of the team a go for the mission.

She’ll eventually have to talk to someone about whatever was done to her, but Tony isn’t that person. Neither of them is good with talking, not the serious type, anyway. She maybe―hopefully―has Barton for that, and Tony… has his bots. Well, and sometimes, when he’s drunk and tired or drunk from tiredness, he might have confessed a thought or two to Pepper. Most of it she figured out by herself.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. “So what are we gonna do then?” he asks.

“You’re the genius. Figure it out.”

She’s definitely too weak for video games and Tony’s not going to read to her, which leaves the TV. They’re in the tower’s medbay, so of course there’s plenty of streaming services to choose from, which only leaves what to choose. He knows that Nat hates cheap romances and likes Tarantino, but maybe a bloodbath is not the best after what she’s just been through. They both enjoy intelligent movies, but he probably shouldn’t do anything too taxing with her fever through the roof.

“JARVIS, play Sherlock. The BBC series.”

The corners of her mouth lift a little and he knows it was the right decision.

If it had been Pepper or Bruce or even Clint, Tony wouldn’t have hesitated to crawl into the bed next to them. He craves touch when he’s ill, even if he doesn’t admit it, but he’s learned long ago that Nat’s different. So he just settles in the plastic chair next to the bed, makes sure the corners of the room are well lit, and increases the temperature enough for her shivers to finally ease down.

She fights it, but finally falls asleep half an hour into the first episode, snoring ever so slightly through the congestion in her chest. Tony knows that not everyone’s nightmares are as visible on their faces as his own, but he thinks that despite the exhaustion and sickness, she looks a little bit more relaxed than before.

After another ten minutes, Nat slides down the pillows and her nasal cannula slips out of place a little, so Tony bends over her to put it back. Her eyes snap open the moment he touches her face, alert and wary despite being bright from fever.

“Easy tiger, just putting this back where it belongs.”

She nods minutely and her eyes slip back closed, her ragged breathing still a bit faster than before. He thinks she’s maybe fallen back asleep, but then she blinks again and mumbles something indiscernible.

“Huh?” Tony asks.

She doesn’t open her eyes when she mumbles, “I’m gonna die anyway.”

Tony swallows. “Come on, don’t be so dramatic.”

“Not...now. But the thing with Bruce...this isn’t going to work. Either I’m gonna die or I’m gonna disappoint him. Don’t even know what’s worse.”

The thing is, Tony knows how it feels to have someone who is too good for you love you nevertheless. And he wishes he could tell her that she’s wrong without feeling like he’s lying.

By the time he’s finally found his reply, she is already asleep again.

“But you deserve to be happy,” he whispers into the air anyway.

Three hours later, Tony will be interrupted in designing his watch gauntlet by a very disheveled looking Bruce coming to check on Nat. Tony will follow him outside when he searches for his stethoscope, and, with a smirk on his face and a bittersweet feeling in his stomach, will tell him, “She likes you, you know? You should ask her out some time.”

4. Stoners

Nat extricates herself from the blankets with an agility acquired through years of experience in sneaking out of crowded dorm rooms without waking anyone. Bruce is asleep on the couch in Lila’s bedroom, curled a little into himself, looking rumpled and exhausted after today’s hulk-out. He passed out the moment his head touched the pillow, and Nat is honestly surprised he even made it through dinner.

But there is no sleep for her tonight. Closing her eyes means going back to the places that the witch summoned up in her mind, and that’s something she really, really doesn’t want to do.

Nat tiptoes down the wooden staircase, avoiding the legos littering her path and the creaky third step from the top. Clint would be her go-to person, if any, on nights when she feels like this. But Laura just got him back and it would be unfair to steal him away for something nobody can fix anyway.

She commandeers the heavy booze in the highest cupboard behind the digital kitchen scale Laura never uses. She is in the process of filling a glass when, through the screen door, she sees the light coming from the garden.

Nat finds Tony in the shed where he’s actually repairing the goddamn tractor. She isn’t particularly quiet while entering, but Tony still flinches when she taps him on the shoulder, raising the wrench in a gesture of defense. There’s something dark on his face, a feeling exactly matching hers. Nat hasn’t asked whether the witch has shown him something, too, but she thinks she can read the answer in his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, a little more casually after lowering the wrench, but his breathing is still too quick.

“You’re one to talk.”

He snorts. “Cap’s snoring like a steam engine. No wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend.” Nat grins, but she knows of course that’s not the real reason.

She’s never told him, but once or twice she’s witnessed Tony waking from his nightmares on the couch in the common room or in the jet after a mission, whimpering, almost crying, barely able to catch his breath. His reason to not fall asleep in a room he shares with his teammate is the same as hers.

She takes another sip from her Whiskey and then refills the glass before handing it to him. He downs it in one smooth motion and sets it on the dirty ground nearby, gesturing at her to refill before turning back to the tractor.

“Can you fix it?” she asks, genuinely curious. The tractor has been in the garage for as long as she can remember, never working, so still that it's almost become part of the building itself.

“I can fix anything.” It’s his go-to reply, and it’s a lie, but tonight she wishes it was the truth.

Nat settles on a rusty paint can nearby while watching him work, taking sips from the bottle intermittently. His hands are moving over the vehicle like a doctor’s over a patient, both professional and intimate. There’s motor oil on his bare arms and dust coating his forehead and as much as she knows Tony loves his good looks and classy suits, now he doesn’t seem to register the dirt at all. There’s something cathartic about the way he completely immerses himself in the task.

Nat does that sometimes when she has a bad night, or the few times Clint was laid up in medical with no visitors allowed. Goes to Tony’s lab and watches him fix things, build things, neither of them talking as is their way. Sometimes she finds herself waking up hours later on the lab bench with a stiff neck and a blanket over her shoulders to Tony proudly showcasing whatever he has finished.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he’d say and present her with a new set of Widow’s Bites or a more explosive arrow or a thicker uniform for Clint to keep him safe next time.

He doesn’t look as satisfied now when the tractor finally starts tucking, and she suspects he wished for it to take longer, for more distraction in a night where the dark thoughts hang between them like thick clouds.

“So, should we take this thing and drive it up to Clint’s window right now?” he asks while turning on the tap in the corner of the barn and washing his hands and face with cold water.

“Sounds tempting,” Nat admits. “But I got a better idea. I know where Clint keeps the pot.”

“That, Miss Romanov”―Tony spins around and points at her with a screwdriver―“is the best idea I’ve heard in days.”

They smoke on the old canopy swing on the porch, and Nat would like to say that it makes her feel better, but sometimes sadness is just a part of you that doesn’t go away. They share the silence like they share the joint, each contemplating their own ghosts.

Nat’s thoughts circle back to the Red Room again and again. And she wonders: Why does it still hurt, after such a long time? Maybe because it illuminates what went wrong, where it went wrong, and because it makes all the other possibilities so clear. The alternatives she never got to live. What it would have been like to have a happy childhood. Parents who cared. No blood on her palms. How it would feel to live without the crushing weight of debt and death on her shoulders.

The funny thing is that Tony might be the one who understands the feeling best. Clint knows her, knows more of her story than anyone, but he also knows―or at least, thinks he knows―where she is wrongly blaming herself, where her mistakes are not her fault anymore. For him it’s a battle she fought against the powers who wanted to make her someone else, someone horrible, and eventually she won. But on nights like this one, Nat doesn’t feel like a winner.

And Tony, below his cocky arrogance and narcissism, still carries the guilt from his previous life around with him. They don’t talk, but as the bottle and the smoke circle back and forth between them, she gets the feeling that he has an idea of what’s going on in her head.

The night air grows colder around them and at some point Tony takes off the rough button-down he’d borrowed from Clint and wraps it around her shoulders, and tonight, just tonight, she lets him. Allows him this single gesture of chivalry because he does it out of kindness, and kindness is not something found in the memories that lurk beneath the surface, and because she knows it will make him feel like he did something right.

When the smoke has turned to ash and the bottle is empty, Tony slides down a bit and leans his head on Natasha’s shoulder. If he’d done this when they first met, after her cover was blown, she would have punched him. Now, it feels almost good. His head grows heavy against her skin after a while and his breaths even out, the drugs and the many days without sleep finally catching up with him.

Dawn breaks and brings with it an aura of finality, of something big drawing to its close. Nat has lived through so many endings and beginnings that it doesn’t scare her anymore. But she’s still human enough to feel sad.

She thinks of a little red-headed girl in a huge hall with glass mirrors, turning and twisting under the ever-critical gaze of people who should have never been her replacement parents. Thinks of her, years later, taking lives without second thoughts. So many lives along the way.

And if there’s a tear or two running down her cheek and dripping into the collar of Clint’s shirt that night, nobody will ever know.

An hour later, when Tony has woken up in her lap and squinted at her and asked, “So, what do we do about the murder bot?” and Nat has mustered all her strength to store the memories away for the time being and fire up her brain cells, Laura will step out to hang clothes on the line in the yard. She will find them like this, frozen-through, exhausted, and more than slightly hungover, but with a battle plan.

4.5. Blueberry Muffin (the time they didn’t)

Natasha is not good with kids—never has been—so she is not surprised when Tony looks a bit wary as he hands his sleeping daughter over to her. She is even less surprised when the baby wakes up, regards Nat through her dark, thick eyelashes, and immediately starts to cry.

“Here. Give her here,” Tony says, and Nat is happy enough to comply. Morgan’s sobs turn into hitching breaths and she brings her tiny fingers to her face, making discontented sounds at the back of her throat.

Tony shushes her, almost automatically, and Nat feels a strange mixture of affection and sadness bloom in her chest. He looks at Morgan with a warmth in his eyes she recognises from the first time they met. It’s the same way he’s looked at Pepper for as long as Nat’s known him. Nat knows what it means: he’d do anything for the tiny person in his arms. It’s not something she’s ever felt for anyone, and certainly nothing anyone has ever felt for her.

“So.” He clears his throat. “How’s life at the compound? More interesting than changing diapers, I suppose?”

Empty and lonely, she doesn’t say. “It’s a lot of work.”

He scoffs. “You and Captain Righteous against the rest of the world?”

“Steve’s staying in the city,” she replies briskly. She knows Tony is just trying to provoke her, since Rhodey is surely keeping him updated about everything there is to know about the remnants of the team. “He’s running counselling groups, actually. I don’t see him that often.”

“Therapy with Captain America.” Tony snorts, bitterly. “Lesson One: Be honest with your friends. Lesson Two: Choose your side wisely.”

In a life before Thanos, Nat might have started an argument upon this sideblow, but losing half the world’s population put things into perspective. She’s simply too tired to react.

Tony seems to realise that too, because he gives her a defiant glance and loses steam. Morgan makes a fussy noise and he softly runs his fingers over her head until she quiets again, burying her forehead in his t-shirt. It’s some kind of nerdy shirt with triangles and geometry equations on it, and the baby is drooling onto the Pythagorean theorem.

The silence grows from uncomfortable to oppressive while Nat tries to think up what else to say about a kid that only sleeps and eats and cries.

“So, have you enrolled her in MIT yet?” she finally asks.

Tony musters a laugh that’s probably mostly meant to humour her. “Thought we might potty train her first.”

Nat smirks.

Pepper enters the room, saving them. “Have some blueberry muffins.” She sets a plate on the table in front of her. She is as neat and pretty as ever, even with an infant to take care of, making Nat acutely aware of her own unwashed hair, the worn-out leggings she didn’t bother to change before coming here, and the deep circles below her eyes.

A phone rings somewhere in the other room and Pepper is on her feet again before even properly sitting down, but not before adding, “Tony made them.”

Nat stops dead in the middle of reaching for the muffin. Then she slowly turns towards the man in question. “You bake now,” she states, and it almost sounds like an accusation.

And here’s the thing: Nat and Tony used to be founding members of the ‘Why Do I Even Own a Kitchen’ clubt. Nat is good at cooking because she had to learn it for undercover missions (nothing like chocolate mousse and a low-cut dress to seduce a target), but she’s never, ever done it for herself. Or for the team, or for anyone who doesn’t require her to. Tony considered it superfluous since he had enough money for takeout at any time of the day, which he never ceased to mention when asked. Their hate for this particular activity is one thing they had in common, along with flexible moral standards and their love for fast cars.

“I dabble.” Tony shrugs lightly. “It helps, you know, to distract yourself. You would be surprised how cathartic it can be sometimes to watch an apple pie turn brown in the oven.” There’s a dark shadow on his face that makes her realise just how bad these sometimes get.

Guilt—oh yeah, here’s another thing they both share.

She takes the muffin and bites into it. It tastes horrible, which makes the whole situation only slightly more bearable. She understands now that when Tony pushed the arc reactor into Steve’s hands the day he returned from space, it wasn’t just Iron Man he said goodbye to. He renounced a whole way of life, and with it, all those who were a part of it. The one he leads now makes space for superheroes only in crayon drawings and bedtime stories.

Nat glances around in search of a new topic to start in on, but all she sees are baby photos, throw blankets, and handmade toys—all in soft, matching colours. Wooden walls and bamboo boxes, the opposite of the cutting edge interior design that used to be Tony’s preferred choice for the tower and compound. The lakehouse reminds Nat of the Barton farm, of Laura’s attention to make the smallest details homely.

Suddenly, the domesticity of it all feels suffocating.

“I―” she breathes out. “I need to go.” She sets down the muffin and takes a last look at the baby in Tony’s arms before getting to her feet in a rush. His halfhearted protests are lost in the sound of her heartbeat drumming in her ears. She passes Pepper in the hallway, who regards her with confusion and a bit of hurt. Nat’s throat is too tight to talk, but she sends a mental apology her way because none of the bad things that keep happening in her life have ever been the fault of Pepper Potts.

Tony catches her when she is just about to close the car door. There’s honest surprise on his face when he glimpses the tears on her cheek. She wipes them away, angrily, silently dares him to say anything.

“Look, this is the best possible way for me to deal with everything,” he explains, and his face looks almost like he’s in pain. “To get over what happened. Maybe you should try that some day.”

And here’s the final difference, Nat thinks as she closes the door and starts the engine. The thing he has to get over with was what made her life worthwhile.

“I’m happy for you, Tony,” she says honestly, and drives away.

10 years later, Morgan will scroll through old news footage in her holographic projection on the ceiling and find a photo of Nat and Tony, dressed up for one of the official Avengers events, sharing a laugh over something that’s lost to history. She’ll show it to Pepper and will listen disbelievingly to a story, told with wet eyes, about an assassin masquerading as a PA, who eventually became a friend masquerading as a teammate.

5. Time Travel

None of them sleep the night before the time heist, but at some point, sharing the anxiety makes things worse instead of better. They break up the group, pretending to go to bed. Nat hasn’t been in her own room since everyone moved back in; she’s been sleeping in Clint’s quarters or occasionally on the couch in the common room when the planning and plotting went on late into the night.

Years of going rogue have left their trace on Clint, and despite having lost none of the familiarity—that wordless understanding that has been between them forever—there are more and more times now when she senses his need to be alone. Tonight is one of them. So, instead of trying to sleep, she wanders aimlessly through the compound until she finds Tony sitting in the dimly-lit common room, staring out of the window in a rare moment of stillness. The helmet of his Iron Man suit is lying next to him on the table, blinking silently.

“Don’t turn the lights up,” he says hoarsely when she enters. Even without that warning, she would have recognised the crease in between his brows and the gesture with which he is pressing two fingers to his temple. Bad headache. Maybe even a migraine.

She doesn’t say anything, just steps near the chair and gives his shoulder a squeeze. They stay silent for a while until he shifts stiffly and turns toward her.

“What would you do?” He looks up, really looks at her. “What would you do if this was potentially the last night of your life?”

Something in her heart clenches, although she can’t pretend that she wasn’t thinking the same. She settles on the arm of his chair before replying. “I’d spend it with my family.”

Tony looks at her wistfully. “I talked to Morgan earlier,” he says in a neutral voice. “Told her a bit about you all. She wanted to know every Avenger’s favourite ice cream flavour.” He shakes his head in disbelief, then winces at the pain it must be causing. “You know, before her, I’d forgotten how good humans can be. Literally innocent, before the world takes all that away.”

Nat huffs. “I don’t believe in innocence.”

“Well, she did try to trick me into bringing her back a ninja star.” Tony smirks.

Nat grins. “Now that sounds more like she’s related to you.”

“So…” he sighs. “In the improbable case that this goes down well and we don’t end up with Jack the Ripper or in the middle ages, I wouldn’t mind coming up here more often. And you should meet Morgan again―I mean it. Never too early for female role models.”

He squints up at her in the challenging way that is meant to hide his insecurity, and she knows what he is really asking for.

And Nat doesn’t say ‘You really think so?’, doesn’t admit to her surprise or the warm feeling welling up in her chest. But she preserves it, somewhere in her heart.

“Sure,” she agrees instead. “But I can’t guarantee that I won’t give her a ninja star or two.”

“I think I can deal with that.” Tony rubs his hand over his eyes in a tired gesture. “So, tomorrow’s the big day. I’m gonna try and catch some shut-eye.” He gets upright, all colour draining from his face like it just flowed down into his feet. Nat’s hand shoots out to steady him, but he’s already caught himself on the armchair. “Or maybe I’ll go and puke first.”

She frowns, trying to judge whether he’s serious or not―it’s a 50-50 chance with almost anything he says―but then he gulps heavily and starts walking towards the toilet, supporting himself against the wall.

Nat sighs as she gets to her feet, and, of course, follows him.

He flinches against the bright bathroom lights and then opens the cabinet, squinting at the labels of the different medications lined up there until Nat takes pity in him and picks the right one. They've been there before, spent a whole night in this very bathroom once when one of Tony’s migraines hit so hard he didn’t want to move for hours. There's a reason Nat always kept up his stock of Imitrex—same with Clint’s Neosporin, and Steve's Zantac.

(Maybe she never really stopped hoping they’d come back.)

Nat shakes a pill out onto her palm and hands it to him along with a glass of water. He swallows and then lowers himself down next to the toilet, face in his hands, breathing carefully through his nose to keep himself from being sick.

When the immediate danger seems to have passed, Tony leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Nat can’t stop thinking how much he has aged, all the lines in his face turned into valleys and the gray and black in his hair balancing each other out. He’s got 15 years on her, but Nat was never as aware of the age difference as she is today.

He looks old and tired, but also... Nat would have never thought that soft would be a word she'd one day use to describe Tony Stark, but, looking at him in worn-out jeans and a wrinkled hoodie with a few sprinkles of glitter on them (undoubtedly courtesy to Morgan), that's the only word coming to her mind right now. It’s a different kind of softness than what he displayed during her one and only visit to the lakehouse. It doesn’t feel like a desperate escape strategy now, more like something he has grown to be without being aware of it himself.

Nat gets quietly to her feet, wets a washcloth and drapes it over his eyes, blocking out the lights. He grunts gratefully. She hesitates for a second, but then reaches down and starts kneading the tense muscles between his shoulders and neck. Tony makes a low sound in his throat somewhere between pain and pleasure. But he lets her be, and she feels a smile spread on her face.

“I forgot how good that feels,” he sighs when she’s done, squinting up at her. “Pepper never really gets the pressure right.” He swallows. “I missed this,” he adds, and she knows he doesn’t just mean her massage skills.

“Me too,” she quietly admits what she’s been thinking for days.

“I’ll just”―he weakly waves his hand―“enjoy this bathroom for a bit longer. Feel free to leave.”

“Nah, I’m good here,” Nat assures. She settles down next to him with her legs crossed, not too close, not too far. “Remember that one time we all got food poisoning from that burger joint Steve insisted was the best in Brooklyn? And Bruce was the only one who didn’t eat them, and then he just ran between different bathrooms the whole night?”

“Hell, don’t remind me.” Tony groans. “Clint puked on my Prada pajamas. Had to incinerate them.”

“Your own fault for buying branded nightwear,” she retorts.

They keep sitting and talking in low voices, and Nat doesn’t feel the desire to move, doesn’t feel the urge to let this night pass. It’s stolen time, all of it, a few days of glimpses into the life they had and that they always knew would never last. They all are aware that it’s going to end tomorrow, in one way or another. But just for now, she allows herself the illusion that it could last forever.

Less than 12 hours later, Natasha has turned into a martyr, and Tony finally understands that she did get to spend her last day with her family after all.

+1. The Passage

Waking up without pain anywhere in his body is a feeling so unfamiliar to Tony that it immediately puts him on edge. His eyes snap open, his heart beating hard and fast in his throat, and there’s something important that’s slipping his mind, something vital, and he–

He looks around himself, and he’s in his Malibu mansion. The one that Killian Aldrich bombed to the ground almost ten years ago.

It doesn’t make sense.

There’s a boxing ring set up in the middle of the room, and on it, sitting cross-legged, her long braid in red and gold hanging over her shoulder, is a familiar figure.

It can’t be.

“Natasha?” Tony asks, and she looks up at him.

And then Tony remembers.

By the time he gets his wits back enough to come up with a joke, Nat has slipped out of the ring between the ropes and is holding him in her arms. She’s young as ever, but something in her eyes makes Tony feel like she’s aged years since the last time he’s seen her.

“So this is Hell, huh? Less gargoyles than I imagined,” he quips. “And I was hoping for a better view of the Lake of Fire.”

“Oh, we’re not in Hell,” she replies calmly, pulling back. “At least not yet.”

“Where –” Tony breathes, “Where are we then?”

“It’s like a passage,” she replies. “Neither here, nor there.”

“Okay. Fine. Great.” He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to get his speeding breaths under control. “Run me through the whole thing.”

“After I jumped from the cliff at Vormir, I came to an agreement with Red Skull,” she explains. “He’s...he’s like a guard to whatever comes after. He let me wait here until… well, until someone came to let me know.”

“Let you know?” Tony echos.

“If it was worth it.” She looks up at him, for the first time seeming as scared as Tony feels. “Was it, Tony?”

“Yes.” He nods, trying to pull himself together. He thinks of Peter and his heart jumps in triumph. “Yes, it worked, Nat. We got them back. All of them.”

“But something went wrong, didn’t it?”

He sighs. “Something always goes wrong. ” He walks her through what happened after the time heist, replaying the memories and almost unable to believe them himself. “I just― I snapped. And Pep-Pepper. Rhodey. They all were there, and―”

“Breathe, Tony.” Looking at him with both sadness and pride, she stretches out her hand to wipe something from his cheek, and Tony realises then that he is crying.

“I,” he mumbles, his breath hitching. “I need to sit.”

She leads him to the boxing mat and sits him down. Then it hits Tony, really hits him what this all means.

Because he will never teach Morgan how to fly the suit he secretly designed to give her on her eighth birthday. He will never ruin Pepper’s cooking again. He will never watch over Peter when he goes patrolling, will never snatch away Rhodey’s ice cream, will never share a late-night highway drive with Happy again. It’s gone, all of it. He’s gone.

He’s crying like a child, unable to stop himself, and Nat hugs him without hesitation, holds him close. “S-Sorry,” he manages between sobs. She shushes him and strokes his back.

“It’s alright. I’ve been there too,” she whispers.

“There are so many things I wanted to do,” he chokes out after a while. “S-So many things I didn’t get to share with them.”

“I know, Tony.” She hesitates. “But they know too. Tony, you saved them. You saved them all.”

And he thinks back to Yinsen, to Don’t waste your life, Stark. To everyone he lost, everyone he outlived, everyone he killed. And he thinks, perhaps I didn’t do so bad after all.

Nat must have been having similar thoughts, because, in a quiet voice, she says, “Maybe I finally cleared my ledger.”

“Nat, what are you talking about?” he sniffs, wipes his face, and then takes her fingers into his hands, holds onto her tightly, sincerely, “None of this would have been possible if you hadn’t gotten the soul stone. We owe you. The whole universe owes you.”

And here’s the final thing they share; they have both eventually settled their debts.

The waves are hitting at the shore outside in an endless rhythm of clapping and splashing. It’s a long time until either of them speaks again.

“So,” Tony asks eventually, and the tears have dried on his cheeks, leaving only salt behind, “you chose the setting?”

She offers the tiniest of smiles. “I thought you might appreciate the touch.”

He knows that they are both thinking the same. Who would have thought, the first time they met each other, on a day when Tony was drinking chlorophyll and Nat pinned Happy onto the mat, that three-and-a-half potential apocalypses later they would end up here again?

“We can’t stay,” he says. It’s not a question.

“No,” she confirms, nodding towards the opposite wall.

There is a door at the end of the room, heavy and wooden and ancient, that doesn’t belong with the mansion―neither in Tony’s memory nor from the looks of it.

“What’s behind it?” he asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Whatever comes next.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” he says.

Nat swallows. “Would that even be so bad?”

He turns towards her. She looks ready, at peace, but also sad. And besides knowing it’s worth it, besides knowing that they both wouldn’t hesitate a moment to make that very same choice over and over again, he wishes that they’d had more time.

They get to their feet and walk to the other end of the room. The gate seems to grow taller as they approach it until it takes up almost all of Tony’s vision. Next to him, Nat stretches out her hand and lets her fingers glide over the carvings in the wood that form patterns of leaves of a tree he doesn’t know the name of. He follows suit. The wood feels soft and warm under his touch. Alive.

“Are you scared?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Not anymore.” And it’s true. Tony has been afraid for so many years of his life—ever since the sky above New York was torn apart. And now, he seems to be feeling everything all at once: grief, gratitude, and acceptance, wonder, loss, and love. But the fear is gone.

“Let’s go?” Nat squeezes his fingers and then lets go of his hand. And he knows, this is a step they must take on their own.

He breathes in deeply. Takes a last look around. The sea, the house, the light reflecting in the red of Natasha’s hair. The calmness in her wide green eyes. He reaches for the handle of the door. “Okay.”

And they step through.

_______________

all my fics

#the tumblr version is out #my fic #nat & tony #5+1 #give it a try?

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etcrnaloptimist · 3 years

Text

Telling Ben

Bentley Simms & Dorothea Simms - Dated 6/18 - Completed via Discord - @andthereweresparks

Dorothea Simms

Dorothea had gone to the pharmacy to grab her birth control, but Nora’s words had stuck in her head and she decided to grab a pregnancy test to ease her mind. There was no way she was, but she knew it would bother her until she saw the negative result now that the thought was in her head. When she got home, thankfully Ben wasn’t around, she took the test and waited, scrolling through her phone as she did. When the timer went off, she picked up the plastic stick, but her brain didn’t process the two lines. There just wasn’t any way. She went as quickly as she’d come into the house and drove out of Wakefield to grab a few more tests. Different brands, not sure which was the best. Dorothea didn’t realize the denial that she was in, driving her to buy this abundance of tests. She returned home and tried again, after the third of the new tests came out positive and she’d drank about a gallon of water to pee enough times, she decided just to pee in a cup and test the rest of them at once. Every single one was positive. 14 positive tests in total. She stared at them, it not making sense. She wasn’t pregnant. Dorothea Lauren Simms could not be pregnant. She’d only just started dating Grayson and while they’d slept together a few times over the past month or so, it couldn’t be right. She was not fit to be a mom. Sure, she could care for the calves, but a human? No. No. It was not real. Until it was. Panic settled over her and she tried to think what it was that she needed to do. The first thing was to get rid of the tests. She had clearly lost her mind buying so many. She stuffed them into the paper bag she’d brought them in and escaped to her room. 27 years old. Living with her father. Dating Grayson for 2 minutes. Just getting a handle on her mental health. A baby was not practical. She didn’t know what to do, or who to talk to. But for the first time since she’d arrived in Wakefield after Christmas, she didn’t have the desire to run. She just wanted support.

Her dad was the obvious choice. He was her rock. He might not be happy that she got knocked up by a guy she hadn’t even been dating until days ago, but he hadn’t given up on her yet. She decided that when he got home, Dorothea would tell her father. If anyone was going to help her sort out her head, it would be him. He’d told her not long ago that he was upset that she didn’t trust her family to go to them, and she’d promised that she would do better. This, telling him, not running, was keeping her promise. Grabbing her pillow, she pulled it to her chest and tried to process. What she wouldn’t give for her little stuffed dog that she’d had since she was a baby. She’d had him up until returning to Wakefield, her little piece of home that she’d carried with her and she had no idea where he ended in the chaos of packing her things to leave the apartment Christmas Night. She swore she packed him. Swore he’d been stuffed into one of the two suitcases, or in her duffle, but Thea had never found him. But she was home. It was a while of sitting there, before she migrated down the stairs. There wasn’t much time to make an announcement of this. A cute memory to hold onto one day and tell her child about. Her child. Her hand moved to her stomach and she sighed. But then she remembered some blank cards that they kept around for different occasions and she set off to find one. It would give her something to focus on until Ben arrived. After a quick look online, she found what she wanted to write. On the front, in her fanciest handwriting, she wrote, “The only thing better than having you as a Dad…” and continued to the inside of the card, “Is my child having you as a grandpa.” And signed off with love and her full name. She grabbed and envelop and slid it inside, tucking it closed and scrawled ‘Dad’ across the front. Once that was done, she went to the living room to wait for him to get home, unable to focus on anything else.

It was a time before she heard the front door open, heavy and familiar footfalls on the floor. “Hey Dad,” she called out to him, toying with the card in her hand. “When you have a minute, will you come in here? No rush.” As far as she knew, she had nearly nine months of time to wait, so there wasn’t any hurry tonight.

Bentley Simms

Ben stepped into the house with a deep sign as he dropped his wallet and keys on the table by the door. He was more than used to busy days. They had been part of his normal for as long as he could remember and he wouldn't change anything about that. But the days that were nonstop were ones that even not he didn't look forward to. "Let me wash up," he called back to his daughter. Bending down, he made quick work of untying and taking off his work boots before padding barefoot through the house to his bedroom. He'd spent most of the day out in the pastures or with the cows getting milked and he desperately needed a shower before he did anything else. Nearly 15 minutes later, Ben came out of his bedroom to find his daughter sitting in the living room. "Hey kid, what's up?" he asked, settling on the sofa beside her.

Dorothea Simms

Maybe ‘no rush’ had been an overstatement on her part. The 15 minutes seemed to drag on for a century, at least. She didn’t allow herself to think about how her father was going to react, or else she might talk herself out of doing this. Instead, she pulled her phone out and played on it for a few moments before growing tired and setting it onto the coffee table. The corners of the envelope were well warn from her fingers by the time her father walked into the room again. As he sat, she took a breath and held it out to him. “For you,” she said and offered him a weak smile. “Sorry there’s no cash in it.” Her joke feel flat, but she watched him carefully. More nervous than anything else.

Bentley Simms

Ben took the envelope, his brows furrowing in confusion. While Father's Day was approaching, he hadn't really expected anything from his children, he never did if he were being honest, and this year, the fact that all his kids were in Wakefield and happy, was more than enough for him. It had been far too long since that had happened. "What is it?" he asked, glancing at his daughter rather than opening it. It was clear she'd been fidgeting with it, the corners well worn in a way that could mean nothing else.

Dorothea Simms

The urge to stand up and pace the room began to fill her. Since she was a baby, Thea had needed movement to calm her. She wasn’t good at sitting still. However, she remained on the couch. “It’s a card.” She answered, though she knew that was not at all what he’d meant. “Open it and find out.” Hopeful her prompting would end the nerves that swelled inside of her.

Bentley Simms

Looking back down at the card, he pulled the flap out of the envelope then pulled the card out. He skimmed the words on the outside of the card quickly, thinking it was nothing more than an early Father's Day card. When he opened it, he realized he was wrong, but it didn't quite sink in the first time he read the words. He looked up at his daughter before looking down at the card again, rereading the outside then the inside of the card. "What are you telling me, Thea?" He asked looking up at his daughter after a moment of silence.

Dorothea Simms

Watching her father closely, Thea seemed to be holding her breath. Unable to breathe while awaiting his reaction. Was he going to be disappointed? Upset? Angry? She didn’t like not knowing. When he finally looked up at her, seeming more confused than anything else, she let out her breath and watched as he read the words again. The question wasn’t unexpected, this situation was a lot to handle and he had no idea what he was coming into just moments ago. “I’m pregnant,” She confessed softly, eyes meeting his for a moment, before dropping again.

Bentley Simms

"How?" He shook his head. "No, not how. I know how." He had the unfortunate honor of giving all the kids the sex talk when they were young, and truly terrible experience for all of them in his opinion. "Thea." He glanced at the card in his hands again as he tried to wrap his head around what she was telling him. He had struggled to wrap his head around Nora's announcement, but she'd been something undefined with Wyatt for a bit before her pregnancy news. "Grayson?" he asked, just to be sure. They hadn't been together long - just days in fact, but Ben knew Thea had struggled to feel comfortable with almost anyone over the last several months, he seemed like the only logical option. "Kid....this is a lot to take in. C'mere."

Dorothea Simms

Thea cringed at the question, because neither of them ever wanted to have that talk the first time, nor come back to it now. The joke that wanted to escape her to lighten up the mood, however, didn’t pass her lips. For once she allowed the discomfort to surround her, because she needed to be serious with her father. She watched him struggle with the news, just as she knew he would. When he asked about Grayson, Thea nodded. “Yeah, he…I only just found out today. I haven’t told anyone.” Just her dad. Scooting closer to him, Thea did not hesitate to hug him. “It is and I still don’t know how to feel or what to think. But I know I’m not sorry.”

Bentley Simms

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm glad you're not sorry," he murmured, letting the silence fall between them. Ben knew it would have been easy for her to regret this. Knew it would have been easy for his daughter to run. She'd done it time and again when things were difficult. But she wasn't running. She was here, talking to him, telling him that he was going to have another grandchild in a few months. After sitting in silence, turning the news over in his head for a bit, he cleared his throat. "What's the plan?" he asked, not pulling away, but loosening his hold on his daughter in case she wanted to. "I know you only just found out, kid, but the edges of that card tell me you've been turning something over in your head."

Dorothea Simms

Thea wanted to sit in that comfort for a while, so the silence that fell didn’t bother her. There was so much going on in her head that she couldn’t say. Things she didn’t need to say, because he already understood them. He understood that she couldn’t say she was sorry for the life inside of her. That she never would. She wanted to believe and love it in the way Ben had taught her to; without condition. Still, the silence eventually had to come to an end. “The plan is to figure it out.” She said quietly, moving back slightly from him and looking down at her torso, like it had some hidden answer. “I know a few things I have to do, like, tell Grayson and see a doctor. Then tell Mom, Nora, and Zach.” She breathed, there had been so many things swirling in her head, it was hard to pinpoint them all in a coherent or chronological order. “I…I’m going to do this.”June 18, 2021

Bentley Simms

Ben heard the quiet determination in his daughter's voice. She was stubborn and determined, she always had been. It had been a source of frustration for him and Monica throughout her life, but that stubbornness was exactly what she needed now. "We'll be here for you. I'll be here. Whatever you need." He couldn't speak for Nora or Zach, couldn't even speak for Monica, but Ben knew his family, was sure that they would be there for Thea - she would just have to let them. "You're going to do this." He couldn't say he was necessarily happy that she was pregnant. But he was proud of her. "You're gonna be just fine."

Dorothea Simms

Thea swallowed, nodding at his words. She was so grateful for her father, that she had him to count on. She moved back to hug him again, wrapping her arms tightly around him. “I know you will.” Her voice was soft, but her words certain. It was a relief, however, to hear. This was utterly terrifying, every passing moment the news settling and processing more. She could feel the weight of it. “I’m really scared, Dad.” The admission fell from her mouth and she hugged him tighter. “I have no idea how to do any of this and I don’t want to mess this…cluster of cells, whatever it is, up. And I’m terrified that I will.”

Bentley Simms

He shifted slightly, drawing her against his side and holding on tightly. Ben could see how much Thea needed physical comfort. "You're supposed to be, kid. I'd be worried if you weren't." Having a child, even when they were planned was a daunting task. It was even more daunting when they weren't planned."You want me to tell you something not comforting at all?" he offered, glancing down at her before pushing ahead. "You're gonna mess 'em up. It's part of being a parent. You make the wrong choice. You...you screw up. It happens."

Dorothea Simms

Resting against his side, she felt some of that weight on her shoulders shift. If her father was willing to take some of it from her, she was going to let him this time. “I thought you were worried regardless.” She commented softly. Finding out his most troubled child was expecting a baby with her boyfriend of 3 days was worrisome. Anyone that knew her, she was certain, would be worried. Looking up at his words, she was going to shake her head, but he was already talking. Thea frowned, quiet for a moment. “But you didn’t.”

Bentley Simms

Ben shook his head immediately. "I did. Your mom and I both did. With all three of you we've screwed up. Big screw ups and not so big ones." The fact that his daughter had ever felt like she couldn't come to him about anything was on the books at one of his biggest screw ups that he would work to fix for as long as he could. "Screwing up your kids a little bit just like worrying about them is part of being a parent. You're, I guess you're gonna figure that out here a hell of a lot sooner than I thought you'd be."

Dorothea Simms

Thea wasn’t sure that she believed it. Her dad had been the best. If she could be half the parent he was, she’d be grateful. Proud. Her first instinct was to reassure him, because if he thought he screwed up with her, because of her actions, it was wrong. “Dad…” She began softly, “My not coming home for all of that time wasn’t something you caused, you, nor Mom.” It was the first time she was admitting this out loud, to anyone. “I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which is a fancy way of saying I get really overwhelmed about different things. It had nothing to do with you. Or anything you did wrong.” Her brown eyes searched his for an understanding. Thea couldn’t help a small laugh at his statement, shrugging, “When has anything I’ve done been expected?”

Bentley Simms

Ben opened his mouth, ready to argue with her. Ready to remind her that he knew she had avoiding coming home after he and Monica had gotten divorced and he knew it was in part because of how different their family looked. But his mouth snapped closed when she confessed about anxiety. He didn't exactly know what that entailed, but he waited patiently as she gave him the simplest explanation. "Oh kid. How long?" He wasn't sure exactly what he was asking, whether it was how long she'd known or how long she'd suspected. It really didn't matter. "Never kid. But you wouldn't be you if you were doing the expected."

Dorothea Simms

Thea shrugged a bit at his question, pulling away from him so that she could look down at her hands instead. It wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, she knew that, but it still felt like something that was wrong with her. “I noticed the feeling when I was traveling, maybe a little before I left, but I didn’t have a name for it. It got worse when I went to college. Every time I thought about coming home…I just couldn’t. And the longer I was away, the worse it was.” She paused, knowing what she was going to say next wouldn’t land well. “Richard knew, not that he told me that I had it, but my therapist says a lot of what he did was exactly what made it worse, and make me more dependent on him. I didn’t know what it was until I started seeing her. That’s what the medication is for.” Not that she really understood how the medication worked, just that she’d felt more level a few days after beginning and it was only getting better. “And you love me, so I guess I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.”

Bentley Simms

There was a lot Ben wanted to say about Thea's ex and none of it was positive. And although she had brought him up, Ben didn't want to taint this conversation with him. The more Ben knew about the man, the more sure he was that he had never been worth his daughter's time. That was even clearer now. "I'm glad the medication is helping," he said instead, taking his daughter's hand in his and giving it a quick squeeze. "I love you exactly like you are and I wouldn't want you to be anyone else."

Dorothea Simms

She nodded, resting her head on her father’s shoulder. “Me too. Though, I should probably check to make sure there’s no ‘Do not take if pregnant’ label on there.” She frowned slightly as she realized something. “Oh no. I have to stop drinking coffee. And Zach’s going to make me eat…healthy.” She cringed dramatically, though she’d eat anything Zach made. “That’s saying a lot, since I’m 27, living at home, pregnant with my boyfriend-of-3-days’ child.” Thea laughed and ran a hand over her face. Another wave of realization at her predicament hit her. “Dad, I’m pregnant.”

Bentley Simms

Ben laughed softly, shaking his head at Thea's dramatics. "Eating healthy won't kill you, I promise. Zach's been making me since he moved back and I'm just fine." Ben started to point out that there was nothing wrong with living at home, even at 27, but he watched as a wave of realization washed over his daughter's face. "You are and it's gonna be okay."

Dorothea Simms

Thea took a deep breath. She was pregnant. She was going to have a baby. She was going to be a mom. It was a lot. More terrifying than anything she’d ever experienced before. “It is.” The youngest Simms girl curled herself back up against her father’s side, her words uncertain. “What if he doesn’t want to be a part of it? What if he’s not ready to be a dad? How do I accept that?”

Bentley Simms

Ben wrapped his arms around Thea when she curled back against his side. "Ahh, kid if he doesn't want to be part of it, if he's not ready, you've got people." He very much hoped Grayson, even if he wasn't ready now would step up and be there for Thea. He didn't know the man, had only met him in passing at the various events Thea had taken him to with her, so he couldn't promise anything, but he was going to be positive. "And if he's an asshole about it, we've got a lotta land."

Dorothea Simms

This was turning out better than she thought it was going to with her father. She knew, despite her internal panic, that her father wasn’t going to turn her away at the news. But his comfort and support meant the world to her. “I know…I just don’t want to be something he regrets. And I don’t want this…embryo? Zygote? To ever think it’s not lovable.” Because that was the worst feeling in the world. Thea quirked her head up at her dad, unable to help her smile. “A few shovels, too. But…I don’t think Grayson’s capable of being an asshole.”

Bentley Simms

"Kid, if it is something he regrets, that's on him. That's not on you. And if he doesn't step up, your kid is gonna have so many people who love them and are there for them." He chuckled softly. "Then we won't have to find a tucked away piece of land for him to go." He squeezed her shoulders. "Thank you for tell me and not running. I know how hard this is for you."

Dorothea Simms

Thea rested her forehead on her father’s shoulder, taking his words in. She couldn’t believe that anyone not wanting her, in her head or otherwise, was on them. It was something she knew she needed to work on more, but therapy was starting to help with that. “I know, because you and mom both have like…900 family members and I have my friends as well.” She closed her eyes and just allowed herself to still beside him. “I don’t want to run anymore.” Dorothea confessed, wishing she could explain that that wasn’t what she’d meant to do, not fully at least, with Gabe. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. I missed you guys so much. I don’t want to miss you all again.”

Bentley Simms

"We missed you too," Ben assured his daughter. Family was the most important thing to him and nothing ever felt right when his children were in a place where he couldn't easily see them. And though he knew he could have flown out to see Thea, he'd also wanted to respect the distance she put between herself and Wakefield. "You're not alone now, kid. You weren't really then either. Any of us woulda come to you." He fell silent, part of his still processing that he was going to have two grandchildren by this time next year and part of him just letting a long work day ease off his shoulders.

Dorothea Simms

Thea turned and wrapped her arms fully around her dad. How much pain she had caused herself by keeping away from them all for so long. “I know…and I’m sorry I didn’t know then. But I know now.” She wanted to comfort him through this, as he comforted her so many times before. Quietly, she began to hum the song he used to sing to all of his kids, hoping it provided him with the same safe and calming headspace that it had always offered her.

Bentley Simms

Ben's eyes fell closed as he listened to Thea hum one of the old country songs he'd sang his children years ago when putting them to bed. He'd hummed it to Thea the night she'd come home to comfort her. Hell to comfort himself. "Someday, a hell of a lot sooner than I'd planned I'm gonna be singing that song to your kid and Nora's kid when they spend the night." This stage in life was new to him, and he wasn't sure he was anywhere near fully ready for it yet, but he knew he'd get there, slowly and steadily.

Dorothea Simms

She was happy to provide that moment of solace to him, as he had countless times in her life. The thought of Ben singing that song to a little bundle of joy that belonged to her made her chest swell with emotion. “My kid…” she murmured, sighing softly, “My kid is going to love you as much as I love you. And they’re going to be the luckiest kid to have you to sing them to sleep.”

Bentley Simms

"Your kid," he echoed. Whoever her kid was, whoever they turned out to be, Ben knew they were going to be lucky. Thea had put herself through hell trying to figure out who she was and as hard as that was for him as he dad to watch, he knew now that it was leading to good things. Leading to his daughter growing into an amazing young woman. Even though she didn't see it yet. "I'm not gonna pretend I'm fully on board with this, kid. But I'm proud of you and I know that you're gonna be okay."

Dorothea Simms

Thea pulled back and looked curiously at him, not sure what he meant. “Fully on board with what? My…being pregnant?” She wasn’t fully on board with it either, but knew that once the news settled, she’d find peace with it. Her instinct was already to keep the invader safe from ever calling it an accident. Or saying she didn’t want it. It would always know how wanted it was, that was her goal. “Thank you. That…that means a lot.

Bentley Simms

"Not you being pregnant. I...you're stubborn enough that you're going to do just fine. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about the fact that you and Grayson have only been dating for a couple of days. You have people, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna worry. I'm your dad, it's my job." He'd had the same worries when Nora told them she was expecting. "I love you, kid."

Dorothea Simms

Thea nodded, understanding where he was coming from. “I am too.” She admitted. Grayson was so sweet and different from the people she usually let into her life romantically. He was good to her and she wanted to see where they would go. This certainly complicated things, but when push came to shove, she knew she’d do right by the life growing inside of her, because that’s what Ben would do. And if she was going to be a parent, she wanted to be one like him. “Leave it to me to be pregnant 3 days into dating him.” Thea rested against her father’s side. “I love you too, Dad.”

#bentley x dorothea #int; bentley #pregnancy tw #discord thread

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isabilightwood · 3 years

Text

The Problem with Authority - Chapter 6

[Ao3][1][2][3][4][5]

Or, Sacrifice Summon! Jiang Yanli is here to make things right, be the ultimate big sister (step 1: bring back her dead brother), and maybe steal the Peacock throne in the process

Deciding to resurrect A-Xian was one thing. Putting the plan into action was entirely another. And unfortunately, the first step rested entirely on Nie Huaisang’s shoulders.

Nie Huaisang was not inclined to hurry. “I can’t snap my fingers and check every little town in the Cultivation World for one little snake,” he said, when she sent a butterfly to ask for updates. “I’m a miracle worker, not a god.”

Jiang Yanli understood this. But it felt like she was waiting around again for A-Xian to return from the Burial Mounds. Only this time, without an anxious A-Cheng to support, she had far less patience to spare.

One month felt as long as three.

While she waited, Jiang Yanli returned to Qin Su’s duties. The frequency of the garden parties had decreased, fortunately, with the changing weather and replacement of the extended family’s vault access with allowances. They were, as Jiang Yanli had predicted, very upset about the allowances. Muttering about how Jin Guangyao was taking away their rightful inheritance

And so, Jiang Yanli did paperwork in her office. Night hunt expenses and responses to letters about the watchtowers, often with Qi Juan keeping her company. Embroidering cranes onto a plain outer robe, while her baby napped, or crawled determinedly about the floor. Qi Juan found embroidery relaxing, as cooking was for Jiang Yanli — which she still could not do, thanks to Qin Su’s disastrous ability in that department — and was turning out to be very capable in finance.

She took meetings in her office now, too, with more than just the staff. The way she had convinced sect leaders to bend at the cultivation conference had been noticed, and some wanted to feel her out. They brought small but expensive gifts and tested her ability to sidestep seemingly innocuous questions. Asked her advice on night hunting cases or local issues the knew perfectly well how to solve. On occasion, she surprised her visitor with a piece of the puzzle they’d missed, and they left more intrigued by her than they’d begun.

It was never anything that threatened Jin Guangyao. Not yet. But he’d definitely noticed.

Unfortunately, A-Ling rarely joined them. He spent his days in the novice classes, for new disciples still working on forming their golden cores. Jiang Yanli had reorganized her schedule to spend more time with him, a few more hours out of the week teaching the very basics of sword forms. It was time she didn’t have. But it gave her more than just two meals a day — shared with Jin Guangyao, at least twice a week — and A-Ling’s bedtime with her son.

Qin Su continued her experiments with papermen, slowly increasing the amount of time she was able to stay away. It seemed to bring her more genuine pleasure than anything else, and so Jiang Yanli encouraged her, though she was anxious when Qin Su was out of sight. She couldn’t feel Qin Su when she was out of body, and it felt viscerally wrong, like something was missing.

Jiang Yanli was losing sleep over it, but with Qin Su’s golden core to compensate, she could manage.

Wen Qing was a comfort. She, too, had trouble sleeping, and was often up past the time when Jiang Yanli could no longer keep her eyes open.

They spoke frequently of the little brothers they each missed, and especially of A-Xian, two of the only people in the world who truly missed him. Finally, Jiang Yanli learned how he had lived those years in the Burial Mounds, and while much of it was heartbreaking, there was joy there too. So much more than she had dared to hope for.

She told Wen Qing in turn about A-Xian’s first talisman experiment. How he’d made and fastened a gigantic umbrella to Jiang Yanli’s boat, so she, too, could spend the entire day on the lake when A-Niang was in a mood. How he’d tried so hard to hide his pain at every turn.

Other times she simply told Wen Qing about her day, how A-Ling had done well on a quiz, or of his difficulty focusing during quiet solitary core formation exercises. About the antics of her older disciples, and the strangest questions an envoy asked or the most ridiculous demands by the extended Jin family.

Leading the pack was a proposal for a solid gold temple on a branch clan’s lands. They had heard of gold-coated temples in lands to the south that were reportedly more impressive than Koi Tower, and sought to outdo them without a thought for structural stability. Not to mention where they thought to find that much pure gold.

Jiang Yanli had informed them they could gild as many temples as they wanted on their own budget.

In return, Wen Qing told her of medical techniques she had invented or learned, far beyond the extent of Jiang Yanli’s knowledge. From surgeries on clouded eyes from a land of lush river banks and imposing desert pyramids far to the west to Wen Qing’s own use of acupuncture to redirect the flow of qi, enabling her excise the sort of meridian blockages that led to qi deviation, or siphon off resentful energy into the air.

Jiang Yanli had always been a good listener. But it was during those times, when she had the least to add to the conversation, that Jiang Yanli most often drifted to sleep.

She would have felt guilty, but she suspected that was Wen Qing’s intention. Instead, it only made her feel lighter, to be able to speak to someone honestly, about ordinary things without them knowing her every thought.

Usually, if she’d fallen asleep before Qin Su returned, she stirred slightly as she settled back in, and drifted back to sleep.

One night, Qin Su returned from her explorations feeling confused, and darkly contemplative. Though Jiang Yanli had managed to fall asleep in her absence, while Wen Qing was telling her how adding Schisandra berries to Jiang Yanli’s medication might have helped with her breathing problems, she came to full alertness as Qin Su slipped back into her head.

Something had happened.

I thought I saw resentful energy coming from Mo Xuanyu’s sleeve.

That wasn’t surprising. Mo Xuanyu had taken Xue Yang’s place as Jin Guangyao’s pet demonic cultivator, after all.

But he was flirting with the Kong Sect Heir, by the fountain in the garden closest to the Fragrance Hall, it seemed, from the image Qin Su showed her, and he didn’t seem to notice anything strange. He just kept blushing, and making abortive movements towards holding Xuanyu’s hand.

That was strange, she agreed. Not to mention, she’d thought he was flirting with the Luo Sect Heir.

Yes, he was, just last week.

Jiang Yanli had yet to meet the youngest of the Jin siblings. She would need to arrange to meet him, eventually, if he continued to prove elusive. Neither Nie Huaisang nor Wen Qing had the slightest idea what Mo Xuanyu was working on, and that could prove dangerous.

But meeting him would have to wait, because Nie Huaisang had finally found the fugitive he was searching for.

Before the sect leaders departed Koi Tower, Jiang Yanli had received a personal invitation to visit Baota for further negotiations with Sect Leader Zhai. To her surprise, she also been invited to visit the Qi Sect, in Chenggu, which had already agreed to a trial of three watchtowers, in its most productive farming region. Jin Huiqing had also patted her cheek and demanded a visit — it had been too long, apparently.

The behavior seemed strange to Jiang Yanli, but Qin Su insisted it was normal.

She chose a date for her travels only after she heard from Nie Huaisang.

There was no question that Qi Juan and Zhai Xia would join her to visit their families, but Jiang Yanli also wanted to bring A-Ling along.

“I’m concerned about the safety risk,” Jin Guangyao said with his usual plastered-on dimples.

“I’m more concerned with the security at Koi Tower.” Jiang Yanli informed him bluntly.

And because he couldn’t just admit that he had killed his own son, he conceded.

A-Ling might be able to finally meet his dajiu, so long as he didn’t know who A-Xian was.

In Baota, Jiang Yanli prospective sites for watchtowers, and was invited to spar with Zhai Qiaolian and their wives. “Just swords, no tricks with cultivation. We wouldn’t want to steal each other’s secrets by accident.”

Jiang Yanli wasn’t entirely certain what they meant by that, but as it would not require her to have mastered remote sword manipulation, she agreed.

And lost, soundly, to two out of three. It was some consolation that Qin Su claimed she would have also lost. Unfortunately, Zhai Xia finally extracted a promise that when she returned to Koi Tower, Qin Su would spar with her.

But her performance seemed to have pleased Zhai Qiaolian in some way, and they spent her final afternoon there sipping tea under a canopy while watching the Zhai disciples showcase their skills. A-Ling watched the sparring raptly from her lap, while discussing logistics.

As they left the training field, Qi Juan grabbed her by the left arm. Her vision swum at a sudden rush of pain. She fought to keep from crying out. She peeled Qi Juan’s fingers away, and the pain began to ebb.

“Oh, sorry! Are you hurt?” Qi Juan hovered frantically.

Jiang Yanli shrugged her off. “Just a cut. I was careless while sparring with Zhai-zongzhu. What was it?”

“Zhai-zongzhu just let us see their sect’s techniques.”

Oh. Interesting. It was impossible to tell whether that thought came from her or Qin Su.

Her stop in Chenggu was much shorter, but she left Qi Juan with her family, claiming she would herself like to pay a visit to Jin Huiqing on her way back to Lanling.

It was, as Qin Su pointed out, a good excuse to send the guards back to Koi Tower ahead of them. If they complained at being sent away, it could be considered an insult to Jin Huiqing. They were, after all, not only Qin Su’s husband’s own cousin (and though it was not publicly known, her own), but her older sister’s (estranged) sworn sibling.

The guards left. They would likely keep watch in Lanling, and arrange to join her as she returned to the tower to avoid censure from their sect leader. That was fine. It wasn’t as though she intended to parade A-Xian back to Koi Tower.

Jin Guangyao might find out she’d dismissed the guards, if he had spies watching the city closely enough, but the guard certainly wouldn’t tell him.

In Fengyang, Jiang Yanli found herself buried under a mountain of the friendliest cats she had ever met. Even A-Ling, who was loudly insistent that he liked dogs, deigned to scratch a few ears, after the first time a cat purred and planted itself in his lap.

As the Sect Leader was out of town on a night hunt, it proved a perfect opportunity to ask a burning question.

“What happened, between you and Qin- my sister?” Sworn siblings did not simply drift apart. “I know she’s angry, but…”

Huiqing hummed, shifting the placement of one of the two cats on their lap so it was no longer seated on the other’s head. “Oh, she has her reasons. Qin Xifeng would say I shirked my duty.”

She followed Qin Su’s lead for the conversation, as Huiqing might know her well enough to tell the difference. “Just for marrying out? For not, what, bringing Fengyang closer to Lanling?”

“No, no, though perhaps she would argue that as well. Our falling out was a matter of timing.” They sighed, and missed the same cat rolling back on top of its friend. “I would have thought you would agree with her, A-Su.”

Because of my — Qin Su shuddered — marriage? It’s not like my sister talks to me enough for me to know her opinions. A few times, she’s visited Koi Tower to meet with Jin Guangyao, and I only found out after she left. Her former friends must have spent more time with me than she did, growing up. But then again --

“My sister doesn’t have fifty of the friendliest cats in the world.”

They laughed. “That’s true. She doesn’t!”

Visiting Huiqing as Qin Su was a rather different experience from the times they, Mianmian, and occasionally Qin Xifeng had sought her out during the Sunshot campaign, when they drafted idle cultivators into doing the grunt work for Jiang Yanli’s kitchens and infirmary. Or later, during their brief tenure as first disciple, helping her gently bully Zixuan though social interactions.

She was there for no more than two days, but she felt completely and utterly spoiled.

Is this the meimei treatment? She asked, slightly dazed.

Just wait until you meet my brother. Qin Su informed her with a strange mix of smugness and exasperation. Kind of like Jiang Cheng, on a good day.

From Fengyang, she doubled back westwards, into Lieshan, meeting Nie Huaisang in a town at the base of a small mountain range. Somewhere in those foothills, there was a town that specialized in funeral goods, shrouded in blood-spattered rumors.

She wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of leaving A-Ling with Nie Huaisang, but she wouldn’t take her son into danger under any circumstances. Fortunately, it seemed Nie Huaisang had brought along five of his own disciples. The tallest of them, a woman almost as broad shouldered as Nie Mingjue had been, lit up at the sight of A-Ling, and immediately produced a pair of wooden swords from her sleeve. “May I?”

Jiang Yanli nodded for her to go ahead, and A-Ling was vigorously whacking the sword the woman held firm with his own before she had even exchanged greetings.

Nie Huaisang’s entourage was clustered around two tables, with a spot open across from him. He was not quite the smallest of the group in height, but even the short one had more muscle mass. Yet — when Nie Huaisang asked his disciples to give them privacy, they thumped him companionably on the back, making him grimace and smile, before obeying. He lead them not only because of his bloodline, but because he was theirs.

She placed the pot of lotus and pork rib soup she’d gotten up early to make on the table. At least in an inn, no one thought her likely to burn anything down. A-Ling had wanted to help, when she’d been slicing the roots, pouted when she wouldn’t let him use a knife, and then adorably bouncy when she let him taste the results. Replacing the heating talisman that was beginning to peel off, she took a seat.

“You’re certain this is Xue Yang? Not a local Yiling Patriarch copycat, or someone trying to bring their village notoriety?” After all, the village in question had been plagued with early deaths long before a demonic cultivator began to take a staring role.

Xue Yang would be attracted to such a place, but so would any garden variety demonic cultivator.

Nie Huaisang produced a fan just to flutter it dismissively. “Oh, it’s him. No one else has the skill or ability to play with their victims the way he does.”

Oh, great. We’re using an even more twisted mass murderer to resurrect the Yiling Patriarch. Fuck. Qin Su vanished into the talisman tucked into her sleeve when she realized Jiang Yanli had heard that. She didn’t get the chance to say that she understood why Qin Su, who had never met A-Xian, would be worried.

Jiang Yanli shrugged off her apprehension. “All right. How do I get there?”

“Ah. I’ll be going into the foothills with you.” Nie Huaisang said lightly — too lightly, given his promises to the contrary. “Not to confront Xue Yang, of course. I value my life more than that. But the rumors of walking corpses go far beyond what any demonic cultivator has achieved since the Yiling Patriarch. Since Wen-guniang confirmed that Wei-xiong made his Tiger Seal from some creepy sword he found in a monster’s belly…”

“What do you want with the Yin Iron?” She asked, in a pleasant tone.

If Nie Huaisang took it as threatening, that was his problem. Constant suggestions of ways to throw her baby brother into danger would not be tolerated.

A-Xian would have to help depose Jin Guangyao, because that was how the Sacrifice Summon worked, without risking whatever Qin Su had done to them both. Or leaving A-Xian trapped in a nightmare, with Xue Yang in his head. But she wanted to keep him safe, outside of situations that could not be avoided.

“Nothing! But I bet Wei-xiong could find a use for it.” He backtracked when she glared. No one was handing A-Xian Yin Iron if she had anything to say about it. “Or at the very least destroy it.”

“You were supposed to watch A-Ling.”

At that, he laughed. “Oh, no, Xiaodan is much better at keeping children alive than I am. I’m far too easily distracted for babysitting.”

Nie Xiaodan, the muscular woman, lifted her head at the sound of her name. “We’ll keep your little man entertained. He won’t have a scratch on him.”

“I’ll be very impressed if that’s the case. He’s managed to skin a knee or elbow every day of this trip so far.” A-Ling had been very dramatic about it, every time, even after she bent to his demands to kiss it better. “But isn’t it your duty to protect your sect leader?”

Nie Xiaodan did not miss a beat in her mock duel with A-Ling as she replied, though she was only watching him from the corner of her eye. “Eh, he’ll be fine. If A-Sang can sneak around Koi Tower without getting caught, he can avoid a demonic cultivator. Better to have us guard this little troublemaker, we’d only get in A-Sang’s way. Damn, your nephew hits hard. He’ll fit right in.”

Tall, muscular, and good with children — she would have been exactly Jiang Yanli’s type, as a teenager, when she secretly dreamed of being rescued and carried off to a happily ever after. Before A-Xuan returned her feelings, and she realized how much she liked that he liked being ordered around.

A-Ling beamed, and redoubled his efforts.

“I’d ask you not to teach him any more swears, but his jiujiu has already made that a moot point.” At least A-Ling did not yet understand what they meant, cheerfully exclaiming shit when he dropped something on purpose. Getting him to stop was a hopeless battle.

Jiang Yanli supposed she had no more arguments against Nie Huaisang accompanying her. “Fine. I’m sure you’re very good at hiding.”

He beamed like she’d given him a compliment. “I am!”

From the first step into the foothills, the world felt slightly out of place. It wasn’t anything obvious. The sky was the same blue with wispy clouds as it had been in town. The dirt was dirt; the trees were trees. The grass, such as it was in the wilting autumn, was grass. But the golden haze of the afternoon sun felt more like a nightmare than a dream, and the path forward seemed like the road to hell. Nie Huaisang lagged behind, uncharacteristically silent.

You don’t see it? Qin Su asked.

Looking around again, she could see nothing that might have drawn her interest. See what?

The fog of resentment. At Qin Su’s nonplussed words, she received a flash of an image. A doubling of the scenery before her, but with dark, smoke-like wisps overlaying everything. It didn’t seem to be doing anything, wasn’t drawn toward them with the intent to harm. It was simply there.

When A-Xian had used demonic cultivation to control resentful energy directly, rather than through corpses, he appeared to be pulling the energy from his surroundings as well as the amulet. There were even types of ghosts that could hide, undetectable by cultivation, until provoked. Could Qin Su be seeing ambient resentful energy?

That would explain what I saw with Mo Xuanyu, but not how I can see it. And then, quietly. Am I a tethered ghost?

Jiang Yanli didn’t know how to answer that. Though Qin Su was certainly angry, she didn’t feel like any resentful ghost she had ever come across. Not that there had been many, given her low cultivation and disinterest in night hunting. She’d only been given enough practical training to be able to get away to find help if she ran into one. Perhaps A-Xian would know.

However I’m seeing it, it’s getting thicker. Qin Su said with an undertone of worry a few minutes later. That probably meant they were approaching the village, and Xue Yang.

Soon after, they came across a teenage girl squatting off the side of the road, picking mushrooms.

“Hello,” she said, “I’m looking for someone. Do you think you might be able to help us?”

Though her irises were almost white, she had clearly been looking at the mushrooms she was gathering. “Might be, if you tell me something about them. Who’s us?”

She turned back to find that Nie Huaisang had vanished while she was paying attention to the girl.

He had claimed to be good at hiding.

“Just me then. I’m a cultivator, looking for a member of my sect. He’s a young man, who favors dark colors and candy. He’s missing a pinky, and I’ve heard his laugh described as skin crawling.”

“Please tell me you’re here to take that asshole away forever.” The girl groaned.

Clearly Xue Yang had not endeared himself to everyone in this town. Likely only, mysteriously, Xiao Xingchen. “That is the plan, yes.”

“Thank the heavens, my prayers have been answered.” She threw her head back and clasped her hands together. Looking back at Jiang Yanli, she said, “No, seriously, I have been leaving offerings in the village shrine and I’ve never done that before for anything. I don’t know why you want him back, but please take him far, far away.”

Qin Su’s amusement bled over into her, and Jiang Yanli laughed. “I see he’s made an impression. Where is he now?”

She shrugged. “Probably bothering Daozhang while pretending to help him peel vegetables. I’ll show you.”

The people they passed in the street looked downtrodden and miserable, more than she would have expected from a town that was a bit weathered and far from wealthy, but in good repair.

The air is chocked with resentful energy. Qin Su shuddered. That can’t be good for them.

The girl brought her to the entrance of a courtyard, and paused.

“He’s over there. I’m gonna go be… somewhere else.” She turned on her heel and walked back in the direction they’d come.

This was it. Her one chance to bring back A-Xian. She took a deep breath, and plastered on a smile.

When Jiang Yanli entered the courtyard, she saw a man dressed all in white, with a strip of cloth over his eyes was bent over a basket, smiling at a man in black who was leaning halfway into his lap, obstructing the first man’s progress. This must be Xiao Xingchen, the celebrated disciple of Baoshan Sanren. Of whose relationship with his former cultivation partner A-Xian had not so much expressed envy, as radiated it from every pore.

Yet now here he was, smiling obliviously at the man who had ruined his life.

Xue Yang pressed a kiss to Xiao Xingchen’s cheek and burst into unhinged laughter as he pulled away. Xiao Xingchen only blushed, and kept working.

(“What?” She’d asked, when Wen Qing suggested that someone might deserve having their soul destroyed.

“If anyone deserves it, it’s Xue Yang.” Wen Qing had said.

Then, Jiang Yanli had not disagreed. And when Wen Qing had explained Xue Yang’s obsession with A-Xian, she had known he was the best — no, only real possibility.

But now, she fully understood.)

Xue Yang looked up, and narrowed his eyes. He recognized Qin Su, of course, but must be surprised she would know enough of him to track him down. “Gege,” He said in a disconcertingly sweet voice. “There’s a pupp—”

“Shidi!” She cried out, and he paused, confused. “We’ve all been so worried!”

Xiao Xingchen was delighted to learn that his young companion was not quite so alone in the world as he’d believed, and immediately invited her to sit, and have some tea. Jiang Yanli was not going to drink anything that had been in Xue Yang’s vicinity, of course, but it wasn’t as though Xiao Xingchen would notice.

“It’s a small temple sect near the border of Lanling. He crossed a group disciples from the Jin Sect by mistake, and by the time we realized what was happening, he was gone.” Turning to Xue Yang, she gushed, “I’m so glad we’ve found you.”

“Are the Jins not still looking for me?” Xue Yang probed.

“Oh, they’ve forgotten all about us.”

“Gege, would you mind giving us a minute?” Xue Yang asked.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your reunion.” Xiao Xingchen patted him on the cheek as best he could, and took his basket of vegetables inside.

She dropped her fake cheer as Xue Yang allowed his malice to come to the forefront. “Xingchen-ge doesn’t eavesdrop. It’s sickening how pure he thinks he is.”

“Yet you’re here, anyway, playing house.”

“Wow, someone grew a spine.” He was cruelly delighted.

Wow, I have not missed him. Qin Su mocked his diction. By the way, he’s not the only source of the resentful energy here, but there is a lot of it clinging to him.

“Oh, oh! Let me guess. You found out you fucked your brother. Are you mad about the incest baby? You want me to take care of the great Lianfang-zun for you?” He laughed. Without the simpering quality he’d added for Xiao Xingchen’s sake, goosebumps immediately covered her skin. “Too bad, I’m busy. Go away and go stab him in the back yourself.”

That hadn’t been the part she predicted having difficulty selling him on. “He had you beaten and left for dead. Don’t you want revenge?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I’ll get around to it eventually, if no one else gets there first. Cheer up! You get first whack at him. I have some suggestions if you want them.” He counted them off on his five-fingered hand. “Castration, branding, carving up his skin, peeling off his nails while he screams for mercy. Choose your favorite murder fantasy and go wild!”

Those are his murder fantasies? He is… not creative. Jin Guangyao already went through the branding and skin carving to become Wen Ruohan’s direct servant. I’ve seen the scars. Qin Su paused. Please do not remind me why I’ve seen the scars.

Jiang Yanli did not have to pretend to be disgusted; Xue Yang’s presence alone achieved that effect. “What if I could offer you the spirit of the Yiling Patriarch? All access, in your head, for the time it takes to get revenge.”

There was a spark of interest in his eyes, quickly replaced by fury. “No one’s been able to find the Yiling Patriarch’s spirit. If you tease me too much, I might not let you go after all.”

Presumptuous to assume he could take her in a fight. His skill with a sword was undoubtedly greater, true, but she had A-Xian’s talismans on her side. “Who said I needed to find it? His spirit will be sucked into you from wherever he is.”

She offered him a copy of the body-reshaping version of the Sacrifice Summon, with heavily edited captions in Wen Qing’s handwriting. Most notably, describing an infusion of resentful energy, the desire for revenge, and the caster’s blood as the catalyst for a non-controlling possession.

“Yaoyao did say the next thing to be transcribed would be a summoning of some sort. Is this it?” Eyes glittering, he leaned forward into her space, forcing her to lean back to avoid the stale candy scent of his breath. “How in the world did you get it? No one’s more paranoid than Yaoyao.”

Yaoyao. Qin Su sniggered. He must have hated that. I bet that’s the real reason he threw Xue Yang out of Koi Tower.

She shrugged. “I suppose he didn’t think leaving it where his wife might come across it would be a risk. It hadn’t been before.”

“Why are you offering me this? Why not summon the Yiling Patriarch yourself?” He squinted suspiciously, because it was so far out of the realm of his comprehension that someone might not want the so-called scourge of the cultivation world in their head. “Unless you’re not sure it works, and think I’m expendable and gullible.”

“No, I know it works. I can’t summon him myself because I’ve already used it.” She held out her arm, and pulled up her sleeve to show an old-looking cut, still raw at the edges. Jiang Yanli’s was not from the ritual, of course. If it had been, Qin Su would be gone forever.

Wen Qing had guided her through the steps to keep a cut open, and she’d rubbed the herbal mixture over the cut every night since she’d left Koi Tower. It was the best approximation they could make, for the cuts that wouldn’t heal until A-Xian got Xue Yang’s revenge.

“Who’s in your head, then?” He asked, intrigued.

“Jiang Yanli.”

“Who?”

She blinked. “The — the Yiling Patriarch’s shijie? Jin Ling’s mother.”

Somehow, it had never occurred to her that Xue Yang might not know who she was. She felt a moment of panic, wondering how she could prove it wasn’t simply a trick if they had to resort to Qin Su pretending to be her in a paperman.

He shrugged. “Ok, you’d probably have picked someone important if you were lying. But she really wants me to summon her brother? Seems unlikely.”

This was the trickiest bit — phrasing an argument in a way Xue Yang would both understand, and expect another person to understand. Wen Qing had coached her extensively on how to avoid setting Xue Yang off. Hopefully, this domestic fantasy of his had not changed his perceptions too much. “She’s as angry as I am. You’re good at murdering people; she wants to talk to her brother again. You get the Yiling Patriarch’s expertise in exchange for binding you to something you intend to do anyway.”

“Hm. I don’t like binding contracts.” Xue Yang said, even as his lips curved upwards with wicked intent. “But — Xingchen-ge!”

Xiao Xingchen emerged from the house, stopping in the doorway. “Yes?”

“I’m going on a trip!” Xue Yang exclaimed, the transformation back into his adoring persona even more disturbing now that she’d seen the real thing.

“Are you going home now? Are you certain it’s safe?”

He hummed off-key. “For a bit, at least. Maybe I’ll be back here, before you know it.”

“You will, of course, be welcome.” Xiao Xingchen said softly. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Xingchen-ge!” Xue Yang sounded almost genuine as he ran inside. There was a sound of things falling as he presumably packed his qiankun bags.

Creepy. At least he won’t be missing anyone soon.

“Are you already leaving tonight?”

Xue Yang’s focus was already elsewhere. “Oh, yeah, we have time to get down to town before nightfall.”

“You must be eager to see your sect siblings again. I understand.” Xiao Xingchen sounded sad, but he would be better off without him.

“Sure.” Xue Yang said noncommittally.

When Xue Yang was packed, Jiang Yanli walked out of the courtyard a few steps behind him. She didn’t trust him at her back. “There’s an empty warehouse a few streets over. I’ll do it there.”

“You’re eager, for someone who doesn’t like binding contracts.”

“I’ve wanted to steal the Yiling Patriarch’s secrets for years, of course I am. Besides, the strength of the resentful energy in Yi City should help with the array. I barely even had to build it up myself, it was already like this!”

“I… see.” So if Qin Su was worried she was seeing something that wasn’t really there, she could stop that now.

I don’t think Xue Yang’s word proves that. But I was thinking that was what he did.

“No second thoughts now!” Xue Yang turned to walk backwards, clasping his hands behind his back. “What’s the soup for, by the way?”

“You’ll be starving after. I was.” She lied. “And this was Wei Wuxian’s favorite dish.”

Xue Yang’s grin widened to unnatural proportions. “Oh? The Yiling Patriarch’s favorite? I’m learning things already!”

Xue Yang drew the array with an intense focus Jiang Yanli hadn’t thought him capable of only moments earlier. She watched from a safe distance near the wall.

“Hmm, I can add more than one target, right? So that’ll be Su She. Those Jin guards who beat me. Fuck, I need to know their names, don’t I?” He tapped a paintbrush, red with his own blood, against his chin. “Let’s see, it was… Fan Caining, Jin Qian…”

He listed four more names as he inscribed them in the appropriate places around the array, all of whom were relatively strong cultivators, but outer disciples, or Jins too far removed from the main line to be named by the generational poem. All of them, according to Qin Su, sycophants. As happy to take unscrupulous orders as go night hunting.

Xue Yang looked up. “Do you think I should add Yao-zongzhu?”

She didn’t think anyone would be particularly upset if he died, but that was already eight people who would have to die for A-Xian’s new lease on life to become permanent. “Has he ever done anything to you?”

“Only tried to annoy me to death.”

“I don’t think the array would count that, no.” Jiang Yanli knew no such thing. But A-Xian wouldn’t be particularly happy about the guards as it as.

Xue Yang sighed wistfully. “You’re probably right. I’ll just have to get around to him at some point. And I can’t add Xingchen-ge or Song Lan or the brat, because of the time limit. Only a year? No, I want to draw that out.”

With one final symbol, the array was complete. Xue Yang hummed to himself as he carved the incisions into his arms. As he finished the last one, resentful energy was pulled towards him, now visible, from the surrounding air.

At first, he laughed.

Until the first black bubble formed on his hand, like the pustules on a rotting fierce corpse.

Xue Yang stared at it, in shock, and swore viscously as he shook it out. Black blood landed on the ground with a wet splat. That didn’t stop more bubbles from forming, and proliferating. Even as he shook them off, the discarded bubbles began to inch back towards him.

Jiang Yanli was horrified, and a little fascinated, her eyes glued to the transformation.

Qin Su balled up in her mind just enough to block her vision.

Even as she watched Xue Yang die, and she became a murderer, Jiang Yanli did not regret her choice.

Xue Yang finally accepted what was happening as the bubbles reached his neck. “You lied, you bi—”

The bubbles covered his mouth, cutting off the insult. His eyes were left for last, betrayed, and conscious to the very end. The body dropped to the ground, a seething mass of twitching darkness, as the reshaping continued.

Eventually, it lay still, human in appearance once again. Unmoving.

Just as Jiang Yanli was beginning to wonder if that was it, a flash of light shot down into the body - A-Xian’s body now, she could accept nothing else — and a cloud of resentful energy flew out from the array, making her flinch and cough.

When it cleared, Jiang Yanli rushed to the edge of the array, desperate to reach her brother. But she stopped, afraid to cross the barrier too soon.

A curtain of dark hair obscured his features, stealing away her chance to make sure that this body, at least, was his.

Qin Su sent soothing waves to her, but didn’t say anything. She, too, was caught in breathless anticipation.

When he finally stirred, she gasped.

A-Xian looked up at her through bleary eyes.

#the untamed #cql #wangxian #yanqing #qin su #my fic #the sacrifice summon! JYL fic #where the summoner (qin su) sticks around #this time featuring the resurrection of wei wuxian #with a twist #i really need to get better at timely tumblr posts ugh

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