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jayeray-hq · 3 years

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How He Shows You Affection: Sakusa Kiyoomi

Timeskip/Manga Spoilers

Warnings: mentions of phobia and panic attacks, barely hinted NSFW

How He Shows You Affection Masterlist - Character Masterlist

Big thanks to the amazing Tay from Haikyuu Headquarters @deathcab4daddy who beta read for me, and told me to tag @dymphnasprose in this!

He Takes the Hardest Chores

You and Sakusa stared in muted horror at the mess that had once been your immaculate kitchen. The whole thing had started that morning when you’d noticed water leaking from under your sink as you were getting ready to go to work. Sakusa had already left for practice, so you’d been forced to stay behind and call into work late as you tried to get ahold of your apartment management and maintenance people.

You’d managed to get a large bucket under it, and had been assured by management that it would be taken care of. Thus, you’d left for work, though not before leaving a message for your germophobic boyfriend who would definitely need to know, that not only had a pipe under the sink leaked, but that you’d had to let someone into the apartment so they could fix it.

Naturally he hated whenever anyone he didn’t know intruded on his space, it made him incredibly antsy and anxious, which in turn made him act incredibly grumpy, not that you could blame him. You understood his fear was just that, a fear, and you did your best to understand and accommodate, the same way he did his best to never lash out at you and work through his fear.

Thus, you’d known without having to say that you’d probably have to do a deep clean of your apartment when you got home from work and he got home from practice, in order for him to feel safe again. You were more than prepared for it, and had even stopped at the store to pick up a couple refills for cleaning supplies you thought you might’ve been running low on in his favorite brands.

The small detour had meant you arrived home at the same time he did, and though he didn’t look happy at all, he had brightened a bit and even given you a masked kiss to the cheek in greeting when he saw you carrying your supplies. However, you were fairly sure that little bit of good mood had plummeted the minute the two of you had laid eyes on the kitchen.

Management had called you while you were at work to assure you everything was fixed, but had warned you that it wasn’t their job to clean up the mess. You’d acknowledged that, it was actually written into your contract with the apartment complex and had been one of the terms your boyfriend had been incredibly insistent about as he wanted absolutely no one in your apartment cleaning without permission.

However, you couldn’t help the swell of indignation in your chest as you stared at the brackish puddles of water, and clear muddy shoe prints all over the nice hardwood, along with the standing buckets of water, your nice kitchen rugs clearly left to soak in the disgusting mire on your floor. Yes, you’d agreed to do the clean-up, but at the very least they could’ve told you how bad it was, and whoever the repair person had been, could’ve cleaned up after themselves, which they obviously hadn’t if the black handprints on your sink and some of your cupboards meant anything. That wasn’t even touching on the smell, which wreaked of rotten things.

If you’d known about this you would’ve left work early to come home to try to clean things up, that or you never would’ve left in the first place in order to keep an eye on things. As it was, it was very clear to you that several things were ruined and would have to be thrown out, and the whole place aired out.

A quick glance at your boyfriend showed that he’d gone very white behind his mask, his eyes fixated on the mess, his breathing a little shallow, in a way that made you worry he was about to start hyperventilating.

“Kiyoomi?” you prompted gently, wondering if you needed to gently guide him away, get him out of the apartment before the whole thing got to be too much and he had a panic attack.

His dark eyes immediately snapped over to you, and he let out a long slow breath, clearly trying to gather himself. You remained quiet, and let him do what he needed to do, knowing better than to touch him in moments like these, as that only made it worse, but also keeping your eyes on his, as he’d told you before that doing that helped keep him grounded.

“Do you need to leave Kiyoomi?” you asked him gently, “You can step out for an hour, go pick up dinner or something and I can get started? It will be better when you get back I promise.”

“No,” he snapped immediately, the tone harsh and vicious enough to make you flinch, your eyes widening a bit in surprise.

“You go get dinner, and I’ll clean this… this… catastrophe,” he ordered a clear grimace of distaste on his face despite the mask he was still wearing, his dark eyes a little wild, clearly unsettled.

“That’s alright Kiyoomi,” you assured him, still gentle, “I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” he informed you, taking several deep breaths and clearly trying to keep himself calm, “I don’t want you to get dirty. You shouldn’t have to touch this disgusting filth.”

Your heart immediately softened despite the clear disgust in his voice. Most people didn’t realize, but Sakusa was actually fairly protective of the people he cared for. It apparently even extended far enough to the point where despite how afraid and disgusted he was he would rather deal with it himself, rather than have you, who he saw as infinitely precious, deal with it.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it either, Kiyoomi,” you told him, unable to keep the affection from your tone for your boyfriend, who was sweet in his own way, “We’ll do it together alright? And after that we can throw our clothes in the laundry and take a nice clean shower.”

He looked at you, intently for several seconds, clearly wanting to protest, but in the end his shoulders slumped, clearly both relieved and resigned, and the two of you set to work. However, you quickly noticed that despite working together it was very clear he was taking the hardest, grossest parts of your task.

You only tried to protest once, but he refused to listen, giving you a very pointed look that spoke volumes about how very much he didn’t want you to have to touch what he was doing before going back to work. It took the two of you a good couple hours to get everything cleaned to the level that he found acceptable, and by the end both of you were tired, hungry and dirty.

However, as you stepped into the shower, you couldn’t bring yourself to complain or feel unhappy about it, not when he’d clearly gone out of his way to make things easier for you, when he’d tried so very hard to protect you despite his own fears. Instead you felt warm, and incredibly loved, and resolved to use this time before dinner to ensure he felt the same.

He Fusses Over You

“Here,” your boyfriend told you, handing you a small pack of hand sanitizer, clearly never opened, travel sized and ready to go.

“Thanks, Kiyoomi,” you told him with a small amused smile, tucking it into your purse, along with the three other small bottles he’d handed you within the last couple hours.

“Don’t forget you have to use it before and after security,” he told you, his dark brows furrowed with worry, a small crease appearing between the two moles on his forehead as he watched you with concerned dark eyes.

“I will,” you assured him, reaching out carefully, and touching your gloved hands to his. He immediately accepted the touch, twining your fingers together, and squeezing, clearly incredibly anxious.

You knew he absolutely hated when you had to travel, and it was even worse when you had to travel without him. Usually you’d be going with him and the team, but this time work meant you had to leave before he could, the tournament not finished until tomorrow, which meant going on your own. You honestly thought sometimes that he might even hate the fact that you had to travel even more than the fact that he had to travel, especially if you had to take shared transit.

Planes in particular were something he hated with a passion, referring to them as ‘flying petri dishes’ and ‘cesspits of bacteria and disease’ and you on a plane was one of his worst nightmares for that exact reason. It meant he went out of his way to ensure you had everything you might need to keep yourself safe, and always bought you two first class tickets even when he wasn’t travelling with you, so you could have your row of seats all to yourself without fear of contamination.

“You have your extra masks?” he fretted quietly, “And your wipes?”

“I do,” you assured him tenderly, hoping to ease his fears even as your heart melted at how very much he cared and wanted to keep you safe, “And I have extra pairs of gloves, and tissues too.”

“I’ll make sure I decontaminate right away when I get home, and I’ll call you to let you know I’ve gotten there safe alright?” you assured him as the attendant called for boarding.

“Okay,” he told you, releasing a breath that was a bit shaky, as he searched your eyes, “Be safe okay?”

“I will,” you assured him tenderly, a little surprised but not protesting as he gently pressed his forehead to yours, an affectionate gesture the two of you had developed in place of kissing or hugs since he almost always wore a mask in public and didn’t feel comfortable with too much pda.

“I love you,” you told him quietly, “Have a good last game, and I’ll be waiting when you come home.”

“I love you too,” he answered just as quietly, reluctantly letting go of your hands and pulling back, letting you join the queue of people lining up to board.

You gave him one last smile over your shoulder before boarding the plane, taking your seat at the very front and as far from others as you could get. Sitting down with your purse in your lap, you dug through hoping to find your phone to let him know you were seated. You sent him one last I love you text, unable to keep the smile off your lips as you realized he’d somehow managed to sneak one more bottle of hand sanitizer into your purse when you weren’t looking, and unable to feel anything but completely and utterly loved.

He Touches You

You’d known from the beginning that Sakusa was a complete and utter germaphobe, and that a relationship with him wasn’t going to be easy, especially since the thought of touching people skin on skin was something that truly frightened him. A lot of people made jokes about his fear, which always made you frown in disapproval, mostly because while it may seem ridiculous and stupid to them, it was very real to him.

Most people held hands easily after their first date, might even expect to be kissed or hugged, an arm around the waist or shoulders, a gentle hand on their face or arm. That wasn’t you, and with Sakusa you were well aware it would never be you.

It took over a month for Sakusa to feel comfortable holding your hand, and that was only if you were both wearing gloves, and only if you let him know ahead of time that you’d like to do so. Touching him in any way required forethought and clear consent in order to ensure his comfort, and to keep him from panicking.

It was hard, incredibly so, and you inevitably messed up a couple of times, but he always forgave you even when your touch was enough to make him panic or tremble. The same way you always forgave him for hastily dashing to the nearest sink to wash himself clean or pulling out a bottle of hand sanitizer to clean himself off.

However, it was worth it, he was worth it, because you knew how very hard he was working on it, that he didn’t actually think you as a person were disgusting, just the germs you might accidentally carry on your skin, and that he really did want to touch you. He loved you and desperately wanted to give you the things he knew you wanted, so he worked on it, day by day and bit by bit he fought his fears for you.

The day he’d managed to reach for your hand first, with no glove in sight, the skin of his palm against yours and his fingers carefully twining into your grip, you’d nearly cried. You knew how much he’d worked for it, and how much he must love you to manage it, and in turn the gesture had felt incredibly intimate.

Yes, most normal couples would brush it off as something silly, or meaningless, but to the two of you, it meant everything. You knew there would be people who would scoff at your relationship, which moved slower than a snail’s pace, but for the two of you, every step forward was a battle won, every brush of skin on skin without flinching was a triumph and a blatant display of how very much Sakusa loved you.

And you treasured each and every moment of it. After all, who else could say that their boyfriend battled their worst fears just to be with them? Who else had a boyfriend who loved them so much they were willing to do whatever it took to give them what they wanted?

What you had with Sakusa was incredibly intimate and precious, and you didn’t care what anyone else said. It wasn’t your fault they took each and every touch for granted, but looking into his dark eyes, as he gently traced your lips with a bare elegant finger an expression of wonder and deep affection on his face, you promised yourself that you never would.

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa love #sakusa fluff #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa drabble #sakusa imagines #love sakusa #how he shows you affection #JayeRayWrites #haikyuu!!#haikyu imagines #haikyu fluff #haikyū!!

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voltagesmutter · 4 years

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Jumin x MC - Pet Play.

Pairing: Jumin x MC (F).

Fandom: Mystic Messenger.

Prompt: Sensory Deprivation || Pet Play || Licking

Warning: Dark domination, Twisted themes, Oral (female and male), vaginal sex, forced orgasm, pet play, internal cum-shot, daddy kink, possessive Jumin.

Extreme twisted and dark theme’s, please do not read if uncomfortable.

Day three of Kinktober, including prompts from @xxsycamore

Thank you to the amazing, @truth-be-told-im-lying, @hifftn and _Quiche_ for beta-ing for me 💛

Elizabeth. It was a name she loved as a child, making her feel regal and holding a high standard of elegance. As an adult it was a name she came to despise.

“My naughty Elizabeth, trying to run away again! I won’t be so kind to you this time, you’ve upset me for the last time” Since that day her life has been a living nightmare, entrapped in the penthouse of the man she once loved. Her life, her freedom, her everything now stripped away. Her only purpose was to serve. But not as a worker or an employee, but as Jumin’s new beloved pet, Elizabeth.

She spun around once more in the mirror, ensuring her outfit was perfect: a white lace bralette with matching crotchless panties, knee high white stockings, a lace trimmed collar with a bell and white ears intertwined in her hair. If she wasn’t his perfect little kitty, there would be hell to pay.

Jumin controlled everything. Ever since Elizabeth the third had run away he refused to let anything he loved slip away again, turning his lover into his pet. He morphed her into a real life fantasy, even turning her brunette hair, white to keep the memory of his once favorite girl alive. She was his Elizabeth, one that would never see the chance to leave him, he simply wouldn’t allow it and would do anything and everything in his power to stop her from leaving. Even if it meant tying her to the bed for days on end, chaining her ankles to the floor, hiring 24/7 security to patrol the outside of the penthouse, removing pesky ‘friends’ from the RFA who tried to steal her away. Jumin has the power to control it all and that is simply what he does.

The red talons of her nails brushed over Jumin’s latest obsession, a butt plug with a furry white tail attached to the end that came down to her knees. He was kind enough to only demand she wear it when he came home from work and a few hours around the house, especially when he was about to have his way with her. It was hard to put it in herself, but after he demanded she learned so she could do it whilst getting ready, allowing him to come to his “perfect pussy”. It was especially hard with the nails she had on, long deep red acrylics which he made her get every two weeks – the only interaction she has ever had with anyone other than Jumin – although she was tied to the chair whilst two women worked on her hands and there were no conversations or eye contact between them as they did their jobs, and left after being paid a hefty amount of hush money to bid their silence.

She stared at herself in the mirror, not even recognising the reflection in it. Her normal hazel eyes now aqua blue from the contacts, a perfect real life representation of the long-gone cat. The red lipstick staining her lips, a personal favourite touch of Jumin’s, infatuated to see his body covered in her rouge marks. She was a pet Jumin would be able to control forever.

“Oh Elizabeth,” he called out followed by the shutting of a door, Jumin back home already from the few hours he now spent at the office. “Oh, there you are my pretty girl,” he hummed with an outstretched hand as she made her way quickly into the living room. Pathetically she rubbed her hand against his palm, an action she knew he loved. He grinned in approval to see her so submissive, giving her a kiss on the cheek before stepping back to admire her. “My beautiful girl, you.”

“Now,” the sound of his belt un-clinking as she watched him undo it, leather being pulled from looping holes, “Daddy’s had a rough day, make it better for me, pet.” Without a word she dropped to her knees, unfazed to see his cock already hard as he freed it from his trousers, throbbing in his hand as cum, gleaming white already ran down it. He’d been thinking about this moment since he woke up.

Wrapping a hand around his base, she leaned forward to dart her tongue out, kitten licking the head like one would do with a bowl of milk. A groan of approval was met from Jumin, dark eyes fixed on her every moment. Slowly parting her lips, he guided his head into her mouth before thrusting, too impatient to wait, desperate to feel her lips around him. The stretch around him still makes her gag, a man with a dark secret and an eye-watering size cock to match.

“Oh god, Elizabeth,” his hands fisted roughly into her hair, jerking his hips forward as he pushed more of him into her mouth. The blue of her eyes glossed over with tears as she peered up beneath her thick lashes to catch his eye, lips puckered out as he watched more of his cock disappear into her mouth. “I go crazy when you do this, and you know that…” He groaned as if she was in control of the situation.

Saliva pooled at the corner of her mouth, every few thrusts out, it would follow along his meaty thickness and drool down her chin, leaving her chin slicked by the time he began to throb in her mouth. “Good girl, Elizabeth,” he repeated over and over, clutching her hair tighter as he threw his head back. She exhaled through her nose as he pushed her head down until his whole cock was buried into her mouth, lips pressed tightly against his base as she gagged repeatedly. Airway constricted from his movement; regardless of how often he made her deep throat him, the sheer size of his makes her throat constrict and leaves her slightly headed. A weak hum of urgency came out from her as Jumin kept her head in place, shallowly thrusting in a fast pace. Until finally he pulled away, leaving her gasping as a thick trail of saliva from her lips and his head broke apart. Spit mixed with slight pre-release dribbled down her mouth and onto her breasts which heaved up and down, a dark flush of pink upon her skin making the innocence of the white lace stand out more.

“Such a good girl,” Jumin praised. “Keep being a good kitty like that, Miss Elizabeth, and Daddy will make you purr loudly, I promise,”. A twisted smile fell on his face to see her not resisting him, no energy left to push his buttons as Jumin would always win. There was no use in fighting it and if she just does as he says the reward would be worth it all. She knows that much already.

“We should take this to the bed but… I want to stay right here,” Jumin said, undoing his black tie, throwing his jacket and pin-striped shirt to the floor, leaving him fully exposed to her. He held out a hand to help her off her knees, instantly pulling her into his embrace as he kissed her softly. Jumin was always gentle with her regardless of the situation, he wanted to love her, to bring her the highest of pleasure. Hurting her was never his intention. “You even managed to do this all by yourself,” he whispered into the shell of her ear, licking it as his hands travelled down to the globe of her ass, cupping it and spreading her cheeks slightly to reference the tail-plug within. “What a good little kitten I have, I think you deserve a reward.”

“Jumin…” She pressed her hands to his chest but he cut her off.

“Shh, my little kitten, just let Daddy pleasure you and then I promise I’ll give you your favourite treat.'' His thumb rubbed around her lips, smudging the red lipstick in a messy manner.

With that she found herself on the floor, back pressed against the opulent rug threaded from the finest silk of the world, with Jumin’s head buried between her thighs. The underwear and stockings she had worn lay in tatters nearby, Jumin physically ripping them from her body in a much needed attempt to be one with her skin. Bites of red and purple trailed down from her collarbone, a swirling pattern over her breasts and stomach before finally stopping at her sex. She couldn’t stop herself from getting lost in the pleasure, the tickling of his black hair upon her thighs which had hooked over his forearms allowing him to hoist her lower half up closer to his face. Moans and soft whimpers fell from her mouth, growing louder and louder to please him, knowing if she didn’t she’d find her wrists tied to the bed with Jumin edging her until he felt satisfied that she’d learned her lesson.

“Hush now, kitten, Daddy will give you what you need.” His breath warm against her core as he pulled his lips away from it, a thick string of arousal breaking their connection and dripping onto the floor. Two fingers entered her sex whilst his tongue stroked an ‘x’ over her clit in a rapid manner. And just like that-

-“Jumin!” Fingers grasping and tugging onto his hair, her back arched off the rug in an erotic display as she came. His movements never ceasing, he pulled his fingers out to replace them with his tongue, thrusting his hips into the air every time he felt her pulse through his muscle, tongue swirling and licking the inside of her trembling walls until she whimpered with over-stimulation.

Her rouge lipstick smeared around her mouth and across Jumin’s as he forced his tongue into her mouth while he pressed himself on top of her, letting her taste herself upon him. A ‘good girl,’ Jumin praised her when he finally pulled himself from her as she automatically turned around onto her stomach, raising her hips and pushing her knees up, keeping her chest pressed flat to the rug.

“My perfect girl, my beautiful, beautiful girl,” he cooed softly, his words full of his love as he knelt behind her, the flat of his palm tracing up her back and over her ass, giving it a playful pat. He loved her ass, he loved watching his cock disappear into her folds as he took her from behind, the ripple of it as his hips slammed against it.

“My tight, wet little pussy.” His hand dipped below and gave her sex a little slap causing her to hiss, a dark chuckle came from Jumin as he used his other hand to stroke himself to the sight. He pressed the head of his cock against her ass, leaving a glistening streak upon the round on her skin.

“And it’s only for me.”

He positioned himself, gripped her waist and slowly sank into her. Letting the thickness of him stretch her walls, slowly letting his cock drag against the tightness of her as he pushed in further. A raspy, “Oh Elizabeth…” spewed from his mouth and heat filled her as he spilled inside her; slowly pulling his cock back to the head before thrusting it all back in. This often happened, Jumin finding a release within seconds of entering her, his effort to fill her with as much as he could. Jumin wasn’t ready for ‘baby kittens’ or ‘a litter’ as he often said, ensuring his ‘lover’ was on birth-control so he could fill her over and over again without the result of a child. He wasn’t ready to share his Elizabeth, not even with his own kin.

Even after he came, he was still solid – a curse and a blessing for the young girl. Jumin wouldn’t stop until she came at least four times, but he could go for a few good-long rounds, meaning sex often lasted for hours until Jumin was sure he’d gotten his fill of her.

He pulled her hips back to meet his thrusts as he eased his way into a steady rhythm, the sound of skin slapping being drowned by the couple’s moans. Jumin’s were louder than hers.

“Louder, Elizabeth, let me hear you.” Jumin gave her a particular harsh thrust, one that made the bell on her collar jingle causing a groan from behind her. His fingertips sunk into her waist as he pistoned into her, eyes focusing on the clapping of his hips upon her ass. Her fingers grasped at the material beneath her, back arching to the point her breasts were forcefully pressed against the floor unable to hold back the pleasurable cries that left her. Whether she loved or hated Jumin, he knew her body perfectly and would bring her to a high no one else would ever be able to. With a desperate cry of his name she came, Jumin stuttering with his pace as she tightened over him, pulsing, fluttering walls upon his length.

It wasn’t known how long they were there in that position. By now her thighs ached and trembled, her core was stretched to the point it had a pleasant burn everytime he thrusted into her and her knees were threatening to bruise with carpet burns. She’d lost count of how many times she came, arousal and essense of both of them had squirted over his balls and dripped down her thighs onto a puddle now staining the rug. Jumin was reaching his limit and she could tell, his pace had slowed down and ragged breaths filled the room. But he was determined to push her over the edge one final time.

Leaning over her, his hand pushed the base of her neck to the floor as his other hand gripped the tail of her butt-plug, a soft hiss fell from her at the movement. He wrapped the fur around his hand as his pace became punishing once more, snapping to the point her body jolted forward but the hand on her neck kept her still. She cursed loudly, voice breaking in silent cries as tears finally spilled down her cheeks, past the point of screaming as one final wave of pleasure hit her like a brick wall. Her walls clenched so tightly around him, Jumin stilled with a heavy growl of “Elizabeth, Elizabeth… Ngh! Elizabeth!” as he came, shooting thick white ropes inside her.

She tried to collapse on the spot but Jumin’s grip now moved to her waist, keeping her still as he pulled out, groaning one final time to peer between her legs and watch the heavy flow of mixed essence drip out of her in thick rivets.

“I love you so much.” His sweating forehead pressed to her lower back as he breathed heavily and tried to steady his racing heart. Moments like this were those she remembered the most, a sense of almost normality with Jumin, like who they used to be before.

And then, just in the second of a breath, a blink of an eye or a beat of a heart, it would be ruined.

“Here, Miss Elizabeth.” Two fingers entered her over-sensitive core, collecting as much release on his fingers and turning her to face him, having her kneel on her knees as he offered his fingers. “Have your milk.” He watched her slowly lap the sticky coating off his fingers before sucking them clean, a warped smile on his face.

And in some sick, twisted, perverted way this was how he expressed his love for her. Sinking his claws in deeper and deeper as she was fully submissive to him. Whilst Elizabeth would never return, Jumin had a new favourite pet to take her place.

Kinktober masterlist here.

#alloverkinktober #kinktober #visionsoftemptation2020 #mystic messenger #mysme jumin #mystic messenger jumin #dark jumin #mysme #mystic messenger smut #mysme smut #smut

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 58 - Golden Age

Title: Irreverent Pt. 58 - Golden Age

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~5K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You stare at the closed door to McKinney's office, shifting once again in the seat. You'd been there for what felt like hours, though reasonably speaking it was closer to thirty minutes. Beside you, Aaron sat stoically calm, his shoulders pressed to the chair, back straight. He eyes you when you shift and reaches out, placing a hard on yours that was sat against the armrest. You meet his eyes for a second, knowing he was simply trying to calm the anxiety in your bones. It was no use – your gaze wanders back to the heavy closed oak door once more.

You'd arrived at McKinney's office early that morning, as directed to in the email sent by Gladys. Both Rossi and Aaron had received similar instructions and when you'd arrived, Gladys had waved Rossi into the room, stating that the Director would like to speak to him on his own first, and asked you and Aaron to take a seat.

You knew that McKinney and Rossi went way back. They'd done training together and worked in organized crime for a couple years before going their separate ways. You can only imagine that McKinney wanted Rossi's take on Pierce's take down and to perhaps run his ruling for you by someone whom he trusted and who would be able to comment on you personally. That was your hope, at the very least.

You knew Aaron thought the same as you, because he hadn't seemed put out by being told to wait. He too recognized that McKinney not delivering judgment against you in one fell swoop could only be a good thing. It meant he was thinking it over, getting other opinions. He'd had time to evaluate through the course of events and the idea was that he would see greater value in keeping you – see that everything you'd done had been strategic and purposeful.

Gladys had directed you both towards the coffee in the little waiting area outside the office, which you'd both politely declined. Now she was clattering away against the keyboard and fielding pretty much nonstop phone calls.

You turn your stare from the door, back to Aaron, whose eyes are fixed on you. He prompts you with a slight raise of his eyebrows, his hand still blanketing yours, thumb running back and forth soothingly.

"We should take another vacation," you whisper conspiratorially, speaking as though the idea of you two going on vacation together might scandalize someone listening in.

He bites back a smile but you can see the amusement dance across his eyes. He knows you're trying to distract yourself. Your shoulders are still taut and you've barely glanced away from McKinney's door since the two of you sat down. "Where'd you have in mind?" he asks, leaning down towards you and matching your covert tone. If a distraction was what you needed, then he'd play along.

"Bora Bora is nice this time of year. Hawaii maybe. Somewhere tropical with a childcare center," you joke, easily planting images of you and him on a beach by yourselves into Aaron's head.

"Better yet, an adults only resort," he smirks back, sitting straight once more, his eyes facing straight.

You're the one who has to bite back the smile now. He'd responded with barely a glance at you. Onlookers might've thought he'd commented on the weather. Only you could guess at the thoughts running through his mind right then – waves and sand, you in skimpy bathing suits, the two of you alone without having to worry about waking Jack up...

God it had been forever.

You can feel yourself become heated and have to stop that train of thought short, reminding yourself that you're still seated outside the Director's office, awaiting what is at best a disciplinary hearing and at worst a dismissal notice.

"We'll go," he promises, squeezing your hand gently.

You nod, leaning against his shoulder ever so slightly before straightening back up once more. Aaron had been quiet that morning, which you're chalking up to the solemnity of the occasion. The previous night had been quite a lot and you know that you're both still feeling a bit raw from it all. Better – in many ways. Stronger too. However that didn't mean that you expect everything to be washed away overnight. You imagine there's quite a few more conversations like that in your future. The work needed to help you both feel whole once more.

Already, you feel his eyes on you a lot more than ever before. Trained on you when you leave a room. Searching yours when you enter. Eyes trailing over the length of you. Ensuring that you're alright. Making sure that you're safe. Confirming that you're there.

*------------*

The door to McKinney's office opens and you both watch as Rossi exits. He turns to the both of you, obviously in attempt to speak, but before he can, he's directed by Gladys towards the door taking him outside of McKinney's lobby. Following her instructions, he walks out, nodding at both you and Aaron, his face betraying nothing.

"Agent Hotchner, the Director will see you now."

At Glady's instruction, Aaron stands rebuttoning the bottom button of his jacket, and with a quick, reassuring smile towards you, strides through the doors to McKinney's office, closing the door behind him.

"Agent Hotchner," Director McKinney stands to greet him, motioning towards the chair in front of his desk.

"Director."

Aaron takes a seat, sitting up incredibly straight, shoulders rigidly tense. He knows that McKinney asking to speak to him before he speaks to you has certain implications. Implications which, he fears, don't bode well if McKinney's goal is to prod at you choosing to reach out to him and the team rather than your direct supervisor on the project. If you would go around him once, chances are, you'd do it again.

Try as he might, Aaron hasn't been able to determine what exactly McKinney aims to get from speaking with him first. He hadn't been your superior on the assignment. Your personal relationship with him effectively negated anything Aaron could say in your favor.

"Aaron, I will cut straight to the chase." McKinney speaks authoritatively and plainly, his eyes focused on Aaron, betraying nothing of what he's thinking. Even to an experienced profiler such as himself. "Agent L/N broke numerous rules regarding the chain of command, defied security clearance protocols, and acted alone – entirely against Bureau training and procedure."

Aaron stays silent. McKinney hadn't said anything that wasn't true and they both knew it.

"However," McKinney continues, "I must concede that she drew results and ultimately is the reason why the threat to the Atlantis program was eliminated."

Aaron offers only a short nod in response, choosing to hold everything else close to his chest until required otherwise.

McKinney shuffles, placing his hands on the table and leaning in closer. "If this was one of your agents – and you did not share the personal relationship that you do in this situation – what would you do in my position?"

There it was.

Aaron would like to think that Director McKinney was being sincere in asking him. That asking him wasn't some sort of trick question, aimed towards discrediting you.

With a quiet shift, Aaron meets McKinney's gaze head on, and begins to speak slowly. "Director, I've made the mistake before of not trusting one of my agents. I vowed to never make that mistake again. Agent L/N, she's proven – time and again – that she makes the right decisions, no matter the complicated subject matter or the potential personal nature of the circumstances."

Aaron stops there. Less was more. He wanted to make sure whatever he said to McKinney would be impactful. Display the full breadth of his faith in you.

McKinney has a thoughtful look on his face as he contemplates Aaron's words.

In the silence that follows, Aaron's eye is drawn to the Director's American flag pin on the left jacket collar. He's never seen without it. While Directors in the past have worn the pin for formal events – public speeches, Congressional hearings, White House balls – McKinney is always seen with his. Aaron recalls in the early days, when McKinney had first taken the reins, the pin used to be different. It used to be a pin of the Bureau seal. Sometime after the events of September 11th, it had changed. Replaced by the American flag pin, proudly displayed no matter where he went.

Aaron sees McKinney's shoulders move up and then back down as the man releases a large breath, nodding as he does, seemingly having reached some sort of conclusion. Aaron is at a loss to determine which conclusion that might be.

He doesn't share his thoughts with Aaron.

"I've forwarded the video that Agent Garcia shared, on to the Director of Interpol," McKinney informs him. "They will be conducting an internal investigation. Agent Easter has already been stripped of all privileges and is currently on a suspension until further determinations regarding his negligence on the Atlantis case along with the results of the internal review can be made."

Aaron's glad to hear that Easter wouldn't be getting away entirely scot free. He has a strong feeling that, had things not happened exactly the way that they did, you wouldn't have reported Easter for what he did to you. Aaron – fortunately or unfortunately – knows you well enough to realize that there was a small part of you that considered what Easter had done, to be some sort of favor to you. Making you understand what was at stake. Preparing you for the worst. He doesn't need to hear you admit to it, in order to know that. Anything he said to the contrary would only result in you doubling down and insisting, that without him threatening Jack and Aaron, you might not have realized exactly how grave of a danger your role could pose to them.

You could be quite maddening in what you chose to direct your fury at. Easter lying to you was unforgiveable. Him torturing you – apparently par for the course.

"Thank you." Aaron nods his gratitude to McKinney, knowing that he is also being effectively dismissed as the Director moves to stand.

Standing as well, Aaron meets McKinney's outstretched hand across the table, shaking it quickly, before turning away and exiting the room.

*------------*

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud.

Aaron had nodded you in towards McKinney's office, electing to ignore Gladys's gesture to exit via the lobby and taking your recently vacated seat. He wasn't about to leave. He'd be there, waiting for you.

"Good morning Director." You offer a small smile and nod your greeting to McKinney, taking the seat in front of his desk.

Your shoulders are pulled back straight, you're meeting his unreadable gaze head on. Aaron hadn't been able to provide any insight into McKinney's thoughts before you were ushered in, so there you sat, awaiting the gauntlet.

You're fairly convinced McKinney will fire you. Aaron disagrees but you've had the unshakeable apprehension in your bones, that's grown into a nebula of dread. No matter your brave words to Aaron about saying no to Director Richards' offer and taking a break if you were indeed terminated, the actual thought of being dismissed is terrifying. What on earth would you even do? There were only so many bake sales to host and field trips to chaperone before you went postal.

"How are you doing?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and appraising you.

You feel McKinney's eyes run over you in an inspecting manner, lingering on your face. You know him well enough to recognize this as genuine concern on his behalf. Garcia had mentioned that she'd sent him the video they'd all seen of what Clyde had done to you. You're aware that McKinney would shoulder some of the blame for that on himself.

"Better," you answer cautiously, figuring that was close enough to the truth without being a mere perfunctory response.

He eyes you once more, letting the quiet wash over you both, forcing you to linger in that awkward tension of being examined by him. The seconds go by, marked by the loud click of the seconds hand on the clock mounted to the wall.

Deciding that he'd made you suffer long enough, McKinney leans in again, fingers interlaced on top of the desk carefully, deep set eyes focused on you alone. "So, you have a job offer from Artie?"

Who the hell was Artie?!

At the confused look on your face, he clarifies, "Director Richards – Arthur and I go back. Did you know that?"

You can see the suppressed smirk hidden beneath a veneer of professionalism as McKinney leans back in the chair once more, having left you to silently ponder at the incredulity of anyone referring to Director Richards as Artie and the sheer surprise at McKinney knowing about the job offer. When you'd considered them speaking, you hadn't thought that Richards would mention that. Though, it made sense. Tell your current boss that you have another offer. Make you look bad to McKinney, as though you'd been soliciting an offer from the CIA. Ensure that you'd want to leave for the Agency instead, by souring your relationship with McKinney.

"You call Director Richards…Artie?" It was the only thing you could think of to say, at a loss for much else.

"You think you're the only one he takes to fancy French restaurants?" This time, McKinney's words are accompanied by a real smile, one that you can't help but return.

*------------*

Aaron starts when the door to McKinney's office reopens and you exit. He'd had his gaze locked on the door ever since you disappeared behind it, anxiously awaiting the final decision. Despite his relatively good meeting with the Director, he didn't know what to expect as the outcome.

Your eyes lock with his, your expression entirely unreadable. Silently, you motion towards the exit with your eyes, the message clear. Whatever happened, you two wouldn't be discussing it there.

Aaron quickly stands, nodding towards McKinney's assistant when she looks up at the movement. He's quick to follow you as you make your way down the hallway, deftly moving past anyone in the hallways. He's loathe to ask what happened. The journey from McKinney's office has his heart beating fast, as he reckons with what news could have led to you moving through the hallways at such a pace, him struggling to keep up as you maneuver through a break room full of people, finally arriving at an unused office, into which you slip with him close behind.

You wait for him to enter, before shutting the door while he turns to look towards you. You've turned as well, back pressed against the door when Aaron finally has the chance to assess you properly.

Your eyes dart around the room, not meeting his. Your lips are pressed together.

Aaron feels the pit in his stomach tighten into a lead ball, weighing him down. It would be alright, he reminds himself. He had known you being let go was a possibility. The two of you have planned for this.

He releases a deep breath before he speaks. "What did McKinney say?"

Your tongue peaks out, running over your lips as you tilt your head to meet his eyes finally. Apprehension exuding from you as you nervously fidget with your hands. He sees you force yourself to swallow before you reply.

"He told me that I can hand in my official resignation from the BAU to you."

Aaron closes his eyes. He had thought, after his conversation with McKinney, that the Director had no intention of letting you go. He'd never been quite so off on reading someone.

Opening his eyes, he looks deep into yours. "Alright," he nods, attempting to reassure you as well as himself. "We knew this could happen." Already a thousand different scenarios are playing in his head – telling the team, next steps for you, what you're going to want to do after you grow tired of the break, maybe he needs to take a step back as well…

"We can appeal it, sweetheart," he reminds you. The two of you had discussed that as a possible option as well. He walks towards you, wanting nothing more than to hold you close to him again. "We can appeal – Rossi, Morgan, hell even Strauss would put in a good word for you. McKinney's word isn't final, and – "

Aaron breaks off his mile a minute speech, distracted at the sight of a smile twitching at your lips. Why were you smiling?

"He told me to hand in my letter of resignation to the BAU," you repeat yourself as he falters, trying to understand what you're saying. He asked you to give him the letter of resignation from the BAU…

"I'm getting my own team, Aaron," you whisper, as if you could scarcely believe it yourself.

You were getting your own team. You were getting…your own team.

"You're getting – " His mouth can't seem to quite get the words out as he watches your face split into a grin that his is slow to mirror.

Of all the possibilities that you'd considered, this had hardly been one of them.

"I'm getting my own team," you repeat, eyes focused fully on him. You have the largest smile he's ever seen on your face. He can feel that pit replaced by this bouncy feeling in his chest as he looks at your face –the bubble of the moment broken by the laughter and squeal that follows as he sweeps you into his arms.

This was good.

You were happy.

*------------*

"I think this is the last box," Aaron says, striding into your office, eyeing you cautiously as you're balanced atop your chair, trying to hang up some of the frames with your certificates on the wall.

You mutter a quick thank you, concentrating on hammering the nail in without hurting yourself by falling off of the wheeled chair. Aaron moves to start putting the books he'd brought up into the bookshelves, hovering close to you in case you did end up slipping.

It had been a week since McKinney had offered you your own team as a counter to Richards' offer from the CIA. Turns out, as long as you get results, the government tends to look the other way when you break any number of clearance regulations. Your conversation with McKinney in his office that day had been entirely centered around what he could do to ensure that you stay with the Bureau.

Intelligence and Threat Assessment, or the ITA, was a group within the Bureau that examined any number of domestic and international threats, analyzed changing political spheres, and partnered with the Justice Department, Congress, and external organizations to spearhead the American democratic manifesto. In short, that was the group that determined who was and wasn't an enemy.

McKinney had offered you your own team within that umbrella to tackle special cases that rose to the level of further assessment by or direct involvement of the Bureau. The sight of your name, followed by the words Unit Chief would never get old.

You'd had a busy week, settling back into regular life, catching up with everyone, and ensuring that you were spending time with Jack and Aaron once more. In that time, you'd also put out the word that you were building a new team and connected with the Bureau Human Resources department. Interviews were being set up. Thankfully you had one team member picked out – from your office, you can see the bullpen where your team will sit, Anderson's desk the only one occupied so far.

"So Strauss is retiring," Aaron comments idly, opening yet another box of items for you to decorate your office with.

You hum, encouraging him to continue, as you carefully get off the chair and grab one of the boxes, setting it on your desk. You'd long shed your blazer and the heels had come off ten minutes ago when Aaron had left to grab the last of the boxes. It was late anyways and you two were the last ones left, as you'd insisted on wanting to be all moved in so you could get a head start the following Monday. As soon as the two of you were done moving you into your new office, you couldn't wait to get home and sink into the tub.

"Rossi thinks it'll happen by the end of the month," he continues, handing you the box cutter you'd been searching for.

"Well, your only real competition could be external," you remark, handing him back the box cutter. You know that Aaron wouldn't have commented on Strauss's retirement if he wasn't considering the Section Chief position. With your new role keeping you closer to home a majority of the time, it would make your home life a lot more stable.

He makes a disbelieving sort of noise at your comment that has you smiling and rolling your eyes.

"Oh hush," you chide him, continuing to move things off of the box and into the shelf. "Now, if we have to consider the hiring committee for the position, then it'll be Wilson and Shaw – both of whom already like you – "

Aaron smiles as you start to lay out all the details for a role he's only mentioned in passing, but he knows that you will take entirely seriously. It's what you did. You planned and you executed and you achieved at a rate that was entirely remarkable.

" – Adams is a total pushover, and Rossi can probably help you out there –"

He smiles, nodding along to your strategizing, knowing you'd have Dave over for dinner soon enough and run Aaron's odds for getting the position by him and ensure that Dave would throw his weight around as needed.

"Davidson is the only one on the committee that'll pose any real issue, I suppose. I'm guessing you two haven't made nice yet after the Atlanta case?" You quirk a brow in his direction, asking a question that you already know the answer to. Really, it's your way of making sure he feels like he's part of the process, despite you being full systems ahead from the get go.

Aaron's forehead crinkles as he shakes his head.

"Yeah, I figured. Well, it's nothing to worry about. I heard from Lisa from research that he has a new girlfriend – one that drives his ex-wife entirely insane. Garcia can do some additional digging and get some more dirt."

He makes a face at you, which you elect to ignore, continuing on with your plan for targeted subterfuge.

"We can have them both over for dinner. I just got that new shipment from the Napa winery and we can ask Eric to cook for us again. He can make that dessert, and based on what Garcia manages to find, Davidson shouldn't be terribly difficult to persuade. After all, how could anyone not love you." You throw him a coquettish smile and wink, your arms laden with books that you'd lifted out of the box.

Aaron can feel himself grow warm – you tend to have that effect on him with only the smallest of gestures. The ever faithful butterflies, his constant companions in the early days of the two of you entering into this relationship, have infiltrated his stomach with a vengeance.

"Once you're Section Chief, we can figure out Department Chief next. Carlton won't be around forever," you forge ahead, intent now on your plan to launch his career to the next phase and the next after that. Pretty soon you'd be planning world domination with him by your side. You'd manage to convince him that it was alright because he'd be the one in charge and he makes good decisions so why wouldn't the entire world simply bow to his will. No matter how ridiculous the notion or how bizarre the proposition, your faith in him was unyielding.

Aaron reaches into his pocket, feeling the sharp edges of the box there. It's been on hand this entire week since your return, just waiting for him to find the right time. His heartrate picks up, his hand grasping the box tight.

Your back is still turned to him as you continue to arrange the books on your shelf in order of subject and size, going up on the tip of your toes to reach the top shelf as your voice carries on. Something regarding convincing Carlton that he would be well suited for a jump to the West Coast offices, leaving the pathway wide open for Aaron's surge to the top.

"Do you remember," he interrupts, watching you carefully, "a while back, you said something to me. Something along the lines of, Director Hotchner has a nice ring to it?" He does his best to keep his voice casual, regulate his breath as he speaks.

You pause, the memory of that afternoon flitting into your mind. So early in your relationship, back when you'd thought that maybe, that would be something appealing to a man like Aaron – ambitious and righteous, wanting to protect and serve at the highest of levels. That had been before – before you'd known, that for him, the BAU was the chance to put away monsters. It was a personal mandate that he couldn't disconnect himself from. Contending with the bureaucracy and politics that came with truly running the entire Bureau was not something that he found at all appealing. Despite all of your planning and machinations, you knew already that the best you could hope for with him would be Section Chief. He'd never leave the team further than that, no matter the number of steak dinners you served up.

"Yeah, what about it?" you ask, a bemused smile playing at your lips, wondering why he'd ask you that. He'd shot it down then, and you knew for a fact that it wasn't something he was about to begin entertaining now, despite the Section Chief role being a shift away from the BAU directly.

"I can't help but agree with you."

His voice was closer than it had been before, you can feel him right behind you. There's a prickling at the back of your neck, your brows furrowing in confusion as you attempt to decipher the meaning behind his cryptic words.

You turn, eyes widening at the sight in front of you.

Bent down on one knee, with the most beautiful ring in his hand. The gold in his eyes warm and sparkling for you. A hopeful smile on his face as he watches yours.

You could scarcely believe it as you struggle to meet his eyes, trying to string together something that sounded vaguely intelligible, while your lungs struggled to pull in enough air to keep you standing.

Your mouth feels dry and you have to force yourself to take a deep breath, licking your lips as you do. You push away the first question that comes to your mind – Are you sure? Of course he was. There was no doubting it. No doubting him.

When your eyes finally do meet his, your breath hitches, overwhelmed by the surrounding quiet, only the sound of your breath and your heart and the wondrous, exuberant buzzing of the sparks surrounding you in anticipation of the inevitable.

"You really think I'm going to be Director one day?" Your question is accompanied by an incredulous sort of laugh, the kind that causes his heart to skip a beat at the mere sound.

"I really do, sweetheart." His words carried with them a promise – he was pledging himself to you and anything you set out to achieve.

You feel yourself bound towards a feeling you haven't felt much as of late. Elation – that euphoric ecstasy that courses through your veins and causes your chest to beat wildly. You can do nothing but smile big and nod hard, for once, words completely failing you.

Aaron needs no further encouragement besides the sparkling note of your laugh, the effervescent joy of your nod as you reach for him and he rises. He's quick to slip the ring on your finger before his mouth meets yours, hands winding around his neck and pulling him as close as possible.

Hearts beating jubilantly in sync at the feel of his lips against yours and his arms around you, yours around him, and that persistent and everlasting feeling of belonging to one another in every manner possible.

When the two of you finally break apart, breathless, matching grins on both your faces, you can't help but ask. "How long has Jack known?"

He smiles, his eyes twinkling. "Since Paris."

You let out a breathless, short laugh. You can scarcely believe he'd been able to keep it from you that long. Though, looking back, a number of instances with Jack made a lot more sense now. The faint memory a shopping trip with him, sometime after Paris, when Jack had been quite taken with the window display of a wedding store.

"We might have to do a reenactment for him," Aaron jokes, keeping you close to him. He weaves his fingers through yours, admiring how the ring sits perfectly on your hand, sparkling just right in the light.

You laugh, tightening your hand in his. "Let's go home then."

Everything else could wait.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #irreverentseries #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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atmostories · 3 years

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Your Yandere!Terry Silver ficlet was positively amazing and just so very detailed, nuanced and in-character that I absolutely must request more if you're willing to write more. Really, whatever comes to your mind, doesn't even matter, so long as you grace us with more material (greedy grubby hands) - Reading about this dark, evil man just being so sweet for someone melts my heart. 🖤

A gift to my dearest anon, @kingkarate and @villains-are-sexy ♡ ♡ ♡ The first time he noticed you was after Margaret had laid out your employee file in front of him. You'd been working in the logistics department for two years, your record was clean, all of your performance evaluations were very good, if not exemplary. Margaret had personally recommended you so really that was all the evidence he needed that you had at least some value. Her team needed an extra member due to an increased workload and a reorganisation of staff. Margaret was going to retire in a few years and needed to find a replacement before she left.

Terry tried not to think about her being replaced, it irked him greatly to be losing such an asset, and a good friend. There was still plenty of time, for now. You were moved into Margaret's team on a trial basis in order to assess your suitability. Whenever Terry would look across the office, you were always working. You seemed to speak to other coworkers only when necessary. At first he assumed you were being studious and trying to make a good impression for Margaret, but he soon realised that that was simply how you were, quiet, withdrawn. You also treated people the same, no matter who they were or what sort of social rank they held, you would give the same polite smile to him as you would to one of the office cleaners. It was odd. He expected you, like most other rational people, to show him greater respect, he did own the entire company after all. A few words from him and he could render you jobless and homeless, begging for scraps out on the streets. And yet you seemed so unphased by the power he yielded. He got into the habit of calling you into his office for updates on the various projects you were working on. Margaret would always keep him informed of the latest developments, but he liked to hear how you would describe them. He also liked hearing you call him Sir. He'd corrected you when he first met you in person. "Thank you, Mr. Silver," you had said. "No. . .thank you, Sir," he murmured softly, hoping to provoke some reaction. "Of course. Thank you, Sir" you replied plainly. No one else called him Sir. He wondered how long it would take for you to notice that. During your lunch breaks, rather than head off with other coworkers or go to the staff room, you would leave by yourself to take a walk when the weather was decent or you'd eat at your desk. Before you were offered a position at DynaTox Industries, a background check had been carried on you to ensure that you would be. . .malleable if certain circumstances arose. If you found out something you shouldn't, you would be in a weak position, easily blackmailed. Terry requested a more in depth background check and was rather pleased when one of his private investigators handed him a sizeable file containing all of the facets of your life, along with a fortnight's worth of photos while you were under surveillance. It outlined where you went aside from work and as anticipated, it was all very dull. Your financial situation was practically destitution in Terry's eyes. What was most intriguing about your file was your ex who was currently in prison for assault and battery. You were the unlucky victim. As he read the police report and saw the pictures of your injuries, he ignored the swell of anger in his gut. The transcripts of your interviews detailed the abuse you had endured. Was this why you were so withdrawn? So focused on your work rather the people around you? While you were at the office, he broke into your apartment for further investigation. It was comically small. Your possessions were, he supposed, modest for someone so economically challenged as you. Your taste in music was not as sophisticated as his own, hardly surprising. There wasn't much food in the refrigerator or in the kitchen cupboards. He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a hundred dollar bill. Perhaps you didn't see these very often. After scrunching up the bill, he threw it haphazardly onto the floor, wondering whether there would be a smile on your face when you found it. What was he thinking, of course you'd be happy. He made a note to bump your salary enough so that you could move somewhere else, somewhere safer, somewhere which didn't automatically make him want to shower and scrub himself clean. Rather than have Margaret give you the good news, you were called into his office. Terry explained that you'd be permanently assigned to Margaret's team due to your performance. He mentioned a report you did the week prior, highlighting that it was good work. Rather than thank him, you responded by saying that the conclusion needed to be improved and you weren't sure about certain aspects of the analysis. “I said it was good work,” he told you with blunt finality, giving you a harsh stare. Your lips parted open slowly, your eyes were wide, your expression almost one of disbelief. Was it so difficult for you to accept a compliment? To accept praise when it was given to you? “Did I not?” He asked, prompting you to speak. “Uhh, yes. I'm sorry, Sir,” you mumbled back, shoulders hunching even further. Something seemed to twinge in his chest and he wasn't exactly sure what it was. Was it pity? No, it wasn't that, it was almost disappointment, like seeing wasted potential. He invited you along to an executive meeting, his excuse to include you was to take minutes, but really he wanted your opinion on the people who were present, their behaviour, their opinions. Terry wanted to assess how observant you were of other people, and he also wanted to test how candid you would be with him. The meeting went on as usual, dull, insipid. At least your presence offered a little distraction. After it was finally over, he invited you to join him for lunch at one of his favourite restaurants. He could see you eyeing the place curiously, taking in its lush décor and finely dressed staff. The purpose was to put you on edge, to make you feel abysmally underdressed and out of sorts. He had the whole corner of the restaurant cleared for just the two of you, he wanted to examine your every reaction without any disturbance. With drinks and appetisers ordered, he began his questioning. “Do you think Mr. Elroth would be suitable for the New York merger?” He asked, sipping some champagne. “I don't think he likes you,” you responded without hesitation. He pulled the glass away from his mouth, rather taken back by your honesty. “Why do you say that?” “He didn't like listening to you. He kept looking away, he even rolled his eyes a few times.” “And why do you think that is?” “Well. . .maybe it's because you're too young and you're too willing to take risks. He seems very traditional and set in his ways.” “Hmm.” Terry drank the rest of the glass, motioning to a waiter for a refill. He continued to ask questions throughout the main course and dessert. Your answers were always honest, you didn't try to soften any of your responses for him. He liked that. You reminded him of Margaret. Unblemished opinions were hard to come by for someone like Terry. They were always marred by people wanting to impress him, people trying to make the best impression possible, people looking for favours. He was beyond the grasp of normal society and yet you sat in front him, eating several courses which cost most, if not all, of your monthly salary, totally unphased and giving your opinions freely. He'd never once thought it possible for Margaret to be replaced by someone of her calibre, but perhaps he'd been too quick to make that assumption. When you moved into a new apartment, he had a forged deposit and contents insurance rebate drawn up and sent to you. The next day you had actually gone out and bought lunch rather than bring your own. He'd followed you to the little cafe and he noticed a small, satisfied smile on your face as you tucked into the food. How curious that something so insignificant would give you such joy? Was it really so difficult for you to get by? He bumped your salary again, you were supposed to be happy, but instead Margaret had told him that you went straight to the finance team to query it as a mistake. He scoffed out a laugh, incredulous at your behaviour. Was it so hard to accept when something good happened to you? He had you brought into his office, explaining to you clearly that any future queries regarding your salary would be directed to him personally. “But it's almost triple my original salary, I'm not sure that. . .” you trailed off when he stared down at you. He watched your throat as you swallowed nervously at his proximity. Raising an eyebrow at you, he waited for the proper response. “Thank you, Sir.” He didn't bother to stop himself from smiling. A few seconds later, a shy smile pulled up your lips. Financial security might have offered you some peace of mind, but Terry knew there was more work to be done. He looked over the police reports again, thinking about disposing that piece of trash who had hurt you. Surely that would make you happy? No longer living in the same world with the person who had almost beaten you to death? He had Dennis make some enquiries, found a trustworthy guy who was in the same prison as your ex. After that it was simply a matter of payment for services rendered. He had requested a slow, painful death and the photos from the autopsy showed just that. The unfortunate incident happened over the weekend, ensuring that you would have found out by Monday morning. Instead of happiness on your face, you seemed sad, lost even. He called you into his office, trying to hold back the rage growing in his gut. He had gotten rid of someone who had inflicted so much suffering on you, why weren't you happy? Why weren't you pleased? Surely you couldn't still care for that bastard? Did you really love so carelessly, so irrevocably? “You're distracted,” he stated. Your eyes were focused on the floor, you were making an effort to stop your leg from shaking. “I'm sorry, Sir. I received some. . .news yesterday.” “Bad news?” “I'm not really sure.” “Tell me what happened.” You looked up at him, your eyes were filled with hurt. This wasn't meant to happen, why the fuck were you upset? “Someone I knew. . . passed away. But he wasn't. . .he wasn't a good person.” “And you're grieving him?” “No,” you replied softly. “I should but. . .is it wrong to feel glad when someone's died?” “Not when they're bad.” You nodded a few moments later, a small grin finally lightening your expression. Terry had to repress a laugh. The only thing you were upset about was that you didn't feel upset, you didn't feel bad at all. The thought made him preen in delight, he'd done right by you after all. It took a while, but you were finally starting to lose that heavy burden you'd been carrying all this time. The change in you was not particularly obvious, you didn't start to suddenly make friends with everyone in the office. Your smile was a little wider, you walked with more confidence. In one of his meetings, as you sat right next to him, he whispered an amusing observation about one of the investors into your ear, and you snorted out a laugh, barely able to contain yourself. A week after that, something unexpected happened, something he still didn't quite know how to feel about. Mr. Elroth stood in front of Terry, blabbering on about nothing of interest. He'd gestured for you to come over to give him a point of interest. You stood dutifully by his side, but when Mr. Elroth reached out his grubby hand, about to touch Terry's forearm, you quickly stepped in front of him, blocking Mr. Elroth from touching him. You interjected yourself into the conversation, successfully distracting Mr. Elroth and causing him to lower his arm. Terry dismissed him a couple minutes later and pulled you to one side. “What was that?” “I thought you might have wanted a distraction, I didn't mean to be rude, Sir.” “Why did you move in front of me?” “Mr. Elroth was going to touch your arm,” you explained like it was obvious. “And?” “You. . .you don't like to be touched.” “Excuse me?” “You always initiate, you don't like it when other people touch you. I'm sorry if I've made the wrong assumption. It wasn't my intention to cause any offence, Sir.” He continued to stare at you, letting the words sink in. Margaret most conveniently called you away like she could read his mind and Terry nodded at her in thanks, thinking that he'd have to review her retirement plan, add in a couple more vacation options, maybe an extra masseuse for the weekends. He didn't know how he felt. He was agitated by what you had said, almost uncomfortable. That wasn't something you were meant to notice. Terry took great lengths to not show any kind of weakness, and shying from physical contact was certainly one. For you to not only see it, but then to try and protect him? Even though you’d been abused in the past? Even though you shied away from physical contact yourself? He clenched his fists, his heart aching in a way it never had before. That night, he broke into your apartment. It was thankfully a significant improvement to the last one. After looking over the kitchen and the living room, he went to your bedroom, watching you sleep soundly and peacefully. Part of him wanted to sink his hands around your neck, make you experience every bit of discomfort that you had made him feel. He slowly sat down on the mattress, his gloved hand gently caressing your cheek. You cared about him, but how much of that was the same sort of empathy and respect you'd show to everyone else? How much of it was just for him? He needed all of it, your heart, your mind, your soul. He'd been so used to taking everything he ever wanted, there'd never been anything worth his patience. . .but you? Watching you emerge from the shadow you used to be gave him a deep satisfaction that nothing else came close to. Destroying you would be too easy, you were already so broken, even now. Making you whole again? Now that was a challenge he'd accept, a challenge that he was going to excel at. No one else was going to hurt you again. He recognised the value of your devotion, craved it like nothing else. His fingers traced over your lips as he imagined the moment you were going to kiss him of your own accord. What a sweet, precious moment that was going to be, he would wait for it. He was going to wait for you. And when you were his, he was never going to let you go.

#terry silver #terry silver x reader #cobra kai #karate kid III #thomas ian griffith #atmo

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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years

Text

Sleep Over’s and Ghost Stories

AU: Rural Au

Words: 2289

Rating: General

Characters: Hatake Kakashi and Tenzo|Yamato

Warnings: Ghost stories, Mentions of blood.

Summary: Naruto informs Kakashi that he has invited his friends over for a sleepover at their ranch that night. Knowing he can’t do everything himself to get ready to host a bunch of kids, Kakashi calls in some help.

Warning wasn’t something that Naruto had given Kakashi a lot of that afternoon when he came running into the house after a long day of school and announced that he had invited his classmates over for a camping sleepover, tonight.

Any less warning and Kakashi might not have been able to secure any help for the night, leaving him to take care of all of the food prep, wood gathering, and other chores that needed to be done while Naruto took the trunk into town to get enough marshmallows to feed an army.

That was an understatement of course. It was more likely that they could feed all of Konoha with the number of Marshmallows he had bought. At least he had also thought ahead and gotten eggs and bacon for tomorrow’s breakfast, which Kakashi had no doubt he would be cooking.

Panicking over the amount of work that was being handed to him, and wanting someone there to help him out, Kakashi decided to call the best person to help him out for the night.

Gai had unfortunately informed him that he had to head into the city the next morning for a supply run, meaning Kakashi had to call his other best friend. An unpleasant call to make since he knew that Tenzo had planned to go to the lake tomorrow for a relaxing day by himself.

Thankfully with enough pleading and a promise to go to the lake next week with Tenzo, he finally secured some help for the night.

Which was how he ended up here. Setting up a bonfire for the kids while Tenzo and Naruto put out chairs for everyone.

“Did you buy enough non-marshmallow snacks?” He called over to Naruto, wanting to make sure that no one was left hungry tonight.

“I even made sure to pick up extra bags of everything for Choji,” Naruto beamed. “And I asked Choji to bring some snacks from the bakery, Sakura to grab some stuff from the general store, and Kiba’s even bringing some dog food because I told him it was the only way you’d let him pet Pakkun.”

This must be one of those ‘proud dad’ moments that Gai was always talking about.

Tenzo, on the other hand, didn’t seem as happy about Naruto’s underhandedness, judging by the unimpressed look on his face. “Some days I wonder how you two get along, and then moments like this happen,” crossing his arms over his chest he turned to glare at Kakashi. “Quit teaching him bad habits, Senpai.”

They both knew that was never going to happen of course. Kakashi loved teaching Naruto all of his worst habits. It ensured that there would always be someone in the village to mess with other people, even long after Kakashi was gone.

“I also asked Sasuke to bring some cat food,” Naruto added. “Once Kakashi Nii-san told me you were coming over to help. He said he could bring a bag of cat food that Itachi made himself. Something that your cats would love.”

Tenzo’s hands dropped to his side, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“I see,” his voice softened. “Still, you shouldn’t lie to Kiba to get free food for the dogs.”

“He’s right you know,” Kakashi added, smiling when Tenzo gave him a skeptical look. “But really it’s Kiba’s fault for believing you. Everyone knows Pakkun won’t let anyone pet him but me.”

Ok, him and Gai, and sometimes Tenzo depending on how nice the pug was feeling.

“Senpai, what did I just say about teaching him bad habits!?”

Resting his hands behind his head, Kakashi chuckled when Tenzo started to lecture him about the importance of friendship and trust. This wasn’t the first time he had gotten this exact lecture and there was no doubt in his mind that it wouldn’t be the last. Tenzo gave it to him at least once a week after he used his friends’ love of praise to get a free coffee or lunch out of him.

Meanwhile, Naruto continued to set everything up. Far too used to Kakashi and Tenzo’s arguments he had learned long ago to tune them out and keep doing whatever it was he was in the middle of.

It was simply better not to interrupt Tenzo, or one risked him dragging them into the lecture. Naruto was already lucky he wasn’t getting it alongside Kakashi since it had been his actions that upset the woodcarver.

“Oh!” reaching out, Kakashi placed one hand over Tenzo’s mouth to silence him and used the other to point towards the driveway. “Naruto, your friends are starting to arrive.”

Naruto immediately dropped what he was doing and turned towards the driveway, throwing his hands up into the air when he saw Itachi’s car pulling in beside Tenzo’s truck. “Sasuke!” He called out, running towards the driveway and leaving Kakashi and Tenzo to finish up with the bonfire set up.

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

Once everything had been set up and all of Naruto’s school friends had finally arrived, it was finally time to relax and enjoy the rest of the night. At least, enjoy as much of the night as one could while Kiba was sitting beside him trying desperately to pet the pug dog sitting on his lap.

“He’s going to bite you,” he warned, chuckling when Kiba continued to ignore him and narrowly avoided getting his hand chomped by Pakkun. “I told you.”

“He’s supposed to love me,” Kiba huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at Pakkun. “All dogs love me.”

“Pakkun’s a picky dog,” scratching the pug behind the ears, Kakashi chuckled when he instantly relaxed into his hand. Forgetting all about the mean teenager who had been interrupting his relaxing nap just seconds ago. “You have seven other dogs to play with on this ranch. I don’t see why you’re so determined about getting Pakkun to like you.”

“All dogs should like me,” planting his hands on the chair, Kiba glared back at Pakkun from the corner of his eyes. “I’m a dog person. All dogs love me.”

Giving his head a shake Kakashi turned his attention back to the rest of the group and continued to scratch Pakkun’s ear. It was amusing to see Kiba continuously trying to win his favourite dog over, but at some point, the kid had to give up.

When feeding Pakkun treats didn’t work, it was a lost cause. He had chosen his favourite human and he simply wasn’t interested in anyone to who Kakashi wasn’t incredibly close.

“We should do something interesting,” Glancing towards Tenzo, Kakashi raised an eyebrow when he saw him staring at Naruto and all of his friends huddled around the fire roasting marshmallows. “It’s too quiet. Something interesting has to happen.”

And Tenzo accused him of being a bad influence.

“Mmm, and what ‘interesting’ thing would you like to happen?” Watching as Tenzo leaned in close, Kakashi listened to his plan carefully. A small smile pulling at his lips.

This was going to be perfect.

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

Catching the attention of the kids hadn’t been as hard as Kakashi thought it would be. With the simple mention of a ghost story, he suddenly found himself surrounded by excited, bright-eyed kids waiting patiently for him to tell them the story.

Now he just had to hope that Tenzo was ready to put his plan into action.

“The tale of old man Tobirama, hmmm. Well, I guess you’re all old enough to hear it now. But don’t come crying to me if you end up having nightmares for years about it.”

“Kakashi, stop teasing us and tell us the story already.” Naruto insisted, puffing out his cheeks and glaring at his guardian.

“I bet it’s not even that scary,” Sakura commented, acting like she wasn’t leaning in to hear better. “‘Old man Tobirama’. There probably wasn’t even anyone named ‘Tobirama’ in our village.”

Oh, boy were they in for a surprise.

“Well, in the case,” leaning forward, Kakashi planted his hands on his knees and smiled down at the group. “Let me tell you the story of old man Tobirama. The grumpy old guy who lived in the old Senju ranch and would cook up children for dinner.”

At the mention of the Senju ranch, he could see the kids already starting to shake.

“Long ago, before I was even born, the Senju ranch was full of life. With a large family, parties every weekend, and a garden that could make anyone jealous. They were known for having the best fruits and vegetables in all of Konoha, though back then the village was a lot smaller so who knows how good they were.”

He’d probably get smacked by Tsunade for saying it, but it was worth it for the giggles he got from his audience.

“For the longest time, the Senju’s lived in the village peacefully. Mingling with the other villages, trading their fruits and veggies for other goods that they could use. But then one day the Senju’s just stopped coming into town. It was like they disappeared. No one knew what had happened to them, but there were rumors. Little whispers that floated around the village about the middle child, Tobirama.”

Naruto shivered in front of him, Sakura slinked behind Ino just a little, and Kiba used Bull as a shield from Kakashi. So far, none of the other kids were showing much of a reaction except for prompting Kakashi to continue with the story.

“For years the house lay empty. No one going in or out. It slowly started to decay and rot from the inside, and the garden became overgrown. Surrounding the house with vines, vegetables, and fruits. There wasn’t an inch of the place that was accessible. After fifty years the villagers finally got together and made a decision. The house had to come down.”

“This is boring,” Sasuke interrupted him. The same unimpressed look on his face that he always had when someone other than his big brother was talking. “Nothing is even happening.”

Giving his head a shake, Kakashi reached out and flicked Sasuke in the nose.

“Hasn’t Itachi taught you anything about patience, brat?” he teased. “I’m just getting to the good part. Now shush.”

Settling back into his seat, Kakashi returned his hand to Pakkun’s head and took a deep breath. “Anyways, the villagers had made their decision. They found a group of hard workers to tear down the old building and started to gather all of the equipment that they would need. A week later the workers were ready to head onto the property and start with the demolition. They hoped that it would only take a few days, but as the hours passed by, they slowly started to disappear one by one.”

Sakura was now completely hidden behind Ino, and it looked like Ino wasn’t doing much better. Her face had lost all colour, and her eyes were wide with fear.

Naruto had slowly begun to inch away from Kakashi, using any of his friends that were readily available as a shield between himself and his guardian. Hinata was cowering behind her favourite hoodie, only her eyes visible.

The only people who didn’t look fazed by his story were Sasuke, Shikamaru, and Shino. None of which were a surprise given their personalities.

He just had to hope that Tenzo pulled through and managed to fix that.

“By the end of the day the only person left was a young woman. Desperate to find the rest of her group she searched the entire house. Looking in every bedroom, searching the yard and even the attic. But no matter how often she called out to them, or where she looked, she couldn’t find them anywhere. Finally, she was left with only one place to look. The old cellar under the kitchen.”

There were a few mummers in the crowd, and at least one ‘not the cellar’ spoken in a whisper somewhere behind Shikamaru.

“Pulling up all of her courage, she headed for her new destination. The door to the cellar creaked as she pulled it open, but when she peered down there was nothing but darkness. She called out to the others, but no one answered.”

Naruto shifted a bit closer to Sasuke, nudging his shoulder until the Uchiha finally gave in and threw an arm around him.

“Taking the first step down the stairs, she held her breath. The stories villagers had told her growing up swimming in her mind. Images of Senju Tobirama, a teenager with bright silver hair and angry red eyes, wielding a bloody ax in his hands. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get rid of those thoughts, and every step she took down into the cellar felt like it would be her last. But finally, she made it to the bottom of the stairs and reached out for the cellar lights pull cord, hoping to add some light to the room. Finding it in the pitch black, she tugged at it and…”

“She was met with the face of Senju Tobirama!” Jumping up behind the kids, Tenzo flashed the light under his chin and warped his face into the most haunting face he could manage. With wide creepy eyes, and his mouth hanging open with what Kakashi could only assume was ketchup smeared all over his chin, Tenzo sent every single one of the kids scattering. Screams filled the air, only slightly drowned out by Kakashi and Tenzo’s laughter.

If Kakashi had been smart he would have brought a camera. There was no way Itachi was going to believe him the next morning when he told him about the look of absolute terror on Sasuke’s face.

#Hatake Kakashi #Tenzo #Yamato #Uzumaki Naruto #Inuzuka Kiba #Uchiha Sasuke #Konoha 12 #Senju Tobirama #Tobirama's a scary ghost #i swear XD #Taryn's Birthday Celebration 2021 #Taryn's birthday fics #Rural Au #ghostface #Mentions of blood #Ghost stories

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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Note

Hello there, I really liked your writing and especially the prompt with enemy forces attack and lack of oxygen! May I ask you to write it with Perceptor and Drift? (Separately, just in case). Thank you in advance!)

Got a ninja boy and a science boy here for you anon!

Got some links to the previous posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: You're Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight! Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Perceptor

·Your arrival on the ship required him to work with the medics to ensure you could survive on it, and that obviously included working with you quite frequently to gather data, which eventually evolved into you assisting directly as the upgrades were put into place. Though he was initially hesitant to admit your presence was nice and he briefly stalled on finishing the upgrades just to spend more time together, you wore him down enough that he eventually relented and confessed to wanting you around. In the short time since things have come very far, enough so that he freely requests your aid in projects, chatting idly as he makes use of your tiny size and encouraging demeanor.

·This is exactly what you're up to today, though you're in the shooting range as opposed to your usual set up in the lab. While he's more than confident in his ability to handle this experimental weapon, he needs it here for when it's finally tested, and your small hands are ideal for a final stability check. A barely observable feeling in his spark registers as excited pride for you to see the weapon in action, but he keeps that to himself... It's bad enough someone walked in on the two of you holding hands as much as your differing sizes allowed the other day, and he doesn't need any more embarrassment.

·There's still a tiny smile on his face as he takes the first few shots, and the accuracy combined with the little cheer from you makes it impossible to keep it from growing. He's about to remark that this is only the first trial of the adjustable blaster, and thus not inductive of its real potential, when he's interrupted by a garbled communication. As you watch him answer, it's hard to hold back reasurance at the hint of frustration on his face, because you know him well enough to understand he doesn't appreciate the disturbance while trying to show off to you. Perhaps one day you'd let him know how easy he was for you to read.

·Well accustomed to frantic requests for his assistance, Perceptor finds himself unexpectedly surprised when the transmission is nearly inaudible, and the message from the bridge proves to be nothing more than a few broken sentences mentioning crashes and security systems before going dead. Not certain what could possibly be causing the ship he personally inspects to suffer malfunctions but knowing it must be corrected, he immediately plans to set off and get to the bottom of things. Securing the weapon into its holster on his back, he offers his hand to transport you with him, surmising you'll be safest with him at least until they have a better idea of what's going on. Of course he already has some theories, but he never acts without evidence.

·Glad to come along, even if only to help him run through some ideas, you happily take your place in his palm. Being without a vehicular mode means he pretty much had to get accustomed to carrying you everywhere he wanted to take you, as it takes quite a few steps for you to match one of his. Now he rather likes being able to hold you in a way that enables easy conversation, especially because as he walks and looks down to you in his palm and you look up at him with those genuinely fascinated eyes... It's nice. Currently he's listing the usual suspects for spacefaring trouble; solar flares, electric storms, debris collisions, and how none of them seem the likely culprit here for various reasons. You've seen him enter this state of unparalleled focus many times, and can't help but wish the circumstances could be better, because you love seeing him in his element.

·Both of you have a rather unfortunate awakening when a series of tremors pass through the ship and nearly knock him to the floor, something he prevents with quick reflexes that momentarily turn your world dark, a phenomenon you realize in an instant was caused by both of his hands cupping protectively around you. When they part you're left peaking upwards through digits at a somewhat concerned and bashful bot. Affirming you're alright, you watch as he gets moving again in an instant, now in full crisis mode after your little tumble. You know enough to be equally concerned by this turn of events, particularly because spaceships aren't known for their tremors.

·Talking as he walks, he has every one of his sharp senses on full alert for the trouble he knows will be coming, including his sense of touch to keep tabs on your small body in his hands. Being aware of every single potential problem means he knows quite well you could be in danger already. It worries him, to a level of concern he's not accustomed to feeling after experiencing so much combat. You can see the anxiety he's trying so hard to work through. There's a crackle in his spark that bots only have when very on edge, and you're close enough to hear it through his armored chest, spurring you to reach out and lay a hand against the warm metal. For a moment his optics meet your eyes, and at your reassuring smile he seems to regain some measure of calm control. His mind quickly uses that to put together a plan.

·While that tremor very likely came from an anchoring weapon on an enemy vessel, none of that explains the system shutdowns precluding it, and he needs to know the full extent of the threat before he can launch a counterattack. Most bots would need a well established access point to get diagnostics for the whole ship, but thankfully he's a bit more skilled than that. Explaining that he merely needs a workstation with any kind of physical connection to the main network, he begins what he is certain will be a quick search, and while you're delighted by the boost he obviously feels thanks to feeling in control you're a bit too tired to celebrate. Not wanting him to know the stress of the situation is wearing you down, your smile remains steadfast to give him the strength he needs.

·As he predicted, finding something suitable for his needs is a breeze, and he's so distracted by the impending answers he doesn't notice you growing drowsy in his palms. Though the small room is little more than a relay station for routine power inspection, it's perfect for what he has planned, and he places you on a nearby table as he gets to work. Even if your head were clear the flurry of activity he follows with wouldn't make sense. Somehow a motley collection of dust covered components becomes rewired into a humming piece of... something in what feels like minutes, and you absolutely beam with pride to see your partner pulling up the information he needs on a monitor, heavy eyelids lifted by your desire to watch him work more wonders.

·Data starts flowing through his makeshift diagnostic scanner in moments, and Perceptor watches intently as the ship's systems flash their readouts in order, though even he can't keep his expression calm as he all too rapidly puts together the horrifying pieces. They haven't just been boarded; they've been sabotaged. Most of the damage is meant to neuter their defenses and hinder any attempt at an organized counterattack, but one key readout tells him that you in particular are in the most dire need of assistance. The atmospheric generators and oxygen stabilizers he personally optimized for your benefit are going haywire, and the air you need to survive is rapidly being drained from the ship. The sheer size of the vessel, and the ability of its crew to keep the attackers at bay for this long, is the only reason you're still alive. In an instant he's on the move.

·You're cupped in oversized palms just as you realize you were laying down for a nap you didn't know had snuck up on you. Bleary in your head as well as your eyes, you hear him speak in the flat, rapid manner that he only uses when something critical is on the line. While his inflection is clear enough for you to catch his basic meaning, for the life of you it's just not possible to panic as much as you should, and his explanation of a plan doesn't register in the slightest. You know it should, and you feel awful for being so calm while he needs you, but the strength for you to be what he needs just isn't there. There is enough clarity for you to register one thing though, namely how closely he's cradling you to his chest. Such an open display of caring and concern is usually not something you see from him. A part of you rather likes it.

·Cold fear that he's come quite unaccustomed to creeps through him as he takes off through the ship. The medical bay is his ideal destination, as he helped create the human catered medical equipment already there, but he knows that time being of the essence means he has to plan for every possible situation, including those far from ideal. What matters is getting you oxygen, fast. The data on human biology made it impossibly clear; every minute without adequate oxygen is critical. Horrifying possibilities run through his mind, the diagrams of cell death he memorized almost taunting him as you appear to grow weaker with every passing breath. Feelings he'd long since forgotten, powerlessness and grief, eat away at him as he internally bemoans his lack of an altmode.

·You feel incredibly guilty as he grows more panicked, but sleep beckons far too strongly for you to resist it long. There's a part of you that knows his incredibly brilliant mind struggles when he doesn't feel in control, to the point he breaks reality at times to regain that handle on the world around him. So seeing you like this and being unable to do much in the moment... no doubt it's tearing him apart. Words don't come easy at the moment, and in fact you realize there's no way to form them at all, but still you try to reassure him. There's so much panic in the spark he holds you beside, and you do everything you can to convey that none of this is his fault. Gently splaying your fingers over the warm metal, you feel the world around you become little more than a blur.

·For a moment the path before him is filled with enemies. He nearly barrels into them rounding a corner, but not a moment is wasted once he has a full count of their number. One hand cradling you protectively, his other grabs the weapon he'd been testing with you before, and the still recovering alien soldiers become nothing more than an impromptu accuracy test. Even for him the precise carnage that follows is unimaginable. A series of heads jerk backwards before hulking bodies go limp, and in mere moments the threat is little more than a pile of confused looking corpses, but there's no time to celebrate. He's off with the weapon in hand for any future attacks.

·You hear him speaking to you as the last vestiges of your strength finally give way. He's trying to sound calm as he urges you to retain consciousness, but for once it's a losing effort, as you can hear the crack in his performance. It makes you sadder than anything else thus far. Particularly because you simply can't stay awake a moment longer. There's just too much weight in your limbs, and the warm darkness promises you a break, so you simply have to give in. All you can hope is that he'll understand neither one of you is to blame, and that you'll be able to wake up and tell him that yourself, but you're not especially worried about the latter half.

·He feels you go completely limp just as the medical bay and laboratory signs come into view. Now in a blind desperation, he makes a split second decision to head for his lab, reasoning that the medical bay will certainly be crowded due to current circumstances. Everything he'll need can be found in his various tools, and he can't waste a moment waiting on anyone else, even the medics. He can recall so clearly the human texts now, how the phenomenon of suffocation was described, and the resulting smothering of irreplaceable cells... Your tiny body is still breathing, but how much damage has already been inflicted? What parts of you has he failed to save? Not knowing is tearing him apart.

·Brainstorm is the only one in the lab, and he looks momentarily relieved to see Perceptor enter, saying something about restoring communication before catching sight of the little body in his hands. A frantic recommendation to bring them to the medical bay is met with curt dismissal as he lays you on an open work slab. There's no time to entrust this to anyone else, and in his mind the supplies he needs are already listed clear as day, including where to find them and what order he needs them in to maximize efficiency. Conscious thought is almost nonexistent as he works with record speed. The only times he stops are when his traitorous optics glance to your tiny body, and each glimpse is like an icy dagger to his spark. This isn't it. It can't be it. He won't lose the one he cares about more than anything.

·The tank of oxygen and the human sized ventilation system are hooked up to your frightfully still face with the care of a diamondsetter. He's able to get the readings of your improvement quickly, as the oxygen levels in the ship were apparently not yet low enough to do real damage, but he feels no comfort. All of his mind is still in chaos from the helplessness he can't yet shake. The fog is so deep that he barely notices Brainstorm return with a glowering Ratchet, and he only replies in curt affirmations or negations when the medic begins questioning your condition, doing so somewhat gruffly due to the inconvenience of having to move you later. With only a confirmation from the other mech you'll be in his care, he heads back out into the ship, weapon in hand and optics cold as he sets about securing Autobot victory one shot at a time.

·By the time you awaken the battle is over and the Lost Light is back to near total functionality. A calm voice instructs you to keep your oxygen mask on just a little longer to be safe, and you see Perceptor sitting beside you in the small recovery room. Having the basic pieces of everything more or less clear in your head, your immediate concern is him, which is only made worse by the scratches and scuffs on his usually well maintained armor. Barely able to stay where you are, the questions begin to pour forth as you reach a hand out to him. There's an uncharacteristically exhausted smile on his face as he reaches out a servo for you to hold. The expression is an obvious mask, made only more strained by the fake flatness of his assurance that he's fine, and that he only endured minor damage while cleaning out the last of the enemy. You know he's lying about that and more.

·Despite your ability to read him, you're still surprised when he cracks in a heartbreaking moment. His shoulders shake, his helm falls forward, and he leans heavily against the berth as your gentle prompt forces it all to the surface. By his standards he's a wreck, though his sobs are barely audible and could easily be mistaken for rough ventilations, and he makes it clear he's aware of how pathetic he looks. But how can he be okay? You needed him, and it was his own system that had failed you, with a second rate cyber attack no less. He should have seen that coming from the onset! He should have prepared! He can't seem to find the ground beneath him as he shakes, and in that instant you find strength far beyond your tiny body, and you use it to claw your way towards him. Seeing this makes him panic, and when he tries to gently stop your efforts you grab him tight, looking deep into those optics as you remind him he doesn't have to know everything. There will be times he's up against the unknown and unexpected, but his determination and strength have always driven him forward, and that's what you fell in love with. As you speak he seems to regain himself, and you hold him as tight as you can while emphasizing that even if everything feels out of control, you'll always be here to figure it out beside him. There's a sigh of relief he doesn't bother to hide as his world stabilizes, and once again you and he are right where you belong, hand in hand at the center.

Drift

·Having spent time on earth made him rather familiar with humans, and that combined with his first hand experience being an outsider in a group made him determined to ensure you were welcome on the ship. Needless to say, his efforts were more than a little successful. Now he's trying to teach you self defense in your shared quarters, which requires some creative thinking to ensure your safety. He's still got you using lightweight staffs in the place of anything sharp, and being a beginner, you can't complain too much. Though it's hard not to laugh when something occasionally gets bonked, yourself included, and even he chuckles despite all attempts to appear the dedicated teacher. Even with these distractions you learn a lot, but it's hard not to just enjoy how gentle he is when adjusting your stance, his proportionally massive hands holding you as if you might shatter in an instant.

·Thankfully he has full control of his reactions when the ship unexpectedly spasms, and his cupped palm prevents you from tumbling to the floor as the tremors settle back to absolute stillness, allowing you to look up at Drift just as he opens his communication line to Rodimus. The captain is able to give a brief rant about an ambush and systems crashing all over before the line begins to break, and you see your steadfast partner visibly distress as he loses contact with his friend, getting only a few garbled bits of information before the line goes entirely silent. An attempt by you to establish contact on your own communicator finds no success either. For all of his usual calm, the mech still supporting you looks ready to fight as he acknowledges trouble is inbound.

·To your surprise, he lifts you clear off the floor in a single move, talking fast as he secures his weapons and prepares for what he says will be a run for the most secure parts of the ship. Even if he's one of the key bots for defense in the event of something just like this, he has to get you to safety, or at least somewhere relatively well protected. There's a few key locations he can think of; the headquarters for security, the laboratories, the medical bay, and a few others he's memorized for... well, this exact purpose. The moment a tiny human changed his world he had drafted countless protective measures to ensure their safety, because he knew the dangers they would face all too well. Unfortunately he's having a hard time keeping them all in track now, especially with creeping fear tainting his reason and ability to plan ahead.

·Catching the worry he never admits to having, and admittedly plenty afraid yourself, you help him focus by calmly asking for the closest place he knows of that's secure. Mask of calm returning in an instant, he smiles and decides to go for the main laboratory. Perceptor is likely there, getting whatever experimental defense apparatus he's currently testing up and running to expel incoming threats. There likely won't be a safer place in the universe once he's prepared. Drift keeps to himself that there's an unspoken understanding between them regarding you, namely that the reserved scientist will protect you with the same level of veracity he would his former battle partner. Unfortunately that vow may be getting tested very shortly... Yet he keeps smiling, refusing to let his fear dampen your energy as he decides it's time to make his move. Somehow you feel just as heavy in his hand as the sword on his back as he makes sure you're secure.

·Accustomed to being carried by him in a number of ways, you notice his grip is different the instant he steps into the hallway, his digits curled in a way that screams protection just as much as his narrowed optics radiate apprehension despite trying to appear calm. You know he's protective by nature, but this is different. Every part of him is working in unison to move with as little noise as possible, his senses alert and scanning for threats as he hurries through the ship far more silently than you would have ever expected for a bot his size. In all your time together he's never been so outwardly on edge. Through his shameful confessions you know of his past, and you know of his skill in eliminating threats, so to see him nervous is actually a touch alarming in itself.

·There's a quick whisper from him that he believes enemies may be unavoidable no matter what path he takes. Should there be combat, he warns, he wants you to remain hidden or at least in cover until he's eliminated the threat. Should they overpower him however, your goal will be escape through whatever means necessary. The idea of dying to protect his partner doesn't give him any pause. Instead, his only focus is on ensuring you know every tool at your disposal to get to safety. Thoughts of sending you through the vents give him little comfort, but his feelings are hardly a priority, as nothing matters beyond you. You who saw past his sins, who'd given him a home in your boundless heart, and who had brought nothing but joy and light into his life. If he could guarantee anything by sheer force of will, it was your survival.

·You want to remind him that you're not the only one who matters here. Though you don't have any of his great strength or speed, you're certainly not going to let him be taken from you, as surviving without him would hardly be a victory. But holding on to that conversation is all you can do for now. The danger is real if you draw unwanted attention through speech, and so you keep the thoughts to yourself, saving them for the time you both would have to talk when this was over. Stress is oddly nonexistent as the air crackles around you from tension, perhaps signaling you've become so anxious it's all come full circle and turned you calm. Still, you keep a firm hold on him from your position of cover. Spectralism has encouraged him to be incredibly sensitive to the world around him, so you hope your tiny self focusing on calm will help give him some comfort.

·Unfortunately your efforts are given no time to pay off. Without making so much as a sound, he pushes himself flat against a wall and shushez you as he does so, allowing you to catch the faintest hint of what alarmed him; the sound of very alien movement. Trained audials lock in on the most likely direction of the source, which gives him the information he needs to come to an important decision; there's no getting around this particular group. As time to wait them out simply doesn't exist, he's left to confirm that fighting is his only choice, and with that lays you down on the floor beside a vent opening. Having known this might happen does nothing to quell your panic when you realize you're being left on the sidelines. This mech leaves you no time to argue before silently slipping around the corner to end things quickly.

·There's a team of Cybertronian sized lifeforms so surprised by his arrival they only have time to clumsily draw their weapons before the first one is neatly cut to pieces. Double blades make short work of the next few, and the mess of alien blood barely registers as he moves in a kind of trance, unwilling to let himself waste a moment of time unleashing the frustration and anger he so desperately wants to take out on these intruders. There's no doubt in his mind they'd hurt you if given the chance, but his logic keeps him in check to ensure he doesn't lose himself to the rage such a thought tempts him with. Cold precision is what he needs to most effectively end this quickly, and the method is proven effective when the last enemy falls in pieces, all without a single mark on his own armor. Save for the few spatters of alien blood, but he hardly notices such a minor detail.

·You're a little more concerned when he returns dripping with the mess of battle, but a quick reasurance and a noting of the lack of energon's distinctive pink glow puts most of your worries to rest. Still, you cling tightly to him as he picks you back up, whispering your thanks despite the loud clamor of the recent battle. It's a small victory when your gratitude makes him smile once again. Reminding you that he took a vow to protect you, he holds you close again and sets back off, assuming the same strategy of silent travel as before. It's oddly less tense this time, as if seeing what he's up against gave him the confidence to overcome his own worries for your sake. Whatever the case, you gladly take the result, already worn out from all the excitement of his recent battle.

·A brief burst of communication gives him pause, and you're equally baffled by the sudden transmission until he takes cover and answers. The commanding bots make something clear for the short message they've been able to transmit; Drift needs to get you to the medical bay. A rapid explanation of how the shipwide errors includes the atmospheric generators puts it all together in horrifying detail. Oxygen levels are dropping on all the sensors, they explain before the line cuts out, and while it's happening slowly there's still precious little time. He doesn't need any further instructions when silence descends over you both once more. You, however, can barely grasp the full extent of what you've just been told. After all, you feel fine! Well... mostly fine, perhaps things are a bit more wobbly than they should be.

·You're embraced as his expression briefly cracks into full worry. There's a whispered promise to get you to safety before he's once again on the move, all the on edge energy from before filling his coiled body as it hurries through the ship at impressive speeds. Strategy doesn't come easily as you try to think of the best way to save your breath. Keeping calm is hardly an option with everything going on, but you give it your best shot. You just need to stay awake and as relaxed as possible until he reaches the medical bay. It's harder than it should be already, but you persevere, lying down in his hand to keep the world from spinning all around you. Being close to him helps just a little bit. It helps you believe that the two of you will be fine, that he'll get to where he needs to be without trouble, and that everything is going to be smooth sailing from here.

·But of course, his luck allows for no such fortune. In the next moment he's being forced to tuck you away without a word of warning, the sound of an even more aggressive group of attackers forcing him to act before you can be hurt. He tries to dominate the battle like he did the last one, using his anger for fuel but never allowing it to take control, and his blades respond well to the strategy at first. However, this group is larger than the last, and thus his ambush simply doesn't buy him enough time to defeat them all. Soon blaster shots are flying and counterattacks are being hurled in his direction. All he can think about is you lying just out of sight, and how little time he has for this, and that these beings are all perfectly fine ending your life with such a cowardly tactic... It's an emotional powder keg, and the spark is finally lit when a not so lucky alien manages to cut a shallow gash across his side. The harsh burn of the injury sets him off just as you manage to glance down the hallway.

·Calm and calculated combat becomes a brutal beat down of anything he can get his swords through. A snarl reveals his shamefully concealed canines as he turns his blades into instruments of revenge instead of mere tools to victory. Even as your vision spins you can see him carving the increasingly fewer number of enemies without any of his usual grace, his expression one of blind fury as he eviscerates his enemies and something like a smile pulling up on his lips through their snarl. Some part of him is enjoying this, you realize. Even though he doesn't linger or draw out his moves, you can see he's going for absolute brutality in his kills. He wants these aliens to hurt for what they've done, and while you can't feel any pity for them, you know he's going to agonize over this later. He's often confided a fear of his own mind, citing moments like these where he just wants the enemy to hurt, and you know he firmly believes goodness is beyond him because of this.

·There's a thrill as he clears the last enemy, despite a few additional injuries of his own to show for it. No one was going to harm his beloved human and keep their limbs intact. He's still flashing the artificially sharpened canines that usually bring him such shame when he turns to see you watching. Pride vaporizes to horror in an instant, both from the realization that he gave in to temptation and that you saw him partake in such senseless brutality, and only the continued need to move lets him approach and lift you once more. Apologies pour out of his voicebox as he returns to running, begging your forgiveness for having exposed you to the worst parts of himself and failing to control them at your most vulnerable. Guilt tears him apart as he sees you've begun to lose clarity in the growing absence of oxygen.

·Unconsciousness pulls at you despite your resistance, and you force yourself to stay alert enough to keep him reassured. Had you the words your emphasis would have been on comforting him in the wake of his loss of control, particularly in regards to how you weren't afraid and never would be, as that piece was just a small part of the actual him you knew. Did he reject you for your failings? No, you wished you could say, and that you would never leave him for the same reason. As it was, you could only suck in deep breaths and hope he might read the conviction in your eyes. You want so badly for him to see you're not even upset with him, but your more coherent thoughts on the subject are starting to fade as well. Assurances that you will always support him fade into the fog overtaking your mind.

·He feels you slip into unconsciousness and it's like another stab to his already aching spark. Time is running out, and he can certainly take some of the blame for that, can't he? How many precious seconds could have been saved if he just stayed in control and finished the battle without savoring the violence? It's enough guilt that he becomes blind to anything else, charging forward on the most direct path and straight into an ongoing battle between bots and the still invading forces. You're held to his spark with a level of protection a bot would usually reserve for the Matrix, your safety being the only one that matters as he quite literally cuts a path through the enemies, focusing only on getting to the other side as he does so. Without any kind of defense he's quickly suffering a number of injuries, but he either doesn't notice or care as he keeps you free of the danger. The desire for retribution burning in his spark is smothered by a cold refusal to indulge unless he loses what's most worth fighting for.

·Only a lack of operability in his leg slows him down, and by then he's thankfully surrounded more by Autobots than enemies. His heroic charge is credited with turning the fight, but he's heedless to praise and concern as he finds support to stand from an unexpected arrival; Ratchet. Stopping the medic before his own wounds can be addressed, he holds you out wordlessly as his sword clatters to the floor from his other hand. Energon loss he only just now notices makes him wobble, but he insists on waiting until you've been helped, refusing to be treated until he knows you're going to be okay. The medics sort of compromise by tending to him whilst setting you up on the prepared medical slab, and as his considerable injuries are patched up he feels relief plagued by uncertainty. Will you remember what you saw? Will the firsthand experience with his inner demons drive you away? It eats at him in ways no medic can make feel better.

·When you awaken he's also on mandatory rest, and he's moved your tiny self onto a medical slab beside him to keep you close, making his familiar colors the first thing you see upon opening your eyes. You can't bring yourself to care about the oxygen mask on your face when the recently welded scars on his armor shock you into a mild panic. Seeing you awake, he gently shushes your concerns and encourages you to be still, and his position on his side thankfully makes conversing quite simple. At a single, anxious prompt about your memory the moments leading up to your loss of consciousness become clear. Drift quickly assures you that everything is fine, but you catch his look of worry when you confirm your recollection, and a gentle request for more information strikes him hard.

·His apologies are as helpless as they are hopeless. The disgust with himself is nearly tangible as he begs your forgiveness for having exposed you to the worst parts of himself, and it takes far longer than usual to get him to listen to you, perhaps due to the mask muffling your voice. Reiterating that you already accepted his past, you recall the way he held you in the heat of everything just today, and emphasise the sheer volume of injuries he endured to save you. That's the bot you've chosen to love, at the peak of his strength and selflessness and determination... That's who he is, and who he will always be to you. Your reminder soothes the pain in his body and spark. Moving as close as he can on the berth, he takes the moment to appreciate being together once again, his faith in himself given new strength thanks to your boundless love.

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #idw #tf #my writing #my asks #anon #requests #perceptor #drift #perceptor x reader #drift x reader #human reader #self insert #transformers headcanon

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downwiththeficness · 3 years

Text

In the Bond-Chapter 7

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~4,600

Warnings: None

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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Fucking customs.

She hated going through customs.

Lilah’s hands were cuffed behind her as she sat on a heavy metal chair. The air conditioner was running full blast and she was shivering. Lilah was suddenly wishing she hadn’t stuffed her sweatshirt in her carry on bag. In only a camisole and shorts, she felt the effects of frostbite weren’t far away.

There had been a traffic jam on the highway and the cup had been reported stolen before she could get on the plane. Lilah could plan for a lot of contingencies, but an overturned semi hauling innumerable packages of ramen noodles would be filed under ‘freak accident’. It would take many, many years before Lilah would be able to smell the beef flavoring without thinking of being hauled gracelessly into this little room.

Seth had been third in line behind her, Richie having already cleared security, when they popped her for the theft. And, here she sat, waiting for one or both of them to break her out. They were smart guys, but this was an airport. Lilah was not going to count on rescue being quick. She settled further into the unforgiving metal of the chair, and waited.

The airport staff were likely running her passport, a fake, and her prints, which she could not fake. Lilah put it at about ten minutes before they figured out she was wanted in three states, an hour or two before she was extradited to one of those states. By noon, she was going to be behind bars. If she had it her way, they’d jack the car she was being transported in. Quick, easy, low chance that there would be security they couldn’t handle.

They’d lose the cup, though, which was not acceptable. It would sit in evidence somewhere until she was tried for the case—a trial that wouldn’t happen. Lilah did not like the prospect of getting the thing out of an evidence lock up. No, the best thing would be for her to get out of the cuffs, sneak out of the room, grab the cup on the way out.

The idiots who’d cuffed her left her purse on the table. In it was a burner cell phone. The plan was as follows: Get out of cuffs, use cell phone to call Seth and relay plan, sneak out, get cup, haul ass through the South exit, meet up with Seth, haul ass out of the country by car as opposed the plane.

The problem wasn’t the plan. The problem was that she was cuffed. Lilah was a very good thief, but she couldn’t steal with her hands behind her back. Not even she was stupid enough to take that boast on.

A low whir told her that the a/c had kicked on again and Lilah glared up at the vent. This was a far cry from where she’d been not a few days before, sitting on a soft, overstuffed couch and discussing strategy for how to expedite shipments to the club. He was feeding more and more of his people, and supplies were remaining stagnant. Lilah would very much would like to be curled up on that couch with Brasa, soaking up the heat from his body. Instead she was...pissed off and cold.

The conversation was one of the few that hadn’t ended in either ambiguity or frustration. Lilah had actually enjoyed sitting with him, arguing points back and forth, problem solving. He’d challenged her ideas, prompting alternatives that she found herself agreeing with. And then, when the conversation died down, he’d simply taken her hand and pulled her into his body.

Lilah had rested against him for awhile, soaking in the his warmth and letting him run his palm over the back of her hand and up her arm. Over and over, a deeply soothing motion. And then, with little preamble, he pulled her thumb between his lips nipping it with a lowered fang. She’d felt a pinch of pain, and then the venom slid into her veins, sending little zings of pleasure up her arm to settle in her chest.

Brasa had repeated the process with each of her fingers, watching her carefully. He’d agreed to continue exposing her a little at a time, and Lilah felt her cheeks warm as she thought about how very sweetly he’d kissed her before she’d left. Though she’d reached for him on the couch, he’d been adamant that she lay back and enjoy the feeling running over her nerves. Afterwards, he’d ensured she could stand steadily before allowing her to make her way to the door.

Smiling a little, Lilah tapped her sneakered feet against the tile, waiting for the first of what she assumed was two agents that would be responsible for questioning her. This was the hard part, the waiting. She was already bored, not even her ire was enough to keep her distracted.

Eyes closed, Lilah tried to keep herself calm and relaxed. The agents would be watching for anxiety, for signs of fear. When they got her details, they’d be expecting a professional who knew they were caught. They might want to negotiate for her partners. That meant she had leverage. She could buy time for Seth to get into position.

God, she was cold. Goosebumps were peppered all along her arms. As soon as she delivered that cup, she was going to wrap herself up in Brasa until he melted her down to her bones.

“I will be happy to accommodate.”

Lilah flinched, eyes flying open. Brasa was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room, smirking at her from behind gold rimmed glasses.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed.

He pushed from the wall, circling around the table between them. After pushing her purse to the side, he sat back on the table, gloved hands folded in front of him, “I felt you.”

She gaped, “You felt me?”

Brasa nodded, “I felt you wanting me. Here I am.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You can do that?”

“Apparently.”

Well...that was an entirely new thing that she now had to figure out how to deal with. While handcuffed. In what she could only assume was federal custody. Shit.

“We really, really have to iron out the details of the bond,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Yes, we do,” an agent said as he stormed into the room, a file in one hand. “By my count, you’ll be up to a couple million by the time we’re done with you.”

Lilah watched him cross over and sit in the chair opposite her. She had to resist lifting her gaze to gauge Brasa’s expression. The agent looked completely unaware that they weren’t alone. She didn’t want to tip him off that anything might be awry.

“No response?” The agent asked, brows lifted.

He was blond, average build, mid-fifties. The cut of his suit was off the rack, but he was wearing very nice cuff links. His haircut suggested ex-military. He wasn’t wearing a tie. Consultant. She put it at about twenty minutes since she’d been cuffed. He was already on site. If he had a partner, they would be there with him, he was working alone. The file was bullshit, a prop. Whatever he knew, he’d just read off the net. She could work with that.

“I’m Agent Rollins,” he offered with a smile.

Lilah stared at him, waiting.

“You’re a very popular woman.”

“And?”

Brasa shifted to the side, moving to stand behind her, his hand resting on the back of her chair. She ignored him, focusing on the agent. Rollins reached over and dumped her purse, finding her cell.

“If I hit redial, who will this call?”

A burner phone. Seth might answer it. That would work in her favor.

“Do it and find out.”

His smile was coy, as if he’d been let in on a joke she hadn’t told, “I think I’ll wait for the authorities to arrive.”

There. She could manage him with that. There were others that had more power. He was looking to make a deal, hoping she’d be scared enough to talk. He wanted something to boost his profile.

“Then, I don’t need to say anything else to you,” she quipped, slouching in the chair, “You’re not important enough to waste the effort on.”

His jaw ticked, “You know, I can get those cuffs off you.”

“I’m good with them where they are,” she said, pacing the answer to come off flippant as opposed to brash.

“Are you?” came a voice at her ear.

The heat of him was distracting, but Lilah managed to ignore him, “Why don’t you go tell your boss to come in here. We can talk turkey.”

“What does a turkey have to do with it?” Brasa said, in time with Rollins’, “I don’t have a boss.”

“You’re going to have to stop talking for a minute,” Lilah bit out, her chin tilting in Brasa’s direction as he leaned into her space.

Rollins sputtered, “You don’t want me to stop talking. I stop talking, you go to prison.”

Lilah held her tongue, her attention diverting to the way Brasa was dropping a kiss on her exposed shoulder.

Rollins took her distraction for fear, he leaned forward onto his elbows, “I can ensure you get minimum security. A woman of your skills can get out of that, no problem.”

That was true. She could swing that. But, she wasn’t going to get that far. Lilah was going to walk out of this office with the cup. And that was that. She’d be doing that a lot faster if Brasa wasn’t nosing along her temple, mouth skimming her skin.

She took a breath, trying to steady herself as Brasa ran his gloved fingers along her collarbone, “You need to stop.”

Brasa chuckled, “Why? You’re enjoying it.”

“Ms. McNamara,” Rollins entreated, “I’m trying to help you.”

Lilah shivered as she felt leather trace over the back of her neck, the weight of his hand resting there.

“You’re not the one cuffed to a chair,” she bit out.

Rollins, mistaking her meaning, nodded and reached into his pocket. Lilah could not stop the way her body tensed, too many knives pulled on her in just so casual a manner. Behind her Brasa let out a soft growl, but he moved, his eyes watching Rollins’ every step.

Leaning down, Rollins looked her in the eye, “As an act of good faith, I’ll un-cuff you. Fair warning, there’s an officer watching through the glass over there. You make any wrong move, and we’ll hog tie you until your transfer is cleared. Understood?”

Lilah smiled, “Understood.”

Rollins leveled a long look at her before he leaned down and slipped the key into the lock. Lilah felt the cuffs give way and drop into his hand.

“Now,” he said as he stood, pushing the cuffs into his pocket, “Do you have something to say?”

Lilah dropped her eyes and pretended to think, her jaw working, “Look up Mary Westmacott. Hard to find, but that should give you something to go off of.”

Rollins sneered a little bit, disappointed that she wasn’t giving up more, but she saw him process the name. He’d run it through all the normal archives—FBI, CIA, Interpol—but, he’d come up with nothing. It would buy her maybe twenty minutes to get out of the room, get the cup, and get out the door. She could do that.

When Rollins was gone, Lilah breathed deeply and looked over the contents of her purse. Rollins had taken her cell, but she had…gum, a pen, her wallet (sans ID), and mace. The idiot had taken her cell and identification, but left mace. She’d give him that it was disguised as a tube of lipstick, but it wasn’t even that good a disguise. Lilah liked to carry it, just in case, but she never bought the expensive stuff—had to ditch it before security, anyways.

She kept her body relaxed, but couldn’t help but to watch Brasa as he sauntered around her to return to his position atop the table. He was smiling.

“Oh sure,” she murmured, “Come on in, shove my purse aside, sit there, and smile at me. I still have to get out of this room.”

Stupid pleased smile. Stupid pretty face. Lilah shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of a strategy that wouldn’t get her shot in the back as she ran from the building.

“How can I help?” he asked, palms turned upwards.

Lilah sighed, “Hand me that mace, we’ll call it even. It looks like a lipstick.”

He leaned back a little, grabbed the little tube and held it up for her inspection. When she nodded, he tossed it to her. Lilah caught it and pushed it into her back pocket for safekeeping. She’d picked it up at a gas station just outside the city when they’d landed, a quick sleight of hand while Seth paid the cashier.

“Thank you,” she said, with feeling.

With a soft sound of entreaty, Brasa dropped to his knees, a move as startlingly fast as it was graceful. Lilah flinched, scooting the chair back a bit.

“What are you doing?”

With deliberate slowness, Brasa pulled the glasses off and tucked them into the inner pocket of his jacket. Then, he settled his weight back on his heels, big brown eyes looking up at her. Lilah’s hands curled around the legs of the chair, the cool metal grounding her against the heavy beat of her heart.

His gaze scanned the length of her body, along her shoulders, her breasts, hips, thighs, and down to her ankles. She felt leather encircle her calves, heat sizzling over her skin.

“You’re always wearing these thick sweaters,” he said in a soft, easy tone, “Is this what you wear to work?”

She huffed, shaking her head, “Its in the carry-on.”

He hummed a little bit, eyes roaming, “I like this change. You should do it more often. Especially the shorts.”

At this Lilah rolled her eyes, flexing her leg a little to tap her foot against his knee, “Says the man who wears nothing but black.”

Conceding the point wordlessly, Brasa leaned forward and up a little so that his chest was pressed against her knees.

“What would you have me wear?”

Though the question seemed innocent enough, Lilah caught a little bit of strain in his eyes. He was asking because he really wanted to know what she wanted, as if he’d wear whatever she suggested.

After a few seconds of hesitation, she simply said, “Wear whatever you whatever you want. Whatever you like.”

He laughed, a cutting thing that made her push back a little in her seat. Still laughing, he dropped his head into her lap, drawing in a breath that grazed her inner thighs. Lilah swallowed and resisted the urge to put her hands in his hair, a reaction she didn’t know quite what to do with.

When he’d calmed, Brasa’s head rolled to the side and he looked up at her from beneath his lashes, “You are impossible.”

She blinked, “You keep saying that.”

“I mean it,” he shot back, his hands sliding up her legs to rest on the tops of her thighs. Rising so that he knelt on his knees before her, Brasa’s expression was soft, “You ask for my opinion. You listen to me, you talk to me without condescension.” He took a breath, “You ask me for nothing. You won’t let me, but what I want is to serve you.”

Her jaw was hanging open. Lilah knew that. She absolutely could not help it. No one had ever said anything quite so to the point to her before. Not ever. She searched his face for insincerity, finding none. He was being completely earnest.

The door swung open and an angry Rollins strode in, red faced. There was sweat on his temple and a swagger in his step. He’d moved pretty fast, faster than she anticipated. Hardly five minutes had passed. He must have started with Google, rather than the government databases. Damn it.

“And then there were none,” he pronounced, hands on his hips.

Smirking, Lilah gave him a reluctant nod, “You got it.”

At her feet, Brasa growled. Lilah kept her eyes on Rollins, but relaxed her hips, letting his weight fall forward between her knees. Rollins clocked the movement his sneer deepening to disgust.

“Don’t think that’s going to work with me,” he warned, as he stepped closer.

Feeling the man between her legs tense to stand, Lilah squeezed her thighs a little to keep Brasa right where he was.

“Just wanted to see if you were an idiot, or not,” she quipped.

Rollins pointed at her, “Don’t play games with me. I’ll put you in a cell so fast—,”

“Of course you will,” she cut him off. “What you won’t do is cuff me again.”

She watched him get more angry, allowing herself to smile sweetly as he dug in his pocket. When he pulled out the cuffs and took another step forward, Lilah shot up out of the seat, her hand subtly falling to rest for a fraction of a second on Brasa’s shoulder. He remained kneeling, but his hands ran up and down the length of her legs before gripping her hips.

Rollins pushed into her space a little, grabbing her hand. She struggled, arm waving out to pull his attention while she pushed three fingers into his pocket and slipped the keys out. A hand reached up and pulled them from her fingertips, deftly putting them in her own pocket while she continued to fight with Rollins. Eventually, she left him cuff her hands in front of her, while she pretended to pout.

Stepping away, Rollins continued to glare at her, “You just sit there and wait. We’ll see who does what.”

She shrugged.

“You know, you keep talking to yourself. Make it easy for me and say something incriminating.” He reached down and jerked the mace out of her pocket, “I don’t know what kind of magnetic pull line you have on this, but don’t think we’re not watching you.”

When the door closed again, Lilah slumped a little. That was really, really easy. Aside from him confiscating her only weapon, that went pretty much how she wanted it to. Rollins would leave her alone now. Secure in the knowledge that she was bound and locked in a room, he would be watching the windows for the authorities. She forgot about whoever was watching through the glass, but that could be dealt with, eventually.

Looking down at Brasa, she lifted a brow, “Tell me, have they always been like this?”

He smiled, rising to stand next to her, “Some things never change.”

“Good to know.”

Lilah was stuck with the same problem she had a few minutes before—she needed to get out of the room, get the cup, and get out. Her brain worked around it, her mouth screwing up in concentration.

“What can I do?” Brasa asked, and Lilah smiled. She had it.

Fixing him with a conspiratorial glance, she said, “How do you feel about making the guy on the other side of the glass pee his pants?”

Face opening up into a bright smile, Brasa nodded. Lilah turned her back to the glass and pitched her voice very low, “You can move stuff in the room. They can’t see you. Ergo, they thinks its me moving it. Let’s keep them thinking that.”

Catching on, Brasa stepped away from her, hand hovering above the table, waiting for her cue. Lilah gave him a subtle nod and waved her hands. With a harsh shove, he swept everything off the table, including her purse. Lilah laughed.

I like this game.

She did it again and he upended the table, throwing it to the wall with the barest of touches. The sound was loud enough that she knew she’d draw a bit of attention, so she waited, listening. Brasa eyed the door, moving closer to her. When it remained closed, Lilah pointed at the chair, waggling her eyes at the two way glass. Another arc of her arms and the chair flew into mirror, cracking it.

Straightening her shoulders, Lilah strode over to it and carefully pressed her finger into the bullseye where the chair had hit the hardest. She added a little more pressure, smiling when an audible crack sounded.

“Can you see me?” She asked, peering hard at her own reflection, “Want to see what else I can do? I’m gonna break this glass right in your face.” Lilah strode away, adding, “You might want to take a step back.”

As she crossed the room, Brasa moved into place, a low chuckle rumbling, “You are enjoying this.”

She beamed at him, “What’s life if you can’t show off once in a while?”

Lilah jerked her hands forward and he slammed his fist on the cracked mirror, shattering it. She laughed, stepping towards it as she dug the key out of her pocket. While she removed the cuffs, Lilah craned her neck to see the security guy (front line, hourly, untrained), cowering on the ground and attempting to use his chair as a shield.

“Hi,” she called out, leaning into the room.

On the desk was the guard’s discarded jacket. She grabbed it and used it to cushion against the glass so that she could vault over the barrier and into the little observation room. It was significantly warmer on the other side of the glass and Lilah felt herself scoff internally at the interrogation tactics. She smiled at the guard.

“So, I just need you to be very quiet. Give me your cell phone.”

Shaking, he handed her the cell. She nodded her thanks and dialed.

“Who is this?” Seth answered brusquely. “We don’t do ransoms.”

“Good to know,” she shot back. “Listen, I’m out of the room. Gonna get the cup and be out of here in about ten minutes. South entrance. Be there.”

Hanging up, Lilah opened the timer app, “I’m going to set this for ten minutes. If you make so much as a peep between now and then, I’ll use that power you saw in there to melt your brain through your nostrils. And, you don’t make enough for that shit, do you?”

The guard shuddered, “No.”

“Good,” she paused, “You see where they took the package I had?”

He nodded, “Its in Agent Rollins’ office.”

She smiled, “You’ve been very helpful.” Handing him the phone and standing, she added, “Don’t be stupid. Stay here. Stay quiet. Ten minutes.”

Catching sight of a taser on his belt, Lilah snagged it, clipping it to her belt loop. After another moment of thought, she reached over the desk and grabbed the jacket, shaking it out. This would do as a disguise, for the moment. And then she was heading out, moving down the hall.

“He didn’t pee his pants,” came the comment from behind her.

“Yeah,” she murmured as she checked for others. “Damn shame.” Casting him a flirtatious look, Lilah said, “Next time.”

“I look forward to it,” he replied, his step a leisurely saunter in comparison to her intentional stealth.

Lilah found Rollins’ office fairly quickly. The door was closed. She could hear him on the phone. Probably boasting about capturing a thief, caught red-handed. Her lip curled. Ear pressed to the door, she listened for her opening.

Warmth enveloped her from behind, gloved hands landing on either side of her head. Lilah’s eyes closed briefly and she turned to look up at him. He blocked out the light of the florescent bulbs above them.

“What’s the plan?” He asked cordially, as if they hadn’t just wrecked the interrogation room and scared a guard shitless.

She shrugged, “When he’s done with his phone call, I’m going in there, using the taser on him, taking the cup, and walking out to the south entrance.” She pointed to her left, “Its just over there.”

He didn’t spare the exit a glance, merely continued to look at her with something like pride shining in his eyes. The conversation in the next room continued in a low drone. Lilah leaned against the door and relaxed while she had the time.

“Thank you for the help back there,” Lilah said, reaching up to touch the lapel of his jacket.

Brasa smiled, pleased, “You had it under control.”

She did, but Lilah definitely appreciated the assist.

She shook her head, “For the record, I’ll always sign on for a little theatrics.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He looked like he was going to say something further, but his head turned to the side. Eyes down, he appeared to be listening.

Looking back at her, he simply said, “I need to go.”

She nodded, blinking, and then he was gone. Leaning hard against the door, she struggled to keep the smile off her face, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Behind her, the conversation slowed to a stop and she took her cue.

With a little swivel, Lilah turned and breezed through the door. She targeted the cup on his desk, ignoring his question of what the fuck she thought she was doing. Quick as she could, Lilah raised the taser and fired, catching him dead center on his chest. He made a sound like a drowned cat, hitting the floor. With her free hand, Lilah shut the door and kept her finger on the trigger for a few more seconds, just to be sure.

Grabbing the cup, Lilah shoved it into the roomy pocket of the jacket, leaning over the desk to make sure Rollins wouldn’t get up too fast. Judging by the drool pooling beneath his mouth, she had a few minutes, at least.

The rest of the plan went smoothly, and Lilah was throwing herself into the back of the car, Richie cackling as he dropped into the seat, Seth cursing as he pealed out of the lot. They raced through the security gates, helpfully disabled by Richie, and out towards the highway.

Lilah held up the cup in victory, smiling as she reveled in the satisfaction of a job well done. And then she frowned, sitting up so quick her eyesight blurred.

“How are you out here? In the sun?” She nearly screamed, her hand gripping the shoulder of Richie’s suit jacket tightly.

Richie shifted around to look at her through the seat, eager to explain, “Okay, so weird perk of completing a bond, right? I don’t become extra crispy in sunlight.”

She stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around it. Richie took her expression as categorical awe.

“I know, right?” He exclaimed, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Its the number one reason culebras try to initiate bonding—I mean, outside of the other stuff.”

Her brows drew together, “Other stuff?”

“Increased strength, faster healing, telepathic connection, and—oh, the feeding is,” he touched his fingers to his mouth in a chef’s kiss.

Lilah continued to stare, connecting dots, her throat dry, “What about, um, Kate? What does she get?”

His smile widened, “That’s the best part. Immortality without having to convert her.”

Immortality…

Lilah found herself turning inwards even as she nodded along to Richie talking about comparative situations in fandom—oddly landing on Vulcan mating practices, which she was not going to get into with him on anything but a superficial level.

Immortality…

How the fuck was she going to deal with that?

#from dusk til dawn #from dusk til dawn: the series #Brasa #In the Bond

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

“Excuses, Excuses” (Rated PG13)

Summary:

When Crowley takes Aziraphale figure skating, the angel thinks Crowley has an ulterior motive. And he does, but it's not the one Aziraphale thinks. (1688 words)

Notes: I was inspired by one of @wildenights prompts for the Gomens Holiday Swap to write this one-shot for them. Sorry that it's a little late.It’s fluff and romance and a first kiss. I hope you enjoy it. :)

Read on AO3.

“Darling?”

“Hmm?” Crowley mutters, barely glancing up from his task.

“Have I offended you?”

“No more than usual, angel.”

“Ha … ha …” Aziraphale frowns at Crowley’s kidding. At least, Aziraphale thinks he’s kidding. But now is hardly the time for it - not when Crowley is putting their lives (such as they can be deemed) in peril. “Have I done something to upset you in any way?”

“Not in the past few hours.”

Aziraphale swallows, his voice softening, fragile to the point of cracking. “Do you love me?”

Crowley’s face snaps up. He glares at Aziraphale, lips twisted. “Of course I do!”

“Then …” Aziraphale eyes the black leather boots with shiny (and lethal looking) silver blades attached that Crowley has finished tying to his feet “… why do you wish to see me discorporated?”

Crowley hauls himself off the floor and sits on the bench beside him, tying his own pair of skates. “Don’t be daft! I don’t want to see you discorporated!”

“Maimed then?”

Crowley huffs and rolls his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, angel! We’re going ice skating!”

“But why go ice skating when there’s a lovely restaurant right over there where we can get coffee and scones?”

“We just had coffee and scones. At that restaurant!”

“I know. That’s how I know it’s lovely.”

“This is what humans do during the holidays. You appreciate cute human rituals,” Crowley points out with a sneer, indicating that he does not appreciate them nearly as much. “I thought you might enjoy yourself.”

“I also enjoy going about with my appendages unbroken.”

“Don’t worry …” Crowley ties a knot in his final lace and rises, rather skillfully, to his feet, making Aziraphale wonder if balancing on blades is a common talent amongst demons, or only for Crowley, which leads to him comically envisioning a frozen pond or lake covered in skating demons, spinning and jumping and performing feats of athletic grace while they spit fire and curse unsuspecting humans to eternity in Hell “… I’ll hold on tight to you so you won’t fall. But if you do manage to break something, I’ll miracle it back together. All right?”

Aziraphale hums in disapproval. He isn’t looking forward to any activity that might require he be reassembled by a demon. But Aziraphale has seen Crowley miracle dents out of his Bentley numerous times. Crowley can definitely do it.

“Yes, all right,” Aziraphale relents, reluctant to relinquish the belief that he must have done something heinous if Crowley chooses to torture him this way. Crowley is more of a wily demon than a malicious one, ergo he’d probably want to see Aziraphale fall on his arse, look like a fool, not get injured.

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s arm and leads him to the ice with such care, it confuses him. Perhaps Crowley plans on taking him to the center of the ice and stranding him there. He’d come back to the benches, miracle himself up a brandy, then sit and watch Aziraphale struggle to follow. And while Aziraphale racks his brain for a possible reason why, he overlooks the fact that they’ve started circling the rink arm in arm, slowly and smoothly. Aziraphale stares down at his legs, basically paralyzed, then to Crowley doing all of the work keeping Aziraphale upright and guiding him along. He gets so caught up watching their skates glide across the ice, trying to find a balanced spot, he doesn’t notice he’s doubled over, his nose nearly at the level of his navel.

“No need to stare at the ice, angel,” Crowley says. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Oh. Right.” Aziraphale straightens, inch by inch becoming more comfortable in his current circumstances until he appears from the outside like he’s doing something close to skating.

“There …” Crowley smiles at Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks and cherry nose “… how’s that? Nice, huh?”

“I … I suppose,” Aziraphale admits. “I’d still rather be sitting somewhere safe. And warm.”

“Next time I’ll bring you a sled instead of skates so I can pull you around like a dog. How would that suit you?”

“If you’re offering …” Aziraphale’s left leg cramps from straining to remain immobile while his right gets ambitious and decides to push. He hits his toe pick and trips, flying forward so fast, stars swirl before his eyes. He tenses, assuming a crash eminent, but Crowley swoops in and braces him before he loses his feet. Aziraphale stares up at the demon holding him awkwardly in his arms. “Um … thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley says, putting Aziraphale back on his blades. Without another word, they continue along. Aziraphale takes a deep breath in through his nose and holds it, wary of doing anything more strenuous that may throw him off balance. But with Crowley’s arm latched securely around him, he starts to relax, lets himself experience fully everything going on around him - the wind biting his cheeks and his nose, threading through his hair like fingers; the sound their blades make as they scrape along the ice; holiday music playing through an outdoor speaker from a shop close by; the savory smells coming from that restaurant Aziraphale is still carrying a torch for. Most of all, he’s enjoying Crowley’s arm around him, his strength keeping Aziraphale vertical, his warmth seeping through Aziraphale’s clothes to his skin.

Aziraphale feels giddy in Crowley’s arms. Brave somewhat. He raises a leg and balances on one skate. Crowley sees him and smiles, holding him steadier when that leg starts to wobble.

“See?” he says. “You’re gettin’ the hang of it.”

“Yes, well, this shouldn’t be too hard when you consider I can fly.” Aziraphale lets go of Crowley’s arm for a second and gives spinning a try, returning to the safety of Crowley’s embrace after his first shaky attempt.

“Very nice, angel. Very nice. Maybe you can compete in the next Olympics.”

“Been there, done that. You seem to be steadier on your feet than I am. I imagine you’ve done this before?”

Crowley shrugs. “Once or twice.”

“Why don’t you show me what you can do then?” Aziraphale asks, joyfully breathless and completely exhilarated. Why had he not attempted this before? How did he not realize how much fun this could be?

Well, the answer to that is quite simple.

Because a handsome demon had never offered to take him before. Now that he has, he must find an excuse for Crowley to bring him skating whenever they are able.

“Not this time. This time around my only job is to ensure your safety.”

“That’s awfully chivalrous of you.” Aziraphale releases Crowley’s hand to try his spin again. He performs it, but this time, the edge of his blade catches. His feet fly out from under him. He’s sure he’s going to land on his back this time, but out of nowhere, Crowley has his arms around him, holding him against his body for safe keeping.

And even after Aziraphale steadies himself, Crowley doesn’t let go.

“Are you all right, dear?” Aziraphale asks when this embrace has gone on a hair too long to be considered helping anymore. Crowley doesn’t say yes or no. He makes a noise in the affirmative and clings on tighter. Aziraphale does the same, holding Crowley around the torso and resting his cheek against his shoulder. He smiles when he feels them start to sway, as if they could be dancing, even though neither of them has moved an inch. They haven’t gone dancing before either. They’ve barely held hands. Maybe that was the next thing on Crowley’s agenda. This single embrace is the most physical contact they’ve shared in 6000 years of knowing one another.

And that gets Aziraphale thinking.

“Is this … is this why you wanted to go skating with me?”

“Mmm … maybe.”

Aziraphale pulls back to look at Crowley’s face, past the lenses of his dark glasses and into his beautiful amber eyes . “Dearest, if you wanted a hug, you could have just asked.”

“Ngk … yeah … I know. I guess I was just afraid you’d say no.”

“Why would I possibly say no? It is just a hug after all. Friends hug, and I dare say, we’re more than friends.”

“True but …”

“And … you said you love me. Correct?”

“I do. But I … I got the feeling that … for you … hugging might be a big milestone and all … seeing as we’ve known each other 6000 years and we’ve never once … uh … I didn’t want to overstep … you know … because then we may never … well, we may never …”

Aziraphale gazes fondly at his ridiculous demon and sighs. He’s in no position to do anything grand. He’s still not quite steady on his feet. And regardless of his size, he feels a too strong breeze might push him over. So he rises up carefully on his toes, presses his lips to Crowley’s, and silences his bumbling demon with a kiss.

Crowley stops, stunned, mouth slightly open, lips cold but wet from constantly nervously running his tongue over them. But seconds later, he pulls Aziraphale back into his embrace, holding him with arms so secure and sure, they may as well be made of steel. It’s a simple kiss, but it nearly knocks the wind out of Crowley - a feat considering, as a demon, he doesn’t need to breathe.

“What … what was that for?” he asks when Aziraphale tentatively backs away.

“Didn’t you like it?” Aziraphale asks, the cold putting a twinkle in his eyes but that kiss making his face flush to the roots of his snowy blond hair.

“Yes, I liked it! But that’s not the issue! It took me how long to hug you!? Wouldn’t kissing be considered a much larger step?”

“Of course!” Aziraphale chuckles. “That’s why I figured, if I got it out of the way, it might help you not be nervous about hugging me anymore!”

Crowley grins. Then he laughs out loud, relaxing into the body he’s holding against his own. “I see your point.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable parents #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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calif0rnia-lovers · 5 years

Text

signs of falling.

Got my feelings runnin' on a loop This ain't what I'm really used to

Title: Step #1 - Breakfast.

Request: Billy Russo’s fling realizing he’s catching feelings after he said he wouldn’t.

Pairing: Billy Russo x Black OC

Summary: Billy Russo is known to bend the rules a time or two, but not when it involves Naya Anderson. The two met two months before Billy's last deployment. Understanding they had a short time together Naya established two strict rules. Be gone before she wakes, and no falling in love. When chance allows the two to reconnect years later, Billy finds it difficult to adhere to those rules. I mean, when was the last time he cooked a woman breakfast?

A/N: I’m trying to write outside of reader fics. There’s some smut sprinkled in with the plot...in case you’re someone who likes to skip that type of stuff. Also, I wrote this at 3am after hearing Summer Walker’s ‘Come Thru’ for the first time. It gave me major Russo vibes, tell me I’m wrong.

Words: 4,975

gif: @jokeperaltawrites

“Does that normally work for you?”

The soft bump against his shoulder prompts Billy Russo’s gaze to revert to the woman across him.

Ankles crossed, palms flat against the railing, Maria Castle rests against the pool table in the center of the crowded bar. It’s a rainy Friday night, and nearly half of Frank’s platoon is gathered at the bar with their significant others. They are set to ship off in two months. The women have been trying to get the families to come together as much as possible before they are to leave.

Billy, surprisingly, does not have a date. Perhaps that is why he’s having trouble kicking Frank’s ass in the current game of pool. He doesn’t have someone to impress. Or at least that’s what Billy’s been telling himself the entire night.

Maria knew different.

She has been watching her husband’s best friend the past hour and has discovered the source of Billy’s terrible focus.

Billy blinks as he replays Maria’s question in his mind.

She has a giant grin plastered across her face. It miraculously doubles in size as Billy’s brow furrows. He lifts the beer bottle in his hand to his lips before taking a sip.

“Does what usually work?”

Billy passes Maria his bottle before rolling shoulders. He walks around the pool table, scowling at an amused Frank. Leaning over the pool table, Billy releases a deep breath before lining up his cue stick.

“Undressing women with your eyes?” Maria teases the giggle which escapes her lips prompts Billy’s focus to drift back across the crowded bar.

“Shit.”

Watching the eight ball sink into the left pocket, Billy lets his head hang as Frank’s hand claps his shoulder.

“Sure you don’t wanna quit while you have the money, Bill?” Frank chuckles as Billy sits his cue on the table.

Reclaiming his beer, Billy takes a sip before motioning in Maria’s direction.

“That last play was bullshit.” He groans before fleshing out a bill for the next round of drinks. “I can’t concentrate on the game with Maria trying to analyze me.”

“Aw, come on, Billy,” Maria teasingly tousles the raven-haired man’s hair. “We both know that’s not why you can’t concentrate.”

Billy takes another sip from his drink, his eyes drifting across the bar to a woman.

Seated across from two of her friends, she accepts the tiny shot glass offered to her. He watches, something stirring inside of him, as she sucks against the lime before chasing it with the contents of the shot glass. Billy had been aware of the caramel-skinned beauty the moment she filed into the bar an hour ago. It was hard not to focus on her beauty. It didn't help that her dress hugged each of her curves perfectly, or that she bit her lip each time she attempted to suppress her laugh.

“I wasn’t...undressing her.” But even Billy can’t allow the statement to pass without a smile forming on his lips. He chuckles, his eyes rolling at the triumphant grin on Maria’s lips. “I was just...shit. How do you get anything pass this one, Frankie?”

“I don’t,” Frank chuckles, his lips leaving a loving kiss against his wife’s cheek.

Billy’s eyes instinctively trail back to the woman who has held his attention for most of the night. Maria was quite spot on, but at this point in the evening, Billy was far past undressing the mystery woman with his eyes. He was deep in the rabbit hole. He was ‘imagining how different her giggles would sound once he was inside of her’ type of deep.

“She is pretty,” Maria smiles. “But she doesn’t strike me as the type to fall into your bed just off a few longing glances from across the bar. You might actually have to talk to her. Put that Billy Russo charm to the test.”

Billy isn’t one to back down from a challenge. In fact, his best friends are surprised he hasn’t left them to go and speak to the oblivious woman already. He shakes his head before sipping his beer.

“No,” Billy smiles before placing his drink on the edge of the table. “It’s my turn to kick Frank’s ass at pool.”

Billy manages to win two rounds against Frank, just to soften the blows to his ego, before his patience gets the best of him.

That was the first night Billy had spent with Naya, but not the last.

Billy reminisced about Naya a lot during his tour to Afghanistan. More than he cared to admit, even to Frank.

He spoke to her a few times on the phone when he was first placed. As the unit got moved around they lost contact.

When he returned from his tour Billy busied himself with Anvil. In his free time, Billy found himself at his favorite watering hole. Most nights, he took home strangers who fell in love with his wartime persona, or his glamorous new lifestyle. But he never saw the girl he was searching for.

That didn’t stop him from wishing.

Two full years pass until Billy finally gets his wish.

He spots her before she does him.

She is seated in the corner. Fresh off of work, she is listening to a co-worker who is recounting an animated story to the table of women.

Billy finds himself taking note of changes in her features. The length of her dark curls, which now fell just past her shoulders. The addition of piercings to her ears and nose.

It’s when his eyes are trained on her that Naya feels the familiar warm heat, only elicited by his gaze, begin to spread from head to toe.

Billy watches the range of emotions pass over her features once her blue eyes meet his gaze.

The recognition and shock which melds into confusion.

At first, she doesn’t move. She blinks to ensure the man didn’t merely disappear upon second glance.

Billy lifts the beer in his hand, the familiar smile on his lips pulling Naya from her stool.

They surprise each other, her arms wrapping around his neck when they meet. His body initially staggers beneath her weight, his arm securing around her waist once he can steady their bodies.

“Hi.”

Her grip is tight around him, almost too tight. But Billy doesn’t make an attempt to move away. He squeezes her waist, his smile disappears against the softness of her hair. His body relaxes against hers. Her fingers drift into the soft strands of his hair as Billy’s face burrows against the warmth of her neck. The two remain where they are, neither wanting to be the one responsible for disrupting warmth of the other’s embrace.

“If I’d known this was the response I’d get, I’d told you I was back sooner,” he chuckles against her hair.

Naya moves to take a step back, but Billy’s hand instinctively finds hers keeping her close. His eyes lower to the contrast of her hand against his.

Her gaze studies his face. She cannot detect any physical damage, but she knows that most men don’t often bring back that kind of damage where Billy's returned from. Her fingers lift to his face, the scruff along his jaw tickling her palm. Billy’s eyes raise at her touch.

“You’re okay?”

His lips draw into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his dark eyes. Billy responds by lifting her left hand from his cheek, his lips pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“How long have you been back?”

The concern flooding her features causes Billy to hastily avert his gaze. “A while…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

A soft shrug rolls off his shoulders.

Billy knew she couldn’t understand. No matter how hard she wanted to. It wasn’t as though he was speaking to Maria. Naya has never been forced to receive a man altered from what he's seen at war. He wants to tell her that he's okay but not by her standards. That he's gotten a handle on the parts of him that tries to get out of control. He wants to tell her most nights he finds the need to hear her voice on the other end of his line. He wants to tell her he’d replayed every part of their months together when he was unable to fall asleep while away.

Instead of sharing what’s on his mind, Billy smiles.

“I’ve been uh...acclimating to civilian life.”

Her brow arches. "Permanent civilian life?"

"Yeah. I figured Afghanistan was my last trip around the merry go round. I’ve been busy with work. I started up a company when I got stateside. It’s a good way to keep my mind occupied.”

The soft smile on his lips grows as her eyes finish searching his face. He knows there are questions on her mind, but she doesn't ask them.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Billy.” She takes a step back, a smile on her face. Billy matches each of her steps as she drags him towards the bar. “Okay. Let me buy you a...welcome home drink.”

The moment her fingers leave him and she turns to find a seat, Billy's hands latch on her waist. His touch drifts over the curves of her hips. It burns through the fabric of her dress. The heat that spread across her skin brings a smile to her face. Billy gently tugs her body back into his.

Her hands move down to cover his, her eyes drifting shut as he let his chest press against her back. His arms wrap around her middle, his face ducking down to rest against the security of her shoulder. The scruff on his jaw brushes against her skin. He takes a deep breath, the scent of her perfume filling his lungs.

“I missed you, Naya.”

His lips press a series of soft kisses against her skin. The action pulls a giggle from her lips. Billy’s soft smirk caresses her collarbone. The warmth of his body encompasses hers. The feel of her fingers flexing against his forearms, nails pressing into his skin, encourages Billy’s lips to leave a few more kisses for good measure. He knew exactly how to get her to abandon all logic and how to get her to let him take her home. He knew which spots to kiss, where to let his hands wander, and Naya knew it. The breath she takes allows her to clear her mind.

“Easy, tiger. At least let me buy you a drink first.”

He rolls his neck, a groan of protest rumbling in Billy's chest as Naya escapes his touch to move towards the bar.

Remaining where he stands, Billy watches as she takes a seat at the bar. She leans forward grabbing the attention of the bartender.

Dragging a nearby stool from beneath the bar, Billy takes a seat alongside her. He pushes his empty beer bottle aside before, his gaze incapable of leaving her as she orders their drinks.

She settles against the bar, her focus on her fingers. Toying with the rings on her hand, she bites her lips as she tries her best to ignore the butterflies forming beneath his gaze.

His fingers brushing her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear, before drifting to the nape of her neck.

“How have you been, Naya?”

“Good.” The soft-touch of his thumb along the curve of her jaw locks her gaze with his. Her pulse raises as a familiar Billy Russo inspired electricity spreads down her body. “Work. Home. The usual.”

“No boyfriend?”

The light rolling of her eyes spreads a grin across Billy’s face.

“What?” He chuckles as the bartender steals Naya’s attention. She lifts the glass to her lips before taking a sip, her smile hidden against the rim. “A man needs to know his competition. God knows I have some.”

“I thought Billy Russo didn’t believe in competition,” she challenges. Sliding Billy’s glass towards him, she fails to suppress the smile on her lips. It grows as his playful gaze darkens, trailing down to her lips.

“I don’t.”

His statement is a matter of fact. His gaze is shameless. His chest is met with resistance as Billy leans over to kiss her. Naya’s palm presses against his chest, the playful glint in her eyes pulling a low chuckle from him.

"What are you doing, Mr. Russo?" A giggle escapes Naya’s lips as her chair shifts.

Ignoring her question, Billy doesn’t halt his action of dragging her stool closer until she’s between his legs. His right-hand finds her thigh as he uses his left to lift his drink to his lips. His touch gently caresses her skin before drifting to the curve of her knee.

With them both seated, they are perfectly eye level. He notes the change in her posture as his touch retraces its previous path. Up the hypersensitive warmth of her thigh, his touch teasingly drifting towards her inner thigh this time around.

His tongue passes over his lips as his gaze drops to the lip she bites.

“I’m gonna finish this drink,” He spoke his voice low. He let his hand drift along the warmth of her thigh. His smile morphed into a cocky grin once her legs instinctively part as his hand drifts towards the hem of her dress. His gaze follows his hand as it disappears beneath the fabric of her dress. “Then I’m gonna take you home, and I’m gonna do every fucking thing I’ve thought about doing to you the past two years.”

They fell into a routine over the next few months.

Billy would often call when he wanted to see her. Eventually, phone calls were unnecessary. Most nights, he’d merely show up. No explanation was needed, or able to be given, his fingers in her hair and lips against hers before the door could be shut.

He’d stay until her body was spent, and she was unable to fight off the sleep her body needed to recuperate. If he drifted off, he’d wake only to bury himself deep inside of her for a softer sexual encounter before slipping out to head home. He never stayed the night. He was always gone by the time Naya rose for work.

“I’m starting to think you’re fucking a ghost,” her roommate, Ariel teases, one morning.

“Hmm?” Naya looks up from the standard morning text from Billy, a half-eaten piece of toast hanging from her mouth.

“Either he’s a ghost, or a freaking ninja, the way he sneaks out of here.” Ariel presses. “I might have to set up a camera to see what he looks like. How long has it been? Nearly six months, and I’ve yet to see the miraculous sex god that has you howling at the moon four nights out of the week-”

“I do not howl,” Naya scoffs, the heat on her cheeks causing her to get up from the island. “And it has not been four nights…”

“You’re right,” Ariel smiles as she grabs her jacket. “This week, it’s been five.”

"It has not." Blinking, Naya takes another bite of her food before looking at her roommate. “Has it?”

“It has,” Ariel groans, her hand playfully resting over her heart. “I hate to admit it, but I’m beyond the point of being jealous of you. Clearly, he can’t get enough of you either.”

Rolling her eyes, Naya takes a step towards the door. “Shut up.”

It is mid-summer, the New York heat being impossibly unbearable. Even during the early hours of the morning, it seems impossible to escape. The air condition is on full blast. The ceiling fan whirling above Naya’s bed does little to help. When she had initially fallen asleep, she’d kicked the comforter to the floor settling for her top sheet and nothing else. A thin layer of sweat still adorns her skin.

Exhaustion weighs her body down.

Her eyes remain closed, her hand blindly swiping across the bed in search of the noise that has woken her up. She releases a groan of frustration as she continues swiping until she feels the coldness of the phone against her skin. Blindly, she taps at the screen but it won’t shut off. It’s not hers, it’s Billy.

“Billy.” Her voice comes out just above a whisper. Giving up her pursuit, of silencing the alarm, she rolls onto her back.

“Hmm?”

“Get your fucking phone.”

Billy’s chuckle drifts to her in the dark. Seated on the bottom of the bed, Billy combs his fingers through his disheveled hair before shifting on the bed. Retrieving his phone, he winces as the backlight hits his eyes. Hastily silencing the phone, he tosses it towards the ground where it comes to a silent thump against his previously discarded clothes.

4 am.

He’d set the alarm the night before prior to his arrival at Naya’s place. It was meant to go off in the confines of his bedroom, not hers.

He was supposed to leave after they’d had sex. He had a meeting he was supposed to prepare for after leaving her. A very important meeting surrounding his company. He had notes to review, a presentation to check for the hundredth time. But, per usual, Billy could never leave after just one taste of her.

One led to two, two led to the shower for a cleanup, which led to Billy struggling to control his wandering hands.

He’d awaken a few minutes prior to his alarm going off. The heat was responsible for his inability to sleep.

Billy knows he needs to leave. Partially because of Naya’s stipulation.

"Don’t be here when I wake up," she’d told him that first time they’d hooked up years before life and time diverged their paths.

He also needs to leave so that he can shower and change before heading in to work.

Billy ignores the voice in his head that tells him to get off the bed and to get dressed.

He finds himself sinking back into the mattress. Shifting his body, he climbs over her. He allows the brunt of his weight to rest against his palms as he ducks down to brush his lips against her collarbone. He smiles as the kiss paints a faint smile across her lips.

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, his words muffled against the dip of her collar bone.

“Then go.” Billy’s groan fills the air as Naya’s palm presses against his face. Blocking his kiss, she pushes against his face pulling a chuckling from him. “Let me sleep. It's too fucking hot for cuddling.”

His lips leave playful nips against the inside of her wrist, the soft kisses which pepper her arm pulling a tired giggle from Naya’s lips.

“I’m not trying to cuddle,” he mumbles against her neck.

The pressure that his lips apply to her neck pull her teeth down on her bottom lip. If it were later in the day, Naya would have had the energy to scold him for the light bruises he leaves against her neck. The marks are always hard to explain away when her friends know she doesn’t have a boyfriend. When he’s satisfied with the meticulously placed marks, Billy trails down to her chest. Naya relaxes beneath his touch, her body welcoming the sensations sparked by his mouth.

He takes his time, a specialty of Billy Russo.

He kisses against the soft skin, his teeth and tongue pulling goosebumps across every inch he touches. Down her stomach. To the curves of her hips. Against the warmth of her thighs until he’s lapping against the delicate skin of her folds. He knows she’s just as insatiable as he is. That’s why he saves his teasing nature for the early hours of the morning. He draws her to her orgasm with nothing more than the softness of his tongue and lips. He doesn’t let her reach it until her fingers are tugging tight against the strands of his hair, her others clinging to the sheets for some sense of stability. He lets it fade the moment her back arches off the mattress, his chuckle lost against her skin as she groans in frustration. He’ll repeat the process over and over again until her body is unable to come back and her legs are trembling on his shoulders.

He knows she’ll get him back for it later, but he doesn’t care. He knows the orgasm that ripples through her body is the kind that drifts into her mind throughout the day when they’re apart. Anytime the fabric of her stockings or skirt brushes against her thighs all she will be able to keep in her mind is the image of him between her thighs. He knows she wouldn't dare touch herself until she's safely back in her apartment, so she'll be stuck thinking about him the entire workday.

Billy lives for that.

He leaves sloppy kisses against her skin as he climbs up her trembling body. His lips find hers his fingers buried in her hair as his weight pressed against her.

The kiss was soft. His lips brush her nose, before returning to her lips. This time his tongue brushing the curve of her bottom lip granting him access to her mouth. A soft moan slips into her mouth as her hand travels down his stomach before taking him in her hand.

His teeth tug at her bottom lip as she begins to gently stroke him. The warmth of her hand causes his hips to shift forward in an attempt to align with hers.

“You’re not slick, Mr. Russo.” Letting her free hand press against his hip, Naya giggles as she halts Billy’s movements. “I don’t appreciate being teased this early in the morning.”

“Shit.” The breathless groan that escapes Billy’s lips, as she guides his dick teasingly between her folds, would have buckled her knees if she was standing.

He tries to shift his hips forward, but the hand against his hip teasingly increases the distance from where he needs to be. Billy releases a frustrated moan against her neck, his lips leaving heated kisses against her skin as she continues her actions, his only viable sign of submission. He allows her to tease him until his fingers have left imprints against the bend of her hip. Any cocky retort a clear thinking Billy Russo could have produced is reduced to nothing but a mixture of swears and breathless groans.

“Fuck-I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. His forehead rests against hers, his right hand drifting from her cheek down to her throat. The words linger in the air, drowned out by the sigh of relief that escapes his lips as she allows him to guide himself inside of her. His muscles flex beneath her hands as he stretches her in a way that pulls a moan from both of them.

“I hope this isn’t how you’re making it up to me,” she teases, her fingers tracing down his spine.

“Part of it,” he mumbles against her lips. “Might even throw in breakfast, if you’re lucky.”

Naya giggles, her body pulling his eyes shut as it clenches around him.

“Billy Russo cooking me breakfast?” Her giggles lost against his lips. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”

When she woke, two hours later, Naya found herself alone in bed.

The sheets, where Billy had once lay, were ice cold against her palm. She showered, got dressed and was in the process of formulating the text to let Billy have it for leaving hickeys, that couldn't be hidden when she hears Ariel’s giggles.

Turning into the kitchen, Naya finds her roommate seated at the island, her head thrown back in laughter. The source of her laughter donned a boyish grin and Naya’s rose-covered apron.

Fully dressed, Billy stood in the center of the kitchen a spatula in hand. He wasn’t wearing the suit from the night before. Suit jacket draped over the back of the vacant stool, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbow. He certainly didn’t look a man who had just been ravished down the hall a few hours before. The kitchen rag draped over his shoulder, Billy listens as Ariel recounts a story from her and Naya’s college days.

Carefully transferring the bacon from the skillet, he turns to place it with the full spread adorning the counter when he notices Naya. The smiles that spread across his lips awakens butterflies in her stomach.

“Morning sleepy head.”

Naya steps further into the kitchen, her eyes taking in the food Ariel is happily shoveling down.

“You’re up early, Ariel,” she notes.

Ariel washes down her food with a hearty sip of coffee before smiling.

“I was wondering when I’d meet the man who sneaks out of our flat every morning. I decided to peak out when I heard him in here and found something much better. It’s not every morning you wake up to find a handsome stranger cooking a full course breakfast,” she says as Billy’s lips twitch into a smile

“I want to apologize for that,” Billy smiles as he refills her mug before passing it to her. “And for not properly introducing myself after all this time.”

“No, I understand, Naya has kept you pretty occupied,” Ariel smiles, hiding her smile in the mug when Naya shoots her a glare.

Naya rests against the counter. She watches as Billy fills a mug for her.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Keeping my promise.” Offering her the mug in his hands, Billy smiles as she meets his gaze. “Making breakfast, figured you might be hungry.”

“Breakfast…” she repeats the word softly as his hand finds her hip. He leaves a soft kiss against the warmth of her neck, the action briefly pulling her eyes shut. He steals a second kiss, this time against her lips. Her hand finds his chest as he allows his lips to linger against hers.

The urge to give him a kiss in return fades as he moves away to retrieve the carton of eggs from the fridge.

Naya’s brow furrows once she realizes half of the contents spread across the kitchen weren’t in her fridge the night before. A warmth washes over her body as Billy smiles his focus solely on her. His eyes travel over her, her teeth tugging against her bottom lip as he shamelessly admires her dress.

“So, Ms. Anderson.” Billy smiles. “How do you take ‘em?”

It’s not until he lifts the carton in his hands that Naya remembers to breathe.

“Scrambled. Hard.”

“Coming right up.”

After he’s finished cooking, Billy stays long enough to eat.

The morning conversation is mainly between him and Ariel. Naya is silent, apart from a number of giggles here and there. He finds himself stealing glances in her direction as she concentrates on eating. Her fingers toy with her hair, a soft smile finds his lips. He’d recognize her tells anywhere. He knew something was on her mind.

Finishing his last piece of bacon, Billy takes a final sip of his coffee. With a glance at his watch, he stands.

“I have to head out, but thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” Ariel smiles before excusing herself. She turns once she reaches the hallway, waiting until Billy focuses on slipping on his jacket to throw a thumbs-up sign to Naya.

Billy glances over at Naya as she moves to rinse her plate in the kitchen sink.

Pausing alongside her, he adjusts the tie around his neck.

“Not up to your standards?” He teases, his playful nature not stopping his brain from studying her face. “It’s alright if it’s not. Go ahead lay it on me. A lifetime of criticism has left me with thick skin.”

“No,” Naya smiles as she dries her hands. “It was perfect.”

‘Okay. Well I know it wasn’t the sex…” He presses causing her smile to grow. “So what is it?’

“Hmm?”

“What’s got you biting on your lip like that?”

“I’m still wrapping my mind around you actually using my kitchen to cook.”

“If you’re lucky, it can be a new addition to our morning routine.”

His hands find her neck, tilting her head back granting him access to her lips.

The familiar electricity that took him over traveled across Billy’s body as she stood on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

The sound of his phone pulls them both down to earth.

“I have a meeting,” he sighs, his thumb lingering against her chin.

“Yeah.” Nodding, she smiles turning to gather her keys from the counter. Her heart struggles to calm down once she turns to find Billy hasn’t moved towards the door.

For a moment, it looks as though he’s going to say something. Instead of speaking, his eyes return to his watch before he takes a step towards the door.

“Good luck today,” she smiles as he lets himself out.

She’s still standing where he’d last kissed her when Ariel peeks out.

Ariel steps out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. Resting against the doorway, she waits until the door has closed securely behind Billy to speak.

“So,” she smiles, the tone of her voice causing Naya’s eyes to roll. “That’s your mystery man, huh? Please tell me he has a brother.”

#billy russo imagine #logan browning #billy russo #let me know what you think?#the punisher #the punisher imagine #summer walker come thru #summer walker #imagines #billy russo x oc #billy russo x black oc #marvel x black oc #ben barnes #ben barnes imagine

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senjutsunade · 4 years

Text

Note: Character drabble. Thank you @minaa-munch for your help and support with this.

The kunai is slick with blood, her hand slips on it and it's through sheer force of will that she doesn't let it go. It is too dark to see if the kunai had done what it had intended to do after all. There is blood, yes. A lot of it. Running down her hands, down her arm. She can feel it. She can smell the sickening, coppery stench of it.

She doesn't let go of the kunai, still. Not when her hand trembles slightly. She steadies it soon enough. It doesn't take all that much strength to push the kunai further into quivering flesh. Ensuring the job is done. Somehow, when life has left the body, she just knows. It is then, as the body slumps to the ground, surprisingly silent, that she turns her head and buries her face in the softness of the brown locks of the three year old curled up against her, oblivious to what is happening around him, smiling sweetly in his sleep.

There's movement outside. Subtle but she can pick up on it, regardless.

One arm curls protectively against the small vulnerable form, the other raises the kunai once again, ready to cut down any threat as the door opens, the light flickering in revealing the vicious gleam in sharp hazel eyes. Flanked by guards, it is the familiar crimson of her grandmother's hair, streaked with white, that she sees. She doesn't lower the kunai. Drops of blood still drip from the metal.

The slightly startled eyes of the Uzumaki move from the crimson stained kunai to the corpse laying on the wooden floor and a flicker of regret passes through her eyes before she regains her composure and locks her eyes with the hazel of her granddaughters. "Nawaki"?

The reply doesn't come instantly. Suspicion is thick within her. As is the need to protect. "...was scared so came here..." the voice that responds isn't that of a child, as it should have been. Something the Uzumaki notices but doesn't comment on. The next minute makes her witness the stiffening of the young blonde's limbs and a mere second later she's covering the vulnerable form of her sibling with her own small frame, the kunai that had been clutched in her hand, having been hurled at the window.

The sound of glass shattering. More movement in the dark. Hurried steps. A startled cry somewhere outside. Tsunade registers it all from her position, but doesn't move. The only thought in her mind is to protect the innocence of the small creature that had won her heart the moment she had first laid eyes on those precious almond eyes, as the new born baby had curled a tiny fist into her pale locks.

Must protect.

She's functioning on instinct alone, now. Something that the others in the room realize, for none comes close to her even as one of the guards flanking her grandmother moves to stand before the window, instead.

All is quiet within the room. The sounds of the fight taking place outside keeping everyone's intention occupied, their senses heightened. "....taken care of...." pauses between flickering words as people come and go, reporting to her grandmother "...assassins.." she doesn't pay much attention. They don't matter as long as they don't approach them "...On his way..."

He's safe. Nawaki is safe. Nothing else matters. She will keep him safe.

"Tsunade?" It was minutes later, or hours, she could not say for sure. But eventually came the familiar voice; breaking through her frizzled senses and she looks up, slowly, into the solemn face of the Sandaime Hokage. An ANBU appears behind him, startling the blonde slightly in her agitated state and yet the Sandaime's hand coming to rest on her head keeps her from reacting. "Perimeter secured, Hokage-sama." Sarutobi nods and the ANBU disappears.

"You're safe now." the words wash over her. Achingly slow, she turns her head to look at the small form of her brother, still asleep, still utterly unaware of all that took place this night and she finally relaxes. Sarutobi's gentle hands are on her shoulders. Their rough feel and comfortable warmth so familiar that she puts up no struggle as he maneuvers her to sit on the edge of the bed and then he's kneeling before her - where the corpse had laid before - his face on the same level as hers and she feels her control crumble. Her hands tremble. He grabs them though, steadying them, uncaring of the blood that still coats one of her hands.

She can't meet his eyes though. It’s too hard. The taste in her mouth is so bitter and no matter how much she swallows, it doesn't go away. He's talking to her but she can't hear the words. She tries but no words would reach her ears even as she sees his lips move. Panic is setting within her now. She breathes deeply. Once. Twice. But it was hard to pull in air. Her scared eyes finally rose in panic to meet her sensei's. The next minute, she found herself enveloped in his embrace, his hands moving soothingly through her hair and that was all it took for the eight-year-old to revert back to the child she was underneath all the expectations and skills associated with the Senju name. She sobbed against her sensei's chest, finally letting out the fear she'd refused to feel all this time. She finally embraced the trauma of having taken a human being's life.

An hour later, they are seated in the main hall, the cup of tea held in her now clean hands cooling as she huddles under a blanket. A few uneasy looks are exchanged at her presence in matters that should not be shared in the presence of anyone as young, yet the unwavering stare of the Sandaime Hokage as he sits next to her, ensures that they not say what is on their minds. Someone as young shouldn't have had to do what she did either, is the only explanation Sarutobi Hiruzen gives when one of her father's cousin's expresses his unease at her presence. The matter is resolved with those few words alone.

And so, the details of the failed assassination attempt are shared. She listens silently. The cup of tea sits there, not a drop drank. The scalding warmth against her hands is all she needs - a reminder of what those hands had done. Killed. And protected. Nawaki is safe and with their mother now. ANBU stationed all around the compound to ensure safety. She can finally relax. Yet her mind is in turmoil. For all appearances she is listening to ever word that is being said. When her mind is still replaying on the feeling of life leaving a human body. Over and over she experienced it, trapped within her mind.

It is when she feels the gentle hands of her grandmother, trying to pry open her fingers so that she can take the cup away that she snaps back to reality. The held hostage cup is released and she instead pulls the blanket more over herself. Uzumaki Mito offers her just a tentative smile but says nothing and returns to her seat. Silence resumes. It is only now that Tsunade realizes that it’s just the three of them in the room. That her grandmother and sensei are giving her time to sort out her thoughts and speak.

Yet she isn't sure what to say. Unless...

Hazel eyes fix themself on the figure of her grandmother, a flame of determination burning within her. "Can you teach me medical jutsu?" This was not a path she had ever considered before. Her strength, inherited from her grandfather, had always paved her way as a close-range combat. She was to be a taijutsu specialist. Her and Sarutobi had that conversation not a month ago. For her to ask this...

The room remained oddly silent following her request. Sarutobi frowns slightly before looking at her to determine what had caused this change in her chosen path. What he sees is determination though. Yet the question remains - what had prompted this? "Tsuna?" this was not the time to pull rank. She needed family and so it was so easy to switch to the name he had called her by before he had become her sensei. "Do you regret it? Killing the assassin?" It would be understandable. She had acted on pure instinct, after all. She was still too young to...yet he finds her shaking her head and sighs. What's with his students always making things more difficult?

Tsunade knows though that she doesn't regret what she did. And though her fists shake, she knows she can never regret what she had done. "I'd have killed as many as I needed to. He was a threat to Nawaki." Sarutobi and Mito choose to not point out how the assassin had been just as much of a threat to her too - especially since he'd gotten as close as he did. How it was sheer luck that she had taken the assassin by surprise, as she had. Yet they held their tongues, allowing the young kunoichi to voice out her thoughts.

"I just...didn't like it though." The determination is still visible. Yet her unease is also palpable. She pauses once again, her eyes flickering between the two elders, and in that moment, all the Sandaime Hokage and the Uzumaki elder can see is exactly how young she is - wrapped in the large blanket that seems to be swallowing her small frame whole, leaving visible only a face which is clinging desperately onto those childlike looks. And they also realize that there is nothing they can do to take away the burden of expectations off her. She is Senju Hashirama’s granddaughter, after all.

Her words linger between them, almost as if something was haunting them. Sarutobi takes the time in which he is organizing his thoughts to take out his pipe and light it, as his intelligent eyes observe her. This time when he speaks, he cannot afford the luxury of giving her the response from a familial perspective. "You aren't supposed to like it either, Tsunade." He chooses to let the sensei take over though, granting her the favour of keeping the Hokage out of the conversation, still. He can do as much for her. She seems to be mulling over his words, confusion clear in those eyes that have somehow retained their innocence, regardless of what this night had demanded of her. His calloused hands raise the pipe to his lips and takes a draw as he chooses his words with care. "In our chosen profession, taking a life is a necessity." He waits till she nods her head, all her attention and trust directed his way - the thought adds to the weight on his already weary shoulders - before continuing "That in no way means you should start liking the act."

The words seem to relax her a bit. So, she had been worried about them judging her for her choices after all? “Now then would you care to elaborate why the sudden interest in Medical Ninjutsu?” he asks when it's apparent she’s not going to speak herself. It’s an odd choice he won’t deny. But something that is oddly fitting. The sandaime’s eyes move from his female student to the Uzumaki elder, a thoughtful look on his face. The more he thinks about it, the more the idea seems to click into place. With the young Kunoichi’s near perfect chakra control and the genetic pool…Uzumaki Mito would be able to teach the young Senju techniques that had never before been practiced within Konoha. Techniques few alive had perhaps the ability to learn. Tsunade had the innate ability to potentially master them though.

Yet he wants to know why she had asked for such a sudden change in their plans. He wants to understand her reason. For it is important. It is too huge a step. Too big a decision to make. And though he knows Tsunade has the stubbornness to never back down, the path she is asking to go down is not an easy one. It will demand a lot from the Konoichi. She wants to cling to life so desperately. That is obvious. Does she realize though that the life of a medic is surrounded by even more death and loss than a regular nin’s? He doubts it. This is something only time will teach her though. As it had done with Biwako. Yet he still needs to know why? He needs to understand what will drive her on. And so, he waits.

Tsunade on the other hand is still somewhat lost in her thoughts. The conformation that taking a life wasn’t meant to ever feel good, even in their profession gave her a bit of comfort and yet…she was back there, in that moment when her kunai sliced through flesh, when the warm blood poured over her hand, when she knew the exact moment life had abandoned what had been a living breathing human being, before. She clenches her eyes shut and takes another breath to steady herself. When she opens them again, she kept her gaze locked onto the wooden surface of the table, a finger gently tracing the worn out patterns on the surface. “I just…don’t want to be someone who can only take a life…” it was easy to want to be a skilled kunoichi in theory. Which gennin didn’t think of their first kill? Half terrified of it, the other half anticipating it, for only that one act could allow you to become more than a theoretical ninja. That was simply the way it was.

She too had envisioned it. Taking a life. It was her duty as a kunoichi of the hidden leaf. It was her right as one belonging to the Senju line to do all she could in service of her village and Hokage. There was even this silly little bet she had going on with her teammates regarding who in their team would be the first one to kill. Orochimaru had wanted no part in it. Jiraiya had been boastful about how he’d be the first one to do so. While also foolishly declaring to her – in his usually annoying way – how he’d do it to save her life and how after that she’d have no option but to ‘love him’. Orochimaru had just gotten tired of their argument and had declared himself as the prime candidate, listing his ever-growing list of ninjutsu as a justification of why it would be him. She’d of course chosen to bet on Orochimaru – mostly to spite Jiraiya. She had of course lost that bet.

Wanting to experience your first kill was so vastly different from having had taken a life already. She hasn’t felt horror. She’d felt no excitement, either. All she had felt was…emptiness. And a tinge of grief. Over how easy it was to end life. At the realization of how terribly fragile life was. That grief lingered. The emptiness was filled with the blooming warmth of an unexpected idea. “If I can take a life…I want to be able to save it too…”

Another prolonged period of silence follows her declaration. She doesn’t break it, though. She waits. Even as her heart starts beating loudly in her ears, she continues to stare at the wooden surface, refusing to raise her gaze. And then…finally: “You know it won’t be easy, child. It is not an easy path. Nor a quick one. It will take years of practice and study. More work than you have been doing up till now. Do you realize that?” those words are of her grandmother’s and she raises her eyes to the woman she secretly loves more than her own mother and nods.

“I do…!” her words are soft. Yet sure.

Her grandmother’s dark eyes are sharper than she is used to seeing them. Assessing. Tsunade holds the gaze even if it makes her somewhat uncomfortable. Eventually the elder woman nods and the young blonde feels utter relief. And then her eyes flicker to the man who would also have a say in the matter as she tilts her head in his direction, the request obvious in her eyes. “Sensei?”

It was with the sun already having made its presence known as dawn touched the horizon that the young blonde finds herself in bed once more, a satisfied smile on her face as her fingers gently traced her baby brother’s soft cheek. As sleep finally claims her, there are only two thoughts on her mind; Nawaki is safe and she is going to be a medic.

#➤ D r a b b l e s ┊ ❛ In a blatant mind my thoughts have entwined ❜#Senju Ichizoku - Senju Clan #“Flames of Redemption” ; Tsunade #Fields of Innocence ; Senju Nawaki #Uzumaki Mito #Sarutobi Hiruzen #Jiraiya #Orochimaru

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unityghost · 4 years

Text

Morning Glory

Part 25 (yikes, wow, homegirl needs a social life) of the Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels series.

Based on one of the most intriguing prompts I've ever received:

Gabe's always torn between wanting to be hurt and wanting to be looked after, so if (somehow) he ended up being caught by a djinn what would he see? and how would he react once someone (read Sam lol) woke him up? like, would he be guilty for dreaming of going on hunts with the Winchesters and feeling like family or freaked out BC he'd just seen Sam attack him with the archangel blade? - Type40Treklock (Fanfiction.net)

It took me too long to get to this. Tumblr followers ... you have been patient with me. Thank you and I'm sorry for the wait!

Morning Glory

Is everything okay?

You’re not hurt, are you?

I’m not the only one who’s worried. If we don’t hear from you, we’ll come and shake you out of whatever hangover is keeping you from texting back.

“Gabriel,” Castiel interrupted, “I doubt that they’ve gone four days without contact just because of a drunken stupor.”

Gabriel looked up from his phone. “Oh yeah? You’d put it past Dean to take a long-ass Epicurean detour?”

“No, I wouldn’t. But we should at least have heard from Sam. Don’t you agree?”

Gabriel sighed. “Yeah. I do.”

“In any case,” Castiel went on, “You’re right that there’s nothing in your recent exchanges with Sam to shed any light on their predicament.”

“Hey, hey, there might not even be a predicament. This radio silence could be chalked up to anything.”

“Yes.” Cas looked somber. “That’s exactly why we’re here. Speaking of which, I don’t mind flying you back home if you feel ambivalent about this.”

“Cas, please. I already told you eight hundred times that I don’t want you looking into this by yourself.”

“You know that I’m perfectly capable of self-preservation.”

“All right, I get it: I’m not. Don’t try to butter me up with subtext, Castiel.” Besides their voices, the only sounds were the twin notes of a chickadee hiding in the brambles that flanked a nearby playground. The air was heavy and warm, and the sky threatened rain. “Now listen: are you really going to spend your energy on how high I’ll flip my lid if I find Sam hurt, and not stop to consider how I’d react to you getting caught off guard just because you didn’t come with backup?”

Cas grew uneasy. “It isn’t that I don’t understand, Gabriel; I just ...” But he didn’t continue.

“I’m going to take the east wing,” Gabriel told him. “You take the west. Let’s scope the place out for those negligent blockheads instead of wasting time.”

A weird case out in some abandoned hospital, Sam had told Gabriel. But pretty routine, it looks like. Doubt it’ll take more than a couple of days.

Cas had had the good sense to trace the brothers’ cell phones. Locating the signal meant two things: one, the phones were turned on and Sam and Dean could have been answering if they wanted to; and two, Cas and Gabriel didn’t have to spend too much time figuring out exactly which drowsy pocket of suburban Idaho hosted the ruins of an orphaned hospital.

Cas and Gabriel strode to the doors together, but Castiel pulled Gabriel back before either could go inside. “Wait.”

“What?” Castiel appeared vaguely uncomfortable. “I … I have my grace.”

“Mazel tov.”

“And you have ... you have ...”

“Not yet clawed my way back to the surface of the pitiful noodle-pond that used to be raw, untethered cosmic power? What, really, are you sure? Because I hadn’t noticed.” He shook Castiel off. “Cut it out. I wouldn’t have followed you if I thought I couldn’t handle my part in the game.”

That was not entirely true, Gabriel acknowledged privately. He wasn’t useful so much as he was expendable: if he could buy them any kind of time, the extent to which he was able to protect himself wouldn’t matter. What was important was that they find Sam and Dean and, if either of the brothers were injured or trapped, ensure their safety.

The doors were not locked, and probably hadn’t been for a long time – partly because the empty building was ideal for anyone who didn’t want to be noticed by police, and partly because crime rates in this town were impressively low.

The lobby offered an unsettling mixture of scents: there was the damp, rotted wood of the front desk; there was rainwater that had leaked through cracks and crevices; they could smell moldy blankets and a warm undernote of something that might have been human decay.

“Let’s split up,” said Gabriel, just as Castiel said, “Let’s stick together.”

“What did I say about east and west?” Gabriel reminded him. “That’s what this is for.” He held up his phone. “I’ll text you to let you know where I am. You do the same. Or, if things get out of hand, call me and use code phrase ‘Bengal cat.’”

“I really think –”

But Gabriel ignored him to follow the metal wall plaque that directed him to the east wing of the hospital.

What he found was disconcerting: several of the beds were stripped, but some displayed carefully folded sheets that had flushed to the color of jaundice. There were rooms full of cots lined up side by side, and others whose beds had been turned over or shoved into corners. A few of the wards, and one stairwell, had old bloodstains on the floor.

A vengeful spirit, we think, Sam had said. Possibly more than one.

Gabriel bent down to peer beneath each bed. He knew that neither Sam nor Dean could lie there undetected, but perhaps he would find clues, something to guide him to their exact whereabouts or to suggest that they were in trouble.

Truthfully, Gabriel hoped he would find nothing. He was not searching for a body, and had no desire to muddy that conviction with anything that would look at home in an evidence bag.

Any luck? Castiel texted.

I found a mouse, Gabriel wrote back.

A mouse?

Neither of them; I checked. It wasn’t wearing plaid.

Half an hour later, Gabriel got in touch again: I can’t find anything. Gonna check the basement.

The message didn’t send. So he tried a second time, and once more it failed to go through.

Gabriel didn’t have much faith in his relationship with modern technology, because there was plenty he had missed during his time in Hell, and he hadn’t taken much time to acquaint himself with the multiplicity of devices that had flooded the world he thought he would never see again. It wasn’t a priority; there was so much else to learn, so much else to figure out.

With reluctance, Gabriel tried communicating with Castiel telepathically. If Cas felt anything, there was nothing to show for it, and Gabriel did not want to exhaust what little grace he might be able to access in case of an emergency. His grace had lately been fluid, unpredictable, and messy; he could rarely anticipate how much he might have at his disposal at any given time.

He could only assume that the message would send sooner or later, that perhaps it was moving slowly because of signal problems.

Not until Gabriel was in the basement did he realize exactly what was in the basement.

He squared his shoulders and reminded himself that of course they had to check the morgue; it made sense. The morgue was like any other section of the hospital, a room that might contain the living as well as the dead – and, perhaps, the not-quite-living and the maybe-dead.

But Gabriel hesitated. There could be no denying the stench of human putrefaction at this point. This was the first time since his arrival that he realized Cas might have been right to worry about him.

So he detached himself and pretended that he was watching another individual press his palms to either of the cold metal doors.

That was when somebody seized him from behind.

“No!” Gabriel screamed, and tried to throw his captor off. Its grip was hard and tight and unforgiving; this grip was confident and hungry, and Gabriel knew what that meant.

For a moment, he wondered how he could have ever confused the cautious warmth of Sam’s hands with the hands of a monster: this kind of touch, this kind of brutality, was fully recognizable as evil.

He tried to kick the thing’s legs and bite its hand. He felt a palm pressed to his mouth and this time not only smelled but tasted the meaty odor of decay.

He screamed into its hand until there was the tang of blood in his throat. He reached inside of himself for his grace, desperate for power that simply wasn’t there.

“Sleep,” the thing whispered into his ear, and Gabriel grew sick with panic. His nightmares were here, alive and real and ugly, and there was no one to help guide him back to a sense of security.

Gabriel could not remember ever wanting Sam as badly as he did in that moment.

The hand on his mouth was so strong he couldn’t breathe. Somewhere in his mind he knew that he didn’t need to breathe in order to survive, but the terror didn’t abate.

He was still screaming, still sobbing, when he opened his eyes and saw that he was lying in bed in an unfamiliar room illuminated by sunshine.

The smell of death was gone, replaced with the cool scent of cleaners and laundry detergents. The carpet was spotlessly white, and in the corner stood a table with a half-empty bottle of wine and four glasses that still had crimson dregs at the bottom.

He choked on his own tears and stole as many quick, ragged breaths as he could.

The door clicked open and he scrambled away, slipping off of the other side of the mattress.

“Gabriel!”

It was a voice he knew, and the arms that lifted him back onto the bed were not the arms of a brute.

Gabriel was shaking and moaning. He knew how helpless and pathetic he sounded, but he also had heard himself make those sounds before.

“You’re all right,” Sam murmured. “Just a bad dream, okay? Just a bad dream. You’re all right.”

“Where am I?” Gabriel rasped. “What happened?”

“Ssh, it’s like I said - I think you just had a nightmare. Sorry, I thought a nap would help you feel better. You wore yourself out setting all this up for us, I think.”

“What are you - ” Gabriel blinked rapidly, shivering and whimpering as he tried not only to form a question but to figure out whether it was even safe to ask. “Set what up? I didn’t - I don’t - ” His eyes flicked over the room, and he knew then what he wanted to say - A non-smoking suite, I see, spic-and-span as Aunt Doris’s pearls - but couldn’t get it out.

Sam seemed at something of a loss. All he could offer was a hand on Gabriel’s arm, trying to steady him.

“Two minutes ago,” Gabriel managed, “I - I was - ” There was the possibility that he had finally broken, had finally lost his mind really and completely; and the thought made him feel dizzy.

But there was a second possibility that slowed his blood to an icy crawl. “Sam?”

“What is it, Gabe?”

“Does Asmodeus have anything to do with this?”

Sam’s voice was gentle. “Hey, no, of course not. He won’t hurt you again, bud."

“He can mess with me; he can screw around with my memory, my perception - ”

“Yes. He used to be able to do that.” Sam gripped Gabriel’s shoulder. “But not anymore. You’re safe, Gabe, I promise.”

“Where am I? Am I still in Idaho?”

“Idaho?” Sam used his sleeve to help wipe Gabriel’s face, and Gabriel didn’t try to resist. “With this many beaches and kangaroos?”

Gabriel shut his eyes. “Jesus O’Malley, we’re in Australia.”

“Yeah. You brought us here, remember? Set up this hotel for us. Everyone else is down at the pool right now. Jack got to hold a koala this morning. You did a lot for us, and I think maybe you’re just exhausted.”

Gabriel shivered. “Sam, did you ever have so much trouble telling them apart? Dreams and - and what’s really happening?”

Sam considered. “I don’t think so.”

“Not even with Lucifer?” Gabriel was desperate for Sam to be right; he longed for confirmation that he really had just tired himself to the point of oblivion. Or perhaps Sam was lying to him and pretending that Gabriel had achieved something of which he had not been capable for hundreds and hundreds of years.

Sam frowned. “With who?”

“You know who. With my skeezewaffle of a brother.”

Sam looked puzzled. “Who, Jack’s dad? I met him twice at most.”

Gabriel simply stared.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“Um. I just … I feel like an idiot.”

“Don’t feel - ”

“This should have been obvious right away.” Gabriel felt his shoulders relax slightly: he was in no danger from Asmodeus, or from his own insanity.

Before Sam could press him, there was a vigorous rapping at the door.

Gabriel swept the heels of his hands over his eyes in a final attempt to dry them. “Is that Africa by Toto?”

Sam sighed and went to open the door.

“Catch!” cried Dean, throwing a towel across the room to land on Gabriel’s head.

Gabriel tore it off. “This is wet, you maniac! I don’t need your cooties.”

“It ain’t my fault if your reflexes are molasses.” Dean was clad only in neon-orange swim trunks. “I figured a whiff of chlorine might wake you up.”

“You’re gross, Dean,” said Sam.

Castiel and Jack stood behind Dean, dressed more modestly with t-shirts over their swim trunks.

“Jack,” Gabriel croaked. He felt a strangely potent sense of relief at the sight of his nephew.

But Cas spoke first. “Are you feeling refreshed? If you’re up to it, we can go out for dinner.”

Gabriel didn’t reply. Instead, he did what he would have done in any situation: he looked at Sam, hoping he would have answers.

“We’ll order in,” Sam said. “It’ll be fun to try some of the local cuisine, don’t you think, Gabriel?”

“I … I guess.”

“Poor guy’s still recovering from last night,” Dean interrupted. “Doesn’t even have his voice back from the karaoke.” He nudged Gabriel, who tensed at the contact. “Don’t worry, I got the best of your performance on video.”

“Really?” exclaimed Jack. “I want to see.”

Dean glanced at Gabriel. “I don’t know if I’d sanction a G rating on that one.”

“Well,” Castiel chimed in, “We had a good night too.”

Jack’s face brightened. “Yeah, Sam and Cas and I had pizza and ice cream and watched the latest Steve Irwin special.”

“Lucky bastard and all his academy awards,” said Dean. “I hear he’s got his own theme park now.”

Jack peered more closely at Gabriel. “Uncle Gabe - have you been crying?”

“No,” said Gabriel.

But Jack looked disturbed. “I’ve never seen you cry before.”

“Really? I mean, uh - I’m fine. I’m okay. I think I might be allergic to Vegemite.”

Jack took a moment to evaluate, then stepped forward and hugged him.

Gabriel froze.

“I love you,” said Jack. “You’re the best.”

It took Gabriel several seconds to remember that he was supposed to hug back. The embrace lingered until he pulled away, before the smell of chlorine and the dampness of Jack’s hair on his cheek could become any more real.

Dean spoke up. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I could use a shower.” He waltzed into the bathroom and shut the door. Then there came the hiss of running water.

Sam groaned. “You can kick him out and make him use the bathroom you set up for him.”

“I think he likes your custom shampoo,” Jack told Gabriel.

“So I suppose after we’ve all freshened up,” said Cas, “We can decide what to do. Or rather, Gabriel, you can decide whether you have any energy to go out. Trust me, no one will feel neglected if you’d prefer to keep things on the quieter side this evening. Oh, and Sam - ” Cas laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “If you aren’t feeling up to anything - ”

“Don’t worry about me, Cas.” Sam smiled. “ I’m fine.”

“I know, but … the last hunt was a lot. You were in pain. So if you’re still feeling the effects, we can lie low tonight. I can make sure that - ”

“Relax. I’m good. It’s like Dean said at breakfast, you’ve done enough for us. All right? No need to keep trying to take care of everyone.”

Gabriel’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them. “What hunt are we talking about?”

Sam waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve hardly thought about it since you healed me up. Cas is overreacting. Which I appreciate, but I’m really okay.”

Cas nodded. “All right.” He slid his hand from Sam’s shoulder. “In that case, why don’t Jack and I go back to our room and settle down for a while? I have no reason to suspect that Jack is anything but satisfied with the shampoo in our bathroom.”

Jack smiled at Gabriel, and Gabriel snapped his eyes away.

“So,” Sam began once Jack and Cas had exited the room, “You okay?”

“Yes.” The word came out as a whisper.

“No you’re not,” Sam insisted. “I haven’t seen you like this in a long time.”

“I’m … I’m feeling fine, Sam. It’s like you said: just a really awful dream.”

“Do you want me in here with you? I don’t mind sticking around for however long you need me for.”

“I don’t. Obviously I’ve got your brother to keep me company.”

Sam’s eyes flitted to the bathroom door. “He means well, I guess. I think he needed some time off.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for. Me, my supercharged celestial batteries, and a non-stop flight to the land down under.”

Sam smiled. “I’ll come back to check on you in a little bit, okay? And if Dean gives you any trouble just throw him to the dingoes.”

“Mm. You know I will.”

Gabriel watched Sam exit the room, studiously ignoring the surge of grief at the back of his throat.

He gave himself no time to dwell on what would happen next.

The first place he checked was the bedside drawer. There, he found a copy of the King James Bible that contained what were more than likely Gabriel’s emendations: “Don’t be afraid, Mary,” said the angel, “For you are in favor with Daddy-o. Congratulations, it’s a boy, and you shall call him either Jesus or Scott - I forget which one.”

He moved to the closet, which turned out to be full of clothing better suited for a wedding or seventies-themed disco party than a relaxing weekend away. Which, Gabriel reflected, made sense if he and Dean had decided to take advantage of traits that, in another life, might have led to something like companionship.

When an examination of the closet yielded no results, Gabriel moved to the table and bent over the duffel bag on the chair. When he unzipped it he found swimwear, perhaps his own. There were trunks, a pair of goggles, some flippers.

Sitting on top of the aquatic regalia sat a rectangular box: slim, unassuming, and discreetly coffin-like.

Feeling triumphant, Gabriel lifted the lid.

Then he heard the bathroom door open behind him.

“Don’t,” said Dean.

Gabriel straightened up but didn’t turn around. “It’s not real.”

“It kind of is, man.” The shower was still running. Gabriel could feel the steam coming from the bathroom, as lifelike as anything else he had encountered thus far. “Look, nobody’s trying to force philosophy into what should just be a nice little family getaway, but - ”

“Don’t use that word,” Gabriel snapped.

“What word?”

“Shut up; you know what word. And I agree that we should keep superfluous proselytizing to a minimum.”

“If you do this,” Dean told him, “You’re making it real.”

Gabriel sighed, then turned to face him. Dean had a towel around his waist.

“You know what, sensei?” Gabriel said. “Get back in the shower and don’t watch if it bothers you so much.”

“Once you see how easy it is, Gabe - ”

“It isn’t easy. It’s practical. Listen, pal, I’ve been around long enough to remember how to pop this lock. Getting out of here will be a breeze no matter what shortcuts I gotta take.”

Dean shook his head. “What reason to you have to leave?”

“You know perfectly well what reasons I have.”

“You’re worried about Sammy, right?” There was an odd melancholy in Dean’s face - an expression halfway between resignation and desperation that Gabriel had never seen on him in real life. “Now’s as good a time as any to worry about your own happiness, Gabriel.” Gabriel tensed, annoyed by the warmth of his full name. “You’re allowed to stick around for you if that’s what you want.”

Gabriel swallowed. “It’s not what I want.”

“Really? Just because you know Sam would miss you?”

Gabriel traced his fingers over the flat of the blade as though toying with a Rubik’s cube. “I miss him, too.”

“He’s right here, Gabe.”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“And what’s he going to say when he finds out about this? You have any idea what kind of pain this would cause him? To know what you did to get out? To know how damn easy it was to get your hands on the archangel blade in your deepest fantasies?”

Gabriel closed his eyes. “Who says he has to find out?”

And he raised the knife.

Gabriel remembered very little of what happened after it was done. Somebody lifted him, possibly even tried to carry him - until he fought with such ferocity that the newcomer let go, and Gabriel staggered forward with some assistance.

Somewhere amid the confusion and exhaustion, he registered that there was no odor of death on the arms that guided him. The voice in his ear, saying things like, “Try not to fall over” and “It’s just me,” was soft and familiar.

The next thing of which Gabriel was entirely conscious was waking up in his own bedroom, rolling onto his side, and seeing nobody.

Not real, he thought, but then remembered that it probably was. He had done what needed to be done in order to extract himself from that venomous amusement park with all its perfect temptations.

He pushed off the blankets. Someone had made sure to leave the bedside light on. He was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn on his trip to the hospital. Gabriel felt himself relax slightly: nobody had stripped him down.

When he tried to sit up, he hissed in pain. Peeling back his shirt, Gabriel saw that there were bandages on his abdomen, moistened with blood. Of course - there would not be enough grace for him to heal any injuries sustained during unconsciousness. He hoped it was Sam who had tended to the wound.

That was when Gabriel remembered that Sam could be anywhere, that he might have imagined his presence in the hospital earlier. Panicked, Gabriel forced himself to his feet and ignored the dizziness that came with the sudden movement.

He heard hurried footsteps, and the door slammed open.

“Sit down!” Sam cried, hurrying over to him. “Come on, don’t try to get up - not yet.”

He guided Gabriel back down.

“I’m fine,” said Gabriel. “Just made the fatal mistake of trying to stand up before all my senses had a chance to rehabilitate themselves. Did your spidey senses tingle?”

“No, I - I just heard you moving around.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, willing the vertigo away. “Hey. Potato brains. You told me you were facing down a vengeful spirit.”

“Yeah, we were.” Sam tucked the blankets more securely around Gabriel’s shoulders. “The djinn was the one to kill the guy.”

“Well, didn’t you two just hit the jackpot.”

“You shouldn’t have tried chasing after us, Gabriel.”

“Wasn’t my idea.” Gabriel opened his eyes and focused on Sam’s face. “I didn’t want Cas going solo.”

Sam sighed, looking worried and relieved all at once. He seemed to be waiting for Gabriel to speak.

Finally, Gabriel did. “Look, I’m sorry. I wish I’d been able to defend myself. At the very least to put up a good fight. If my grace levels were anywhere near where they should be, that thing wouldn’t have gotten within two feet of me, let alone into my head.”

“It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”

“How long was I down there, Sam?”

“Not long, I’m pretty sure. We heard you screaming.” Gabriel blinked. “Then you were down there with me? I was on your trail?” Please tell me I did something right.

Sam nodded. “By then, we’d caught on that we might be looking for more than just a pissed-off spirit. Guess you were in the right place at the wrong time, huh?” He forced a smile. “Thanks, but why didn’t you at least wait for backup?”

“Didn’t want to lose time. Cas was half-convinced we were on the prowl for a pair of Winchester-shaped corpses. Sam … in what universe did you think it was okay to ignore us for that long?”

Sam shrugged. “Couple of teenagers stole our phones. And wallets.”

“How hunterly of you to allow adolescent fugitives to make off with your valuables. Why didn’t you at least pray to me or Cas? I mean - I don’t know that I would’ve heard you, my grace being as floppy as it is, but he would have.”

Sam offered another weak smile. “We didn’t think about that, Gabriel. We weren’t in any serious trouble. Why would we ask for help when we didn’t need it?” He peered more closely at Gabriel, whose expression must have betrayed something of which Gabriel was unaware, because Sam added, “Hey, it’s okay; I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be that freaked out. We got everything back in the end, when we - ” He hesitated for a second before concluding. “When we found the kids in the morgue.”

“In the … ah. I see. The rendezvous spot for illicit recreation.”

“Just enough to mortify their God-fearing parents, probably.”

“I’m sure Dad was plenty concerned with their antics. What about Castiel; is he all right? Did he get out?”

“He’s fine. Cas wasn’t hurt.”

“All right. Good to know I’m the only one who can’t look out for myself.”

Sam caught the bitterness in Gabriel’s voice. “Stop.”

“No, actually - ” Gabriel pushed himself up a little straighter. “Don't you want to know what kind of utopic frenzy that bastard cooked up for me?”

Sam was quiet. Then he replied, “Honestly, I kind of do.”

“Good. Because in the interest of science, I want to get it on the record that I can tell you the whole thing without breaking down. As a reward I’ll let myself take home that this didn’t all happen just because I’m brittler than fried seaweed.”

Sam looked pained. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I understand.”

“No, no, let me see - so I have it on the books - how far I can push myself before sacrificing my dignity to an inflamed maw of shitty memories. First, can I get Sigmund Freudchester’s opinion on something?”

“I … yeah, sure. What?”

“What does it say to you that the djinn made things so that I’d still been held prisoner by Asmodeus?”

Horror passed over Sam’s face. “You were with him? In Hell?”

“No, no, yuck, not with him; it had still happened to me, though, and you were the good egg who kept wasting fuel on the little engine that couldn’t. What’s your take on that? What do you think?”

Sam’s face had gone pale. “I don’t know, Gabriel.”

“Really? Well, I think I do.” There was something manic in Gabriel now, something he couldn’t control. He was, perhaps, a little angry, a little frantic, although he could not have said why. “It just confirms for me that if I had the opportunity to unwrite this script, to change what happened to me, to make it so that I had never been his favorite toy - ”

“You wouldn’t.” Sam looked horrified, but did not sound surprised.

“Exactly,” Gabriel told him. “Because I wasn’t meant to be treated any differently. Getting out of Hell was just a maggot turning into a fly. No real upgrade. And if I didn’t have the courage to actually wish that I was back where I was supposed to be, then I at least had the common decency to take some of what I deserved.”

“Gabriel, please don’t - ”

“I only knew for sure it was just tripe when you came out and said you’d never faced Lucifer. No - wait - you called him ‘Jack’s dad.’ As if you’d signed the adoption papers, bada-bing, bada-boom, the kid’s ours. And Jack - he was so damn innocent, nary a shit to give, just some happy little kid who made it clear how hardcore he loved his uncle. Because Uncle Gabe had the power of freaking kangaroos on hand, and - ”

“Stop.” Sam held up a hand. He seemed to have recovered a little. “You know what the djinn does, don’t you? You’re supposed to - to think that its world is better. You’re supposed to not want to get out.” He paused. “Um …”

“Go ahead,” Gabriel pressed. “You know how I got out.”

Sam looked at him. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

Unconsciously, Gabriel touched his stomach. The wound there was from where the monster had stolen blood. “Let’s just get this out of the way. I know you’re probably angry as Hell about it.”

That seemed to take Sam by surprise. “No! Well - I mean - if you still think about that sometimes; if you … if you can’t help …”

“It’s fine, Sam; I get it. Be pissed.”

“I’m not pissed. I … I mean … do you want me to be mad?”

“I don’t want anything from you, Sam; you do you.”

“Listen, I get that some days are better than others, and that sometimes you’re just not going to … you know …” Sam gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m just trying to say that I know you can’t control what goes through your head. It’s not your fault, that’s all. But I wish you could shake off this idea that you deserved what you got. And that you somehow have to - I don’t know - to make something up to us.”

“Sam,” Gabriel pleaded, “Jack got to hold a koala.”

Sam just laid a hand on his arm, waiting, perhaps, for Gabriel to say more.

“You have every right to be angry,” Gabriel said finally. “You know - you can be upset about the archangel blade. Because you do everything in your power to make me care about myself, and all I do is fight back.”

“Gabriel …” Sam kept his hand in place as he thought about how to respond. “I’m not mad. Really. I’m not. You used it to live. You could have been happy there, but you decided to come back. How could I be angry about that?”

Gabriel tensed. “Uh. I was more thinking along the lines of how easy it was to get to it. It was sitting there in a duffel bag, right where I could grab it in an emergency. You know, you never know when you might need to - to slice open a cantaloupe or …” He trailed off, then cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s the freedom of having the choice. You get that, right? Sort of?”

Sam nodded. “And you made a choice. Look at that.”

Gabriel shivered.

“You cold?” Sam asked.

“No,” Gabriel told him, “Just a wreck. Make a note in the spreadsheet for further evaluation later. This is proving to be an interesting experiment, wouldn’t you say?” He took a deep breath. “I can’t give you what you gave me, Sam. A home. Good memories. A feeling of safety. Somewhere to be afraid without getting hurt in the end. I can’t give that to you or Dean or Cas or Jack.”

“We don’t need those things from you.”

“You need them from someone, Sam, and I owe you at least that much.”

“You need to be - oh, hey - ” Sam withdrew his hand and used the blankets to help dry Gabriel’s face.

“Add it to the log,” Gabriel whispered. “I failed the experiment.”

“It’s okay to be upset. You know that. Crying is probably good for you.”

“You know what else is good for you? Bikram yoga. But it sucks and you look like a clown doing it.” Gabriel shuddered again. “You know - his hands, they felt like - they reminded me of - ”

“Whose hands? The djinn’s?”

“Yes.”

“What about them?”

“They felt like his. And I just - right then, when I felt him - ” Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and felt a tear trickle over his temple and into his ear. “Sorry - when I felt him, I thought of you. Not because it felt like how it feels when you’re with me, or when you touch me. Because it felt so different.”

“I could lie down with you, if you want.”

Gabriel didn’t answer, and kept his eyes closed. He felt Sam, who had learned to read Gabriel’s silence, recline next to him.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me about?” Sam asked.

Gabriel curled in on himself and cried.

He felt Sam pull him close. “You’re tired, Gabriel. You need some rest. Try and sleep, yeah?”

Gabriel didn’t respond.

“Sleep,” Sam repeated.

It sounded so different coming from him.

19 notes · View notes

dontshootmespence · 5 years

Text

Don’t Be a Stranger

Summary: Your on-again, off-again fuck buddy Dean rolls back into town, but something about him is different this time. Will you be able to handle the change?

Pairing: MOC!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,929

Warnings: Rough sex, hitachi fun, butt plug, slight spanking, squirting. Good jams with desperate Dean.

A/N: For those of you 18 and over! This fulfills my “sex toys” square for @spnkinkbingo and my plugs prompt for @covered-byroses kink challenge.

Coming home smelling of cheap beer, whiskey and cigarette smoke wasn’t exactly your idea of the best job ever, but with your ample assets and ability to flirt with whoever necessary no matter how disgusting or good-looking, it paid the bills.

Pushing past the impossibly heavy door to your apartment, you peeled off your leather jacket and threw it over the back end of the couch, worn by years of passing out on it instead of your own bed. Perk of living in the middle of buttfuck nowhere was that even your pittance of a paycheck provided you with a halfway decent apartment. Clean it wasn’t, but that was your own fault, normally too tired to bother cleaning after making whatever comfort food you wanted for dinner. It was - as Goldilocks would say - just right.

After shoveling nearly half a box of Kraft mac and cheese into your face, you went to brush your teeth and get changed. This was the one night of the week were you got off early and didn’t have work the next day. So tonight, you’d treat yourself. Light some vanilla candles, get nice and relaxed with a bubble bath, put on some silky lingerie and go to town on yourself. It was the least you deserved after six straight days of dealing with the scummiest men imaginable trying to worm their way into your pants.

You sighed happily and sauntered through the apartment, turning on the bathwater and grabbing a couple candles before tossing your vibrator on the bed. Just as you were about to slip into the steaming water, you heard a knock at the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Grumpily, you pulled on a silky bathrobe and went to answer the door. Whoever it was better have had a good excuse for interrupting your one night off. You peered through the peephole and did a double take. “Dean?”

“Yea, Y/N, it’s me.”

You looked through the glass a third time. He was fidgety; he looked irritated. Normally when he showed up at your door it was because he was sliding through town yet again and the two of you had undeniable chemistry. You were fuck buddies, but you could never sleep with someone you didn’t at least care for to a degree - and Dean looked like hell.

Opening up the door, you invited him and asked if he wanted a drink. When he nodded, you fixed what you knew he drank, which you just so happened to have at home due to your similar taste in liquor. You poured a double shot into a glass, no ice of course, and brought it over to him, passing it to him without a word and watching as he tipped the entire thing back into his mouth.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Typical. He rarely opened up.

He scratched at his arm and you glanced down, seeing a mark that hadn’t been there before. Almost looked like a brand. “Something to do with that?”

“Something to do with that.”

After meeting him all those years ago - apparently he, Sam and Cas had just stopped the apocalypse in its tracks - he told you what he did for a living. You’d come into contact with a vamp once, but with Dean’s basic training, you’d taken it down. Other than that, and the fact that you knew of this whole angel and demon business, you didn’t have much knowledge of whatever insane bullshit Dean got himself into.

“Let’s just say this mark controls me in a way.”

You moved back in your chair, silently chiding yourself for not checking him for signs of demon or vamp or whatever. “Not like that. I’m clean,” he said, pulling out a bottle of holy water and flicking it onto himself. “In a different way. And I need a distraction. The kind of distraction this Mark demands...I’m trying not to give into it. I don’t know any other way. Sam and Cas want to help, but they can’t-I-”

“Dean, it’s okay. You know I’m always down for a distraction.”

He’d already opened up more than you thought. And you didn’t necessarily need his life story if he wasn’t willing to give it. You were great in bed together and right now that was really all he needed.

Dean smirked slightly, relief flooding his features as he pulled you into his lap and began nipping at your collarbone. “What do you need, Dean?”

“Rough,” he mumbled. “I need to fuck you senseless.”

“I’m down,” you laughed in reply, grinding against the hard denim covering his knee. “How about some toys? You can choose.”

In times like these, Dean needed control and you knew it. Plus, he was never one to leave you hanging, so you knew you’d be taken care of, no matter how soft or rough he was with you.

Gently tossing you to the side, he nipped at the side of your neck before running into your room. He knew exactly where everything was. “This little thing?” He asked in amazement, probably referring to your vibrator. “This is nothing. I want the big guns.”

He did a little rummaging around and found what he was looking for. The hitachi. You only brought that out when you need a quick, easy, powerful orgasm. “Robe off,” he commanded as he walked out with the wand in hand.

You did as he demanded and let it drop to the floor. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your stainless steel butt plug, with a green jewel at the end of course, shining in his side pocket. Removing it from his pants pocket, he placed the tip at your mouth. “You’re going to get this nice and wet and then I’m going to fill up your tight little ass.” Moaning around the plug, you began teasing your nipples as he continued detailing every depraved thing he wanted to do to you - what he needed to do to you. “Then I’m going to take my belt and fasten this wand straight on your clit and fuck you from behind until you come so many times that you can’t move from the floor.”

You’d gotten rough before, but normally not like this - not that you were objecting. It just proved that something was different about him even though you didn’t fully understand.

Dean pulled you close and dipped his head to you nipple, pulling one roughly into his mouth and biting down so hard you gasped out loud. “Am I going to have to keep you quiet?”

“You keep doing things like that, hell yea.”

He grasped you bottom lip between his teeth and growled at the slickness between your legs. He’d barely touched you and yet here you were. “Down on the floor. Face down, ass up.”

Once more, he slipped the plug into your mouth before pushing it into your ass. “That slid in pretty easily. You play with your own ass or is that just for partners?”

“Little bit of both.”

“God, you’re amazing.” By the time Dean was happy with the plug’s position, you could feel your pussy dripping. He gave your ass a playful smack before placing the hitachi against your clit and ensuring it stayed in place by fastening his belt around your waist.

Even though he started it on the lowest setting, you knew you were in for an experience, even by Dean standards. “Who’s my perfect little slut?”

“I am,” you breathed, a dreamy smile setting upon your face as he placed himself at your entrance. The subtle rumble of the wand on your clit intensified as he slid into your heat, a guttural moan escaping from Dean’s lips.

He pulled out, almost painstakingly slow, leading you into a false sense of security that shattered like glass as he thrust back into you with one, hard, smooth movement. “God, your pussy is so tight.” You wanted to respond, to say something that might indicate the depth of your need, but as he thrusted back into you, pointed, sharp movements driving your clit down onto the wand over and over again, nothing came out. Nothing but strangled cries and bone deep whimpers.

As he picked up the pace, the intensity becoming more than you ever imagined or experienced, he slipped his hand underneath you to flick the switch on hitachi and up the speed. “Oh fuck! Oh my God, Dean!”

At your outburst, Dean yanked on the belt, pulling you upward and flush against him. His hand found its way to your mouth and covered it. “You remember last time I was here? You made too much noise and got the landlord called on you? Don’t want to do that again, do you?”

You shook your head and bit your lip, stifling the moan that rumbled up from within as you got lost in the pace of his thrusts and the intensity of the wand and the way your ass gripped tightly onto the metal plug, puckering with each movement.

When he pushed you back down toward the ground, he smacked your ass, the sting of it sending you into a tailspin of begging. “Please, Dean! Please, make me cum. Please, please, please-”

Again he pinned you to the ground, upping the speed of the wand one final time as he wiggled the plug inside you. “Gonna come in this tight little pussy.”

With one final thrust you came apart, a warm liquid flowing onto the ground below you while your clit throbbed and your pussy tightened around Dean’s cock. “Oh, fuck,” you mumbled into the floor.

You were a bowl of jelly, completely pliable and up for anything Dean had in store. Whether or not you could take much more, you weren’t sure. But instead of taking you to the edge of the universe and back, he flipped you over and turned the wand off, removing the belt from around your waist and removing the plug, letting it fall from his hand with a thud. “What a little slut, do you always squirt when you’re not in control?”

“Only by myself, never had someone make me,” you managed to say, your body still shaking. “How about we get in the shower you interrupted me taking and then I can ride you like there’s no tomorrow?”

Even though he’d just fucked you into next week, Dean’s irritation was evident, the mark on his arm almost burning with an unslakable lust for something you couldn’t place. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, lifting you up like a doll and carrying you into the bathroom. “But I gotta go before I do something I regret.”

“What the hell could that be?”

He turned the bath water on and filled the tub, shaking the last thoughts of confiding in someone away. “You don’t want to know. That’s what this is, right? All fucking, no talking. You don’t need to know what a shitshow my life is. I won’t do that to you.” The last words he spoke came out almost like a whisper, voice cracking from a burden he was barely holding steady.

After placing you in the tub, he bent down and kissed you, lingering for just a moment before turning away. “I’ll see you.”

“Of course, Dean,” you replied, sinking into the bath water, almost melting into it. You wanted him to stay, to unburden himself of the fuckery, but you knew it was a lost cause, at least right now. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“With you, no chance. Can’t stay away forever.”

#spnkinkbingo #spnkinkbingo2019 #cbrkinkchallenge #moc!dean #moc!dean x reader #moc!dean x you #moc!dean x y/n #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dontshootmespence #don't be a stranger

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years

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Title: Under your wings

Summary: Jason didn’t have black wings as massive as the ones attached to his back. They kind of looked like the wings he’d always wanted to have, but most certainly wouldn’t get. When Jason got resurrected, his wings weren't red anymore.

AN: For the batfam discord’s @thursday-batfam-prompts Wings

When Jason woke up again, the first thing that disturbed him was the weight on his back. His wings weren’t that heavy. Of course, they had gained some weight with them slowly reaching maturity and their full wingspan. Alfred had said to give it another year before-

Before-

What-

Where was he? What had happened? Where was Bruce, he wanted to go home, he wanted his Dad, why didn’t the laughing stop!?

“Breathe, child.”

Jason could hardly see anything through the haze. Vague figures. A hand.

He couldn’t hear and he was choking on his own thoughts.

“Sleep a little longer, child.”

The next time Jason woke up, he didn’t freak out. There was no point to panicking about confusing dreams, was there?

Instead, Jason settled on inspecting his surroundings. To his right, Jason could see a lot of medical equipment. Tubes and measuring of all kinds seemed to take up most of the space. On his left, curtains covered a window. The sound of birds and people running around shouting in Arabic reached his ears. Bruce had gotten him started on lessons and that language came to him much easier than the Russian had learned before it.

Jason had a lot of dreams that were just filled with him waking up somewhere he didn’t know. According to Barbara, they were a sign of wanderlust. It fitted that a kid from Crime Alley wanted to go out and see the world. It was rare though that his dreams were as lucid as they were now.

Curious, he threw off the blanket. Jason wanted out and explore the world around himself. Of all the things to hold him back, from terrifying monsters to whatever weirdness he could dream up, Jason didn’t expect bandaged wings.

His wings were enormous for his size, making him look ridiculous. He knew he’d grow into his wingspan, but a kid that was on the short end of the spectrum with bright red wings? Yeah, needless to say, he had heard the whispers (or shouts) at school and hadn’t been impressed. In between all the rich kids with their perfectly regular and average browns, grays and blacks, red wings stood out like nothing else. His wings weren’t any help on patrol either. Coloring them dark took ages. Bruce never had to color his already pitch-black wings, but Jason hadn’t been as fortunate. And trying to get the dye out again? Even worse. It took hours with water if Jason didn’t have the actual dye remover on hand.

As annoyed as Jason was with his wings though, he took good care of them, which was why the bandages were the first surprise.

Their size the second, and their color the third.

Jason didn’t have black wings as massive as the ones attached to his back. They kind of looked like the wings he’d always wanted to have, but most certainly wouldn’t get.

The door to his room opened. The person he saw step into it wasn’t someone he expected his subconsciousness to dream up.

“Talia?” Jason asked. “Huh, alright.”

Talia mustered him, her dark green wings pressed to her back like she expected someone to leap for them. Bruce did that too when he got too wary, or when he was dosed with Fear Gas. Jason had spent most of his childhood before he had been adopted with his wings close to his body.

You could tell a lot about people from the way they held them.

Then, Talia frowned and her expression shifted to worry and pity.

“Oh, Jason,” she said. She sounded kind. Motherly. “Don’t you remember?”

The Joker laughed. Time froze.

The world kept spinning.

Jason had died and the world had kept moving.

Training took ages. First, Jason had to regain muscle mass, then he had to learn how to adjust to his new wings.

And new wings they were indeed. Jason’s own had been too damaged and couldn’t be saved, so Talia had ensured Jason would receive a different pair. Wing transplantations had been done successfully only a handful of times, but access to a Lazarus Pit apparently made it a lot more manageable.

“Whose wings are they?” Jason asked only once.

“Yours,” Talia replied.

Jason stopped with his training exercises to observe her. “I meant before.”

She didn’t even bother to look away from her paperwork. The sheets were strange, covered in colors and neat lines.

“They belong to a strong man, and if not broken, they will always keep you in the sky. They’re yours.”

Jason didn’t speak up again.

Above him, the stars of the night sky were hidden away behind clouds while below him, the streets were mostly desolate. Jason adjusted his lenses, focused on his target. Then he jumped down from the building, unfurling his wings completely.

I look like him, Jason would think later when watching and deleting the security tapes. Crashing down on the disgusting excuse of a human being, Jason appeared as a vengeful terror of massive black wings.

Good.

“I need one of your feathers,” Talia said. “Preferably the biggest you have.”

Jason stopped polishing his guns to face her. “Why?”

“Because I asked you to, so?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just take whatever.”

He returned to his previous task, but sat op straight for better access, as Talia made her way around him. She mustered the feathers, softly moved her hands over them, before coming to a stop.

“This one,” she said and pulled at it so that Jason could feel which one she would take. “Brace yourself.”

Jason barely felt the pain. Truthfully speaking, he hardly got any kind of feedback from the wings. He could control them just fine, but the connection felt dulled.

“Thank you, Jason.”

“No problem,” he replied. “I’ll be leaving for Gotham tomorrow.”

“I know. I hope you’ll find what you seek there.”

Jason didn’t.

The new Robin was small and his wingspan frankly speaking pathetic. Barbara’s wings had been broken and her title had been taken by a small predator. There was another girl with bright wings she would have been better off with covering and Dick’s wings, of course, were obsessively clean and cared for as they had always been.

Bruce’s wings were smaller than he remembered. But then again, Jason wasn’t as short, young and naïve as he had been. Naturally, Batman wasn’t as grand as Jason had recalled.

As he had never been.

Talia asked him to come back and Jason refused. It would be too much like admitting defeat. Instead, he carved out his own territory, stayed away from the Bats. This was still his city and nothing short of death could make him leave, and even that hadn’t really stuck the last time.

It started with a call. One foolish, irritating call Jason hadn’t wanted to answer. He didn’t particularly hate the rest of the Bats anymore, and if they needed back up, he was there. Gotham wouldn’t suffer because of him or their incompetence.

Besides, it was Tim who had called.

Usually, Robin didn’t interact with him. Whether that was because Dick had told him off or because of their history, Jason didn’t know. He didn’t care either. He most certainly wasn’t curious why Tim had such a problem with Jason’s wings especially. Whenever he saw Jason, his eyes kept flickering to his wings and it didn’t annoy Jason at all.

Whatsoever.

Okay, maybe it did.

Jason had grown fond of his dark feathers. It wasn’t terribly hard when they were precisely what he had always wanted to have.

Either way, Tim calling, sounding seconds away from a panic attack and asking Jason to come to the Cave ASAP wasn’t something he was going to ignore out of anger.

What Jason expected to find was a crisis that would throw all of Gotham into disarrange.

Not a child with Talia’s green eyes and Bruce’s frown, waving a familiar feather in Bruce’s face while Tim sat at the other end of the Cave with Alfred by his side.

“What the hell?”

Bruce stood up straight, his cape concealing his wings.

“Jason,” Bruce said. If Bruce was surprised to see him, he didn’t show. “Did you know?”

Jason bit down on his rage. “Know what?”

“About Damian. Talia’s son.”

“And yours,” the child, Damian, added rather hot-headedly. His black wings twitched. “I have your feather as proof. Mother gave it to me.”

“This is not proof,” Tim hissed. “That’s just a stupid feather and Talia couldn’t have given you any of Bruce’s either way.”

“Stop talking to me, Drake. This is a conversation between father and son-“

“My name is Wayne, you damned brat-“

“Enough.”

Jason was getting a headache and if not for the fact that there was Talia’s son standing just a few meters away from him, he would have turned around on his heels and walked away again.

“Don’t antagonize each other.”

“But-“ Damian protested, only to stop talking when Bruce shot him a look.

“I don’t doubt that you are my son, but Tim is right. This feather isn’t mine.”

“But it looks like yours! I saw the photos of your wings. It’s the right color and shape, it even has the dark gray markings at the end. Mother said your wings were completely gray as a child and that’s the only leftover from it. Don’t call me a liar.”

Fighting crime was exhausting. You didn’t get much sleep, your body ached all over (except those times you were so full of pain killers, you couldn’t even tell when you got a new wound or if you were Jason and in general didn’t feel much of anything anymore) and every time you tried to fall asleep, either your nightmares or another gruesome murder would wake you up.

They all got tired, but Jason couldn’t think of a time Bruce had ever emitted such an aura of defeat.

“I’m not calling you liar, Damian. But the fact is that the feather can’t be mine. It cannot have been plucked from them.”

Damian’s face flushed in anger and desperation, perhaps. Your parents’ feathers, the ones they gave you willingly once you lost your last baby downs were something special. Jason had treasured Catherine’s, his real mother who had loved him until she couldn’t anymore, and Bruce’s like nothing else.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have wings anymore, Damian. I lost them a while ago when Bane took over Gotham.”

Jason felt like throwing up.

“Mother said Bane broke your spine and Lady Shiva trained you afterward to take back the city.”

They belong to a strong man, and if not broken, they will always keep you in the sky.

“That he did too.”

“But I saw your wings!”

“Fake. It would have been too suspicious if Bruce Wayne lost his wings at the same time as Batman.”

Jason liked to flare his wings when he left, make himself look bigger than he actually was, but right now he didn’t dare to move his no, no they weren’t they never them even an inch away from his body as he turned around and stormed outside.

Nobody would follow him.

They had bigger problems.

It wasn’t Bruce that tracked him down months later (because Bruce was dead, killed by a monster too big for grounded humans. Maybe, if he had been able to fly-) or Tim, who had disappeared with a bang to go on a never-ending search.

He had expected the little brat, coming to him for answers maybe, or Dick once he realized he wasn’t cut out for this Gotham anymore. Jason hardly knew the new Batgirl and he had never even spoken a word to Cassandra.

Somehow, despite her Big Brother-like presence, Jason had never accounted for Barbara.

“Your safe house isn’t very accessible,” she said and moved inside his apartment.

Of course, it wasn’t accessible. It was a cheap shithole in Crime Alley – what did she expect.

“What do you want?”

Jason used to adore Barbara. When he had first met her, she had been energetic and funny, told Batman off and thought Dick was an idiot. She had been bright and every ‘no’ was a challenge.

He couldn’t claim that he knew this version of her. She had calmed down, or maybe just grown as world-weary as the rest of them.

“We tried to find Bruce’s wings after Bane cut them off,” she said, going straight to business and delving right into Jason’s nightmares.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Barbara pushed up her glasses. “I think you need to.”

He could stop her if he wanted to. He doubted that any regular thugs could provide a challenge, her wheelchair didn’t look like standard either and he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she had hidden all kinds of small gadgets in there. The edges of Barbara’s wings were covered in light steel like those of many police officers. A hit from those hurt immensely.

However, Jason had trained to take down the Batman (lifetimes ago it felt like) and Oracle, while undoubtedly smarter, couldn’t fight like him.

“He took them as a trophy and while Tim and Alfred rushed to Bruce’s aid, I kept my eyes on them. I lost them while they were in Gotham still. We assumed that Bane had hidden them, but perhaps had lost them as well instead.”

“I didn’t know.”

His defense sounded weak in his own ears. He had known that the wings sewn to his back hadn’t been the wings of the closest dead body Talia could find. Every action had meaning for her, every cruel gift well-meant wasn’t just efficient but a puzzle to solve.

He should have insisted. He should have kept asking.

“When I woke up, really as myself and not full of rage or catatonic, they were already there. Talia meant well, she only wanted to help.”

Barbara kept silent for a while, let her gaze drift to the blood on the ground, the guns on the table and the take-out food on the mattress. Jason hadn’t been handling things well in the last weeks.

“In winter,” she spoke up suddenly, “when Dick and I were young, Bruce used to cover us with his wings on observation missions because we, young and stupid, refused to put on the ugly winter uniforms. The two of us could fit right beneath one wing with still so much space left over.”

Jason remembered that. Bruce always covered Jason with his wings every time he felt like he had an excuse for it. There was no word to describe the warmth Jason had felt then.

“What do you want, Oracle?”

Barbara crossed her arms, still the perfect picture of resistance.

“I need you to come home and work with us. We’re missing three of our heavy hitters and Dick’s busy trying to reign in Damian half the time they’re on patrol. You feel ashamed of these wings? Then do something worthwhile with them. I need to be able to count on you and I need you to actually cover us. This city’s never been alright when even one of us is gone.”

Alright. Okay.

Jason could understand desperation. You didn’t claw your way out of your coffin simply because you felt like it. He could do this.

He had to.

#Jason todd #bruce wayne #tim drake #dc #dc comics #batman #Barbara gordon #talia al ghul #fanfic #prompts

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mobius-prime · 4 years

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126. Knuckles the Echidna #25

Childhood's End

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Manny Galan Colors: Mark Bernardo

It's finally time for a reunion a long time in the making - the reunion, of course, between Knuckles and Locke! Due to this being the 25th issue, it's not part of a larger arc, it's standalone. Knuckles is helping Julie-Su clean up the mess left behind by the fight against the Legion in the base where they were both held captive a couple issues ago, when upon picking up Benedict's robotic skull, he spots a reflection on its side that stuns him. He drops the skull as Julie-Su calls after him, racing after the figure he saw reflected and ending up on the streets of the city.

There's a lot of things Knuckles could do here. I'm sure many people expected him to be angry, yell at his father for leaving him and keeping secrets, act on any feelings of betrayal he may have. But in the end, this is a teenager who, according to the intro page, hasn't seen his father in six whole years, ever since he jumped into the wall of fire in front of him, and so he begins to cry and embraces Locke, saying how happy he is to see him. They just stand there hugging for a moment, and then Knuckles begins to boil over with questions, wanting to know everything. Locke leads him away so they can talk more privately, and they head out jut as Julie-Su emerges onto the street as well, looking for him.

Ooh boy, I sense a conflict coming up. Locke and Knuckles get into a shuttle and Locke pilots them to Haven, which Knuckles asks for more information on, seeing as he didn't spend very long there before and thus didn't get many answers about it. And so Locke begins a flashback-laden history lesson, pretty much par for the course for anything Kenders gets his hands on. Haven was originally built by the fire ants to be a base for the current Guardian, Steppenwolf (remember him? Son of Edmund), to carry out his duties. Eventually Steppenwolf had a son, Moonwatcher, and trained him to be a Guardian as well. However, soon enough, Steppenwolf realized that there might be more danger to the Floating Island than just that from within.

Man, why are the Overlanders always so evil in these earlier issues? It's like the entire species is constantly plotting to take over everything and kill Mobians just because they can. Then again, the ones up there are led by a Kintobor, so I guess the Kintobors have always just been a crappy family. Steppenwolf senses their insincerity, and proceeds to mind-torture them with extreme pain until they agree to never set foot on the island again. Geez, man, I get they were traitorous, but did you really have to go that far? Turns out it was the fire ants with their telepathic powers that were able to warn him of the Overlanders' intentions. Steppenwolf had a chat with his fire ant mentor Christopheles, and together they agreed that there would always be more people trying to invade the island, so they should take extra security measures to ensure it would be properly protected.

As Locke tells this story, they land in Haven, and Knuckles begins to ask about it again, prompting Locke to reveal that it wasn't always kept a secret from the current Guardian. He continues his story - originally, Steppenwolf decided that there should be more than one Guardian always at the ready to protect the island, so he brought Moonwatcher to Haven, and they began to trade off duties. One would explore the surface of whatever landmass they were flying over, while the other would remain on the island and look after everyone on it.

I like how Harlan looks like a totally normal Knuckles clone while Rembrandt looks like this crazy hippie who decided to only dress himself in articles of clothing he found at grandpa's garage sale. The family line continued up to Rembrandt's son, Aaron, which is probably the most normal name for any echidna we've seen so far. Aaron was on the surface of the planet one day when he encountered a squad of Overlanders roaming around with, to his shock, some Dark Legionnaires, who, upon seeing him and recognizing him as a Guardian, tried to capture him. Aaron tried to run away but ran straight into Menniker himself (who was still alive because of the slower passing of time in the Twilight Zone, if you'll recall Kragok mentioning before), next to a giant missile. Apparently the Dark Legion was conspiring with the Overlanders to just straight up explode the Floating Island, and, panicking, one of the Overlanders fired the missile prematurely, to Menniker's fury. Aaron jumped up and managed to land on it, and was doing a fine job of disarming it midair until Menniker landed on it as well to stop him.

Both Aaron and Menniker were vaporized in the explosion, and Rembrandt and the rest of the Guardians were distraught at the loss. However, the family line didn't end there, as Aaron's younger brother Jordan offered himself up to become the next Guardian in his late brother's place.

Thus began the tradition of a father training his son in isolation on the island, then disappearing to Haven when the time was right to allow their offspring to take over their duties alone, this time never leaving the island's surface. Knuckles is somewhat relieved to hear that his father never abandoned him all those years ago, though he perhaps may have been slightly less relieved if he'd known that he was spying on him all that time, including all his private conversations with friends and Julie-Su, but I digress. When Locke mentions something about Knuckles' training being more important than any other Guardian before, Knuckles presses him on the issue, insisting he's ready to hear the answer when Locke hesitates. Locke explains how one night after being married to Lara-Le for a while, he had a nightmare of a strange series of events, which included a giant robot looking kind of like Robotnik destroying a city while his future son faced it down. He awoke in a cold sweat, but had this dream again and again, which prompted him to go to Athair of all people for advice, who told him it was a dream of the future that he must prepare for.

Yes, that's right. Locke altered his own genetic material so that he could shoot mutant super-sperm into his wife to create a superpowered baby, without telling her any of what he was doing, of course. But then he wasn't even satisfied with that! As soon as his wife laid Knuckles' egg, he took it and stuck it in the Chaos Chamber where he blasted it with radiation from the emerald in front of the rest of the Brotherhood. This is the true backstory of Knuckles' birth, and his apparent destiny. I've heard it summarized before as "had a bad dream, better microwave the baby," which, yeah, that's basically exactly what happened. Locke could have, with his foreknowledge of things to come, simply worked on training his son adequately for the future he saw, ensuring as well that he had the full backing of the rest of the Brotherhood for his entire life. But no, instead he did… well, this. (Ironically, the vision as seen in his nightmare depicted above never even slightly came to pass over the course of the comic, due to things like changing storylines and new head writers. Perhaps Locke's actions averted that future, or perhaps he really did just have a bad dream and microwave the baby as a result - there's no way to know for sure.)

And did it work? Did Locke's son, in fact, come out of the egg as a superpowered savior of echidnakind?

Oh, did you think those were just part of his gloves installed there to help him punch better? Nah, out of all the echidnas, only Knuckles has actual echidna knuckles. Somehow, this one tiny detail was enough to convince Locke that his genetic alterations worked and that Knuckles would be the ultra-powerful savior of the echidna people, even though it could also have been, I dunno, a genetic defect caused by all the mutant sperm and radiation that went into making this child. Of course, Knuckles is intimidated by all this - I don't think anyone has ever had a positive reaction to hearing they're a genetically-engineered destined hero - but Locke retorts that he had similar misgivings when he was still a Guardian trainee, and that his decision to microwave his baby was also really hard for him, calling it a decision between "sacrificing the world or siring a son to save it." I'm still not buying it, Locke, but Knuckles seems placated for now, and Locke suggests that, for the time being, they just spend some long-overdue time together as father and son. Knuckles happily agrees, exchanging "I love you"s with his father for the first time in who knows how many years.

So my opinion on all this? Well, I've already given some of it above, but honestly, I think that Locke far overreacted to his whole nightmare situation. He's been awful to Lara-Le both through their entire marriage and after as a result, constantly lying to her, keeping secrets, and interfering with her attempts to be a part of her son's life. He put his son through a lot of emotionally traumatizing experiences, allowing him to believe his own father had incinerated himself just to try to teach him self-reliance, and then spying on his every private moment from afar. The thing is, every bad guy sees themselves as the hero. And while I don't necessarily categorize Locke as an out-and-out villain, I do believe that, in almost every decision he ever made, he was in the wrong. You can even see it in the way the other members of the Brotherhood treat him, where even though most of them went through the same training regimen with being left behind by their fathers and all, nearly everyone in Haven, especially his own father, thinks Locke is too distant from his son and should reveal himself to him. Locke waited this long - Knuckles is almost sixteen, as we'll see in more detail next KtE arc - and almost every one of his plans went awry somewhere along the line, causing a lot of strife, bad feelings, and chaos for Knuckles throughout the course of the comic. Locke had the best of intentions, and the worst of executions.

Here's the thing. Kenders has said before that he based Locke on his own father, with whom he'd had a difficult relationship when he was younger. I see nothing wrong with basing a character on someone that one knows in real life, but one must also take into account the ramifications of such a thing, seeing as you wouldn't want to portray someone you care about as a bad guy. As it is, I feel that Locke would make a much better villain than… well, than whatever he currently is. If some plot points, character attitudes, etc. were changed, Locke could end up as this mastermind behind a plot that Knuckles would have to uncover, only to heartbreakingly discover his own father behind everything he'd been through. If Knuckles then rejected his father's path to instead carve his own, Locke would become angry, and there would be a lot of strife, a lot of fighting that could come of such a thing. But he wouldn't be a pure villain, either - he'd have a redemption arc, where he'd begin to understand just how badly he'd messed everything up. Then there would be more conflict concerning whether his self-awareness came too late to repair any kind of relationship with his son, let alone achieve forgiveness, or indeed forgive himself. Kenders is trying so hard to portray his own father-insert in a sympathetic light that there's this weird disconnect between how his selfish actions are portrayed by the writing in the comic, and how they come across to anyone looking critically at the plot. I understand his intention in writing everything this way, I really do, but ultimately, he was unwilling to put good storytelling first, and now we've ended up with this muddled mess.

That said, I know I've talked about this before, but I'm far less… I don't know, hateful of Kenders' work than many people in the Archie Sonic fandom. I think he's put together a truly fascinating world here, with many varied characters and a lot of potential for conflict to arise out of any situation naturally - true character-driven conflict, where the mores and values of different people clash dramatically causing strife, which I've always seen as the most interesting kind of conflict. The problem with his work, in the end, usually comes down to execution, and to, well, his own limitations as a writer of dialogue in particular. Seriously, not to insult him too harshly, but his dialogue is so often stilted and awkward that I really think he'd be better off as creative director of any project he worked on, coming up with characters and plots and worldbuilding and the like, while leaving the actual writing to someone else. In addition, quite frankly, he needs an editor that's willing to tell him "no" sometimes, but I've also heard that he's quite hard to work with, always wanting his own ideas to go exactly the way he wants them. And while as a writer myself I understand to a point being protective about one's own ideas, if you're working on a comic like this, dude, you have to be willing to work with others.

But anyway, I've rambled on far too long about this. One textbox aside next to the panels of Locke's nightmare promise us an epic upcoming "Knuckles Twenty Years Later" story in a future Sonic Super Special. As anyone who's read the comics already knows, that whole shebang is kind of infamous for being… well, boring, uninspired, and ultimately unimportant to the plot of the rest of the comic. It's one of the few parts of Kenders' work that I'm wholly uninterested in, not really even a little bit, but I'm still going to cover it once we come to it (which isn't for quite a long while, actually), as there's a lot of criticism to be had there, and what's a comic review without a healthy dose of criticism, eh?

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #kte 25 #writer: ken penders #pencils: manny galan #colors: mark bernardo

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morphituu · 5 years

Text

Milagro

Chapter 13: “Her Shield”

Ch: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12

The disbelief in Makhel’s eyes matched Daryl’s, but all too quickly did stunning triumph stir a smile across Ward’s mouth, his hold securing tighter around the wand despite the discomfort of his burned skin rubbing the wooden handle, but now they were at a standstill, staring one another down.

Ward was never taught any war spells, only how to call the wand.

“Tikka,” he hissed, nudging her, his eyes still on the bewildered Orc, but she remained slumped over Fero’s remains, whimpering softly to herself. “Tikka!” he hissed again, pushing her, but she still wouldn’t budge.

Daryl dared to pull his eyes away, tugging from under Tikka’s arms but she fought against him, unintelligible wails springing from her. “Get up and use that fucking wand!” he seethed, looking back to Makhel, but instead found him bolting across the road towards Rania.

Ward cursed under his breath, stumbling around Tikka to pursue him.

Makhel hesitated greatly when reaching for the brittle, makeshift wand still clutched in her cold palm. Rigimortous had already set in across her icy skin, and when he yanked upwards and her body followed, her cheek fell against his foot that he flinched back from, a startled yelp hatching in his throat.

There was nothing left of life in Rania, but her eyes seemed to follow him as he staggered back, whispering jumbled apologies. The wand- if it could even be called that- was looked over swiftly, but the further he rolled it in his touch, the more the delicate grain fragmented, quickly breaking apart into a dusty pile between his feet.

Another panicked moment coupled by an equally frantic glance in Ward’s direction prompted Makhel to bolt, but his legs felt heavy, as if weights were strapped around his ankles. He fought past the affliction and the tightness in his chest, heading for the closest store he could escape through.

Nick used his elbow to push aside the door that was blocked with fallen shelves and stools from the bar it sat behind, carefully squeezing in sideway with Callie in his arms.

“A’right, here we go,” he intoned, sitting her in one of the stools still standing.

“I’m okay,” she again insisted despite her hand not leaving her stomach since she’d come back into consciousness. “We need to get out of here,”

“We will,” he called from behind the counter, searching through the fallen objects and disorganized shelves for anything to halt the trickle of blood that had started back up with her heart. “I need to find Ward first,”

She was trying her best to look through the dirty and cracked windows of the diner when she accidentally picked off a fresh scab from the slice across her cheek, inhaling sharply when it stung. Blood smeared her fingertips, stirring a vexed exhale.

Nick came back around with wash cloths and a water pitcher still filled with ice, first unknotting the shirt he’d originally used to dampen the open wound and then ripping her jeans to better inspect.

Callie looked away, a hand over her mouth as he doused the slice across her thigh with the chilled water. It stung, but nothing matched up to the wrath of her now non-existent labor just a short time ago. Although it was stalled, recalling the intensity of the contractions left a very vivid impression across her, and she couldn’t help but question if she’d make it when the appropriate time came to give birth.

Looking up at Nick’s face was far better distraction from all of that than the ruined wall behind the bar that had little to keep her attention, but upon observing the way the light from outside reflected off his cheeks, it occurred to her that he’d not only been crying, but sobbing. He nearly startled when she reached for him suddenly, wiping the heel of her palm across his damp cheek after pulling a sleeve down over it.

He looked flustered by the manner in which he rubbed his cheek against his shoulder to rid of the remaining tear trails, but she pulled him in to bump foreheads, reassuring him in soft whispers to not feel ashamed for crying.

To explain the dread he’d felt while watching the life bleed from her was impossible, so taking the moment to pull her in for a tight embrace and inhale the life that was returned to her brought him away from those bleak thoughts that only highlighted the worst possible outcomes if Rania hadn’t come along.

Neither wanted to pull from that hold, but he scrunched his nose against her neck when the smell of blood wafted under his nose, prompting him to pull away and return to the task at hand after kissing her cheek, then her palm when she slid them gently down his face. Again she looked away instead of witnessing him mop up the steady trickle of blood.

“This isn’t gonna work,” he growled, trying to fashion the cloths together, but they barely did their job of soaking up anything.

She dared a glance before her eyes landed on his own wounds across his arm. “Baby your arm,” she reached, moving his sleeve up, but he only pushed her hands away.

“Sit still- your cheek,” he exasperated, turning her jaw and using the back of his hand to wipe away the stray droplet after spotting it. “I gotta find a first-aid kit,”

“And then we can leave?” she asked, only getting a few dabs in over the slice of his arm before he tossed the useless rags away.

“Stay here,” he motioned to move, but she grabbed him. “I’ll be right back,” he held her face when he promised that, giving her a few hard kisses that she clung to. “Don’t try to walk,”

It was with reluctance that she let go, watching him move haphazardly over the fallen chairs and tables, the floor littered with food and broken dishes before vanishing into the back through the double doors.

She sat back in the stool uneasily, cautiously letting her eyes roam over the diner and linger even longer out the clouded windows, wondering where the battle had suddenly gone. Leo fluttered under her palm reassuringly, and she looked down, her lips pulling into a weak smile. More than anything she wished to cradle him and admire the twice lived miracle somersaulting in her stomach, but knowing he was where he was supposed to be was the greater reassurance.

So far he’d only found boxes of preserved foods and monstrous cans lining metal shelves as he squeezed his way around the narrow back room, and upon only finding rolls of paper towels thus far, he realized he might just have to settle with what they had. His first plan of action after finding a way out of the town- with or without Tikka- was getting Callie to a hospital. He’d done a decent job at keeping his concerns to himself after they’d literally passed in his arms, but he was certain that there would be no easy resting until he heard it from a doctors mouth that both of them were stable.

He took a cautionary breath, fighting the burn in his eyes.

After this, the only excitement Nick looked forward to was Leo’s arrival- the planned and scheduled arrival that he had plenty of time to prepare for.

He was about to throw in the towel when a flash of red caught his eye, and skipped sideways to find a first-aid kit tacked to the wall and collecting dust. A quick look over it’s contents insured it would do a far better job than the rags he’d found-

The shattering then clattering of glass across the ground in the lobby alerted Nick, followed by a desperate cry from Callie before it abruptly halted.

The fear rushed back into his body as he crashed through the double doors, skidding to a halt to find Ward stood before Callie protectively with a wand in hand and pointed across the room towards Makhel who had blood running freely down his face from the significant slice across the top of his head.

It took only a matter of seconds to put it all together, but now they were at a stand still.

Callie looked at Nick, panic brimming her wide eyes, but Ward had his arm curled back across her ensuring there was no chance of her being hit.

Makhel was heaving, glancing between the men, and even across the diner Nick could see his body trembling. He looked sickly, but the craze in his eyes unsettled him greatly.

He wanted to shout at Ward to just fire already; he couldn’t understand why he was just standing there, until it all made sense.

Ward hadn’t been taught any attacks.

Sure he could wield it, but what else?

Nick wanted to scoop Callie up and bolt, even if it meant leaving the psychopath that had pursued them alive, but leaving someone even as able bodied as Ward to an Orc was only allowing a one-sided fight. Makhel was young, but Orcs were born with strength, so adding what he assumed was desperation and crazed fear to the equation meant he’d fight viciously, something Nick knew was gruesome and had bared witness to.

A long breath exhaled, and Nick’s fists clenched at his sides. He knew now what needed to be done.

“Ward get Callie out of here,” Nick grumbled lowly, moving before both of them.

“What?” Callie tried to move past Ward’s shoulder, but he was still holding her back.

“Daryl go.” Nick barked, his chest puffed with his chin down, face slowly pulling onto a hard snarl. Makhel zeroed in on Nick, immediately recognizing the fight he proposed. The younger Orc followed suit, his lips pulling back over his bleeding gums to show his sharp teeth.

“Nick-” Callie reached for him, but she was restricted by Daryl, her finger tips barely grazing his back before she was pulled away. “NICK NO!” she cried, fighting against his hold, reaching frantically for her lover.

It took great restraint to not turn to her, but Nick kept his eyes locked with Makhel’s, the two breathing heavily and standing their tallest.

“NICK DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” Callie sobbed, thrashing every step of the way. Ward found it surprisingly difficult to hold her as he made his way through the back door, resorting to hoisting her up against his chest to yank her grip from the frame as she continued to scream.

Nick caught the flicker of Makhel’s eyes following Callie and Ward, so he moved to block them, chuffing loudly.

Makhel shifted unnaturally, his step appearing untrustworthy. “You bred a human whore,”

A resounding growl burst from Nick, his body trembling from the ferocity in which he emitted the long snarls, the adrenaline collecting in his skull. His chest heaved with deep breaths, examining the stench of sickness coming off of the dwindling Orc before him, but there was also the flare of raw challenge coming off of him much in the same manner it was radiating from Nick.

When Makhel again shifted, Nick did so the opposite direction, starting a slow circle around one another, sizing each other up as they both continued to display their strength, and ferociousness.

“I’ss because of ones like you that we can never be above them,” Makhel went on weakly, but his smile was all mighty. “Your own child’s a mistake- taking the place a pure Orc should,”

Nick was ready to throw himself at him and slug until he was a pile of meat, but he fought the vigor in his legs knowing there would be a better chance.

He narrowed his eyes, uttering, “Rania was a halfling,”

Makhel stiffened, an angered chuff firing at Nick.

“Did you hate her?”

“Shut up,” Makhel barked.

“Did you blame her for being who she was?”

“She was perfect and they ruined her!” he hollered, spitting bloody saliva.

“You killed her!” Nick boomed, and just as Makhel had pushed off his toes, Nick was also barreling towards him, their bodies meeting in a loud clash as hands flung to gouge and jaws opened to rip.

They were a blur of clashing muscle and thundering roars, one sometimes getting in a solid hit and then the other firing back with a gut-wrenching tackle, throwing them about the already broken room that crumbled beneath their dueling bodies. Makhel resorted more to clamping down with his teeth, always aiming for Nick’s throat or inner arms, but a neck snapping swing would always daze him a moment or two, yet not long enough to stop the frenzied rage that was keeping Makhel standing and holding his own.

“Callie stop!” Ward was still struggling, his cheek ringing where she’d already squeezed in a few hits with her elbow.

“Let me go!” she demanded, fighting against his strong hold all the while watching Nick and Makhel brawl, their monstrous roars and strikes just as clear outside as it was inside. She could see Nick thrown across the ground, rushing to stand and only having Makhel land on him.

“Get OFF!” she screamed, trying to twist out of his hold.

“If you go in there you’ll get caught in the middle- damnit, Callie!”

In a moment of delirium, Makhel had gotten his hands around Nick’s neck, sitting on his chest so kicking him away wasn’t doable, and now Nick pulled at his hands desperately, his eyes welling with tears and panic flooding the longer his thumbs pressed into his throat.

“You’re the kind of person who allows the world to go on raping and defiling! I was doing the world a favor and you got involved!” Makhel bawled, his arms shaking from the force he held Nick down, but in a final burst of capability, Nick’s hand finally gripped something sturdy while brushing the ground desperately- a beer mug that he swung the bottom of into Makhel’s temple.

He fell to his side, holding his hand over the gash now gushing after the mug shattered against his skin while Nick struggled to his feet, coughing hoarsely and choking on the air he tried to suck back into his lungs.

His bloodshot eyes found Makhel getting to his feet just as he was, disregarding the blood in his mouth and the bites and cuts across his body that burned.

While he was still steadying, Nick lunged at him, resuming the thunderous shouts and tears as before when Makhel turned to fight back, his snapping jaws coming painfully close to Nick’s face before he blew his forearm into his chin to send him flying into a table, only to break under his body. Nick had already grabbed a chair when the younger Orc turned to scamper to his feet, hollering when the seat slammed into his back and broke into pieces.

“You’re a fucking psycho,” Nick spat, using Makhel’s own defense against him when he again charged. Although his tusks were filed, Nick’s bite was still as deadly, his teeth sinking into Makhel’s forearm when he attempted to push the cop back through the windows. Sour blood pooling in his mouth prompted him to release, completely numb to Makhel’s scream or yanking against Nick’s jaws.

Nick spit, his face twisting when the blood coated his tongue and throat, staining his teeth when they bared before a loud snarl.

Despite shaking his wounded arm and the clear discomfort across his face, Makhel came at him again.

“Get the fuck- OFF!” Callie shrieked, digging her nails into Ward’s arm even more after he’d hissed in pain the first few times.

At this point, Daryl was losing his already barely bridled patience, and was close to letting her go so she’d fall and he could just drag her away, but even then he was sure she’d find a way to weasel from his hold.

“He needs our help!” she argued, but it didn’t lessen his hold around her.

“If we get between that we-” but the wind was knocked from him, pain radiating into his stomach immediately after she’d slugged him in the groin with all the momentum she had. Ward tried to hang onto her jacket as he buckled, but he was having a harder time breathing as he fell to his side, cursing at her as she bolted back to the diner as louder roars start emerging from inside.

She crawled through the floor to ceiling high windows this time instead of bothering with the back door, solutions rushing her when she witnessed Nick in a chokehold and thrashing wildly against Makhel, both of them riddled with debris, and blood, and bruises.

Callie’s eyes jumped until they landed on a partially destroyed stool, hoisting it over her shoulder and swinging with all her might into Makhel’s side.

He arched, screaming, letting go of Nick but swiftly turning on her with a booming cry.

She had only a half-second to turn and run, but he already had his hands on her, tossing her aside like garbage.

To Nick, it happened slowly, but he knew he hadn’t turned fast enough to stop it before Callie rolled and crashed across the tables and chairs, finally stopping when her body slammed up against a booth. A constricted cry caught in her throat, her arms shaking and body lighting up with pain when she tried to sit up.

Just as she’d turned to Makhel’s reaching hands and twisting face, Nick tackled him and sent them back into the destroyed rubble around them.

His raging heart was pulsing behind his eyes and in his ears, his vision bleeding over with red as he dealt blow after blow into Makhel’s already swollen face. All the soreness and weak across Nick’s body wasn’t even detected; only unchecked fury pumping into his limbs, gathering in his chest then billowing out through heaving breaths.

It wasn’t until Nick felt a few of his own knuckles pop that he stopped, breathing gravelly above Makhel who was sputtering for air.

A tusk was broken off and stuck in Nick’s knuckle, but he didn’t notice, not while looking down at his concave face and blood pooling under his head, an eye sunk deep into its socket.

“Y-you know I’m right-” Makhel spat, holding his deformed head. “I’ll do it- I’ll kill-”

But in a final fit of rage, Nick’s powerful jaws closed around his neck, thrashing his head viciously until the flesh and muscle gave way, ripping open his throat.

Makhel’s body convulsed, strangled cries that couldn’t reach past the blood in his throat filling the quiet room as he slowly drowned, clawing desperately at his own throat. Nick watched the life drain from his eyes and fear crawl it’s way in, consuming his last thoughts until the last of his spasms had stopped, and the crimson spurting from his throat slowed.

Nick spat the last of the sour blood onto his face, a hard chuff following.

It was necessary, but upon spotting the butter knife beside him, Nick hastily grabbed it and plunged the blunt blade into Makhel’s chest, watching carefully for any reaction, but there was nothing left of the rogue Bright.

“Agh thaav'uk killaumn mausan fuckaumn hundur.” He slurred, finally finding his way back up to his feet to stagger away from the boy he’d just murdered. His breaths were heavying as well as his limbs, and the agony that had before been numbed was soaking into his muscles and bones, building a steady tremble up his battered body.

“Nick?”

He looked to Callie, now realizing she’d witnessed him annihilating Makhel, and it showed in her peeled eyes, but she remained unmoving, still sitting before the booth her body had struck.

He chuffed blood from his nose and mouth, stumbling when he turned to face her. “Are you okay-” but he collapsed, his body falling harshly across a turned chair and breaking under him.

“Nick!” she exclaimed, crawling to him as he dragged his body across the floor to her, groaning when his head fell against her stomach, the rest of his exhausted form following. He lay sprawled across the tiles, his head cradled in Callie’s touch as she cried over him, wiping away the blood across his mouth and chin, simply thankful that she’d lived through all of it- that both her and Leo had. He turned his cheek against her stomach when Leo stirred, exhaling shakily.

It was a short lived moment of tenderness between the two before Ward finally made his way back in, wand raised in mock protection before he spotted the couple twisted in one another beside a mutilated Makhel.

“Holy…” he trailed off, carefully walking around the corpse, a hand hovering over his tender lower abdomen. “You good? You okay?” he asked the pair, both of them nodding tiredly.

Nick’s bruising eye cracked open when Ward slumped beside them, letting the wand roll out of his palm.

Callie leaned back against the booth, Nick still held partially against her lap and stomach, letting her eyes close a moment as the quiet around them seeped in, the exhaustion finally rooting into her bones after days of constant anxiousness. It occurred to her that unwinding beside a corpse shouldn’t have been so easy, but she also couldn’t believe how drained she felt.

Ward kept looking at the body before them, then back at Nick, wondering just what kind of fight ensued while he was wrestling to keep Callie away.

He hit Nick’s arm, pointing, “Where’s all that pissed off when we’re working?”

Nick scoffed, wincing when his ribs protested.

The three melted back into their exhaustion, staring here and there, hunger even starting to awaken in their void guts.

“I wanna go home.” Callie mumbled, the men nodding in agreement.

It took a few tries to get Nick standing on his feet, and even when he didn’t tip over like a redwood the third time, Callie still had trouble keeping him upright enough to walk, but neither wanted to be anywhere near the wand that Ward was carrying again. The first-aid kit was collected before they found their way out of the store, but none of them knew how much it could help their various stages and degrees of injuries.

They collectively halted when Tikka was spotted across the road, still slumped over Fero, but this had been the first time Nick or Callie had seen him, both completely oblivious that they could have sustained their own injuries from the fight, and apparently Fero had been dealt the worst blow.

Ward kept them back with an upturned palm, calmly walking up to her.

Some kind of spell had been cast to bring Fero’s torn face back together, but there was still evidence of it; the way his skin puckered and scarred, his left eye still drooping a little. It honestly set Daryl off a little bit; they’d been in the thick of the fight, Nick risking his own life to give them a head start and she’d been here putting Fero back together instead of helping.

After everything she’d asked of them, she didn’t even see the fights end.

He pushed that down; he really just wanted to leave.

“Tikka,” he called, but she didn’t even move. “Tikka it’s time to go,”

Her head shook, still hung.

“We can’t stay here,” he pressed more urgently, yet her hands did not leave his that she’d clasped over his stomach.

Her head shook, slowly, her shoulders trembling. “I… I can’t,” she choked. “I have to… I can’t leave him here,”

“Tikka,” he stepped closer, chilled in the shadow of the building. “He’s gone, you have to leave,”

“No!” she screamed, and the same sharp snap of flames that had appeared in Makhel’s hand when Rania had disarmed him flickered in Ward’s, his wand springing towards Tikka for her to catch. Though her eyes were swollen and glossy with unshed tears, she still glared hatefully up at him for even suggesting she leave his side.

Daryl held his singed hand, scoffing.

“That’s it? After all the shit you pulled and the fight we finished you expect us to just walk our asses outta here!?” Daryl shouted, but there was nothing else she offered after that initial look before turning back to Fero, scooting on her knees closer to him with both wands in her possession now.

“Get up!” he demanded, but she was unmoving. He huffed, tempted to shake her, but instead turned heel to trudge past Nick and Callie who were also in a state of disbelief, but clearly there was nothing left to do.

“Tikka,” Nick called, and she surprisingly looked to him with tired eyes. “Stay gone this time.” He instructed, pulling Callie under his arm to turn and follow Daryl down the desolate street, unbothered to leave any final glances in her direction this time.

If she was leaving them with nothing, they’d do the same. Nick expected a spell to meet his back or swallow them all up from the ground with their backs turned to her, but silence was the only thing that filled the space between them with every step forward.

Quickly they caught up with Daryl, the three deciding that hot-wiring a car would be their best and quickest bet out of God knew where they were, but it was slim pickings, mostly old sedans with steering wheel locks or a few others that had clearly been parked longer than they could run. A few scooters and bikes here and there, but they all perked up when Callie spotted an old Ford sitting in the shade of an alley, with thankfully, no steering lock.

Callie kept careful watch over the still barren streets as they secured their ride, Ward tearing the steering column out and Nick pulling the various boxes of junk from the bed until the truck was roaring to life.

Nick helped Callie hoist herself into the high seats, struggling more himself when his body protested severely. Ward found his seat behind the wheel just as Nick had lifted his arm to let Callie’s head rest back against his chest, both of them melting into the bench seat as Daryl pulled onto the dirt road. Everything across their bodies hurt, even in spots they didn’t know could ache as the distance between them and the battle that almost claimed their lives grew into a shrinking landscape once they’d left the small town.

It was a rough, jumpy ride, but just thinking if the distance they’d already covered if they had had to walk was enough to make them collapse.

“Where are we going?” Callie questioned softly, even if she was sure there would be no answer or clue from either of them as they made their way down the twisting roadway.

↠

Daryl stretched loudly once stepping out of the truck, his sore body for a small moment feeling bliss with his hands above his head and body locked tight in a pleasing stretch. The truck would likely stay here after this visit to the small hospital they’d found nestled in an actual city they’d followed sparse signs into after driving aimlessly for hours, but Ward still kept the doors unlocked on the off chance they found themselves running for their lives again.

He just couldn’t yet shake the feeling he still had to keep an eye over his shoulder.

Rounding the tail of the truck brought him to Callie and Nick who were also stretching past the discomfort in their riddled bodies, staggering around when the blood rushed to their heads.

Callie handed back the rag she’d tied around Nick’s knuckles when he finally picked Makhel’s tusk from his fist before they wandered up to the entrance of the hospital, turning heads towards their startling conditions.

A nurse’s watchful eyes had been on them since they’d first entered, rising from her seat behind the desk before they made it to her, but the closer the came the more she showed concern, mainly at Callie’s obvious condition.

“Puedo ayudarte?” the nurse asked skeptically, eyeing Nick, but he was too exhausted to even care.

Callie pondered that a second. “Fuimos asaltados,” she decided, letting a silent breath go when the nurse showed surprise instead of suspicion and started putting together paperwork.

“She goes first- she’s twenty weeks pregnant,” Nick insisted, ushering her towards the other nurses that were clamoring around them. Ward was trying to understand the quick Spanish being fired at him as they lead him away from the desk and into a wheelchair, and he quickly took advantage of the offered ride, waving at Nick and Callie with his head leaning back and arms slackening against the arm rests.

“You are de… de father?” the nurse asked Nick, the pager phone pressed between her cheek and shoulder.

“Yeah,” he answered distractedly when other nurses started to lead Callie to her own wheelchair, stuffing a pillow behind her back just as a male nurse had come up behind Nick to lead him a different way.

“Wait- wait,” he walked after her quickly, leaning over to plant a few kisses upon her lips, kissing her knuckles before he let them take her. “Be careful with her, that’s my baby.” He told them, walking backwards with a hand on his chest as he watched them wheel her away. She looked back at him with a tired grin, but Nick didn’t budge until the double doors had closed behind her, finally following the other nurses down the hall.

↠

It had been a few hours of examining, poking, stitching and cleaning, but at least she’d been able to stay in the same gurney the entire time so she could nap in between visits, and all the while she’d had the sound of Leo’s steady heartbeat filling the room with the fetal monitor wrapped around her stomach. She’d grin every time the loud swirling of his movement came through the speakers, her hand following his little bumps and kicks.

Ultrasounds and constant monitoring had assured her that, from what they saw, Leo was perfectly fine despite them not knowing how close she’d come to losing him forever.

Approaching chattering outside brought her attention to her door when it opened, smiling when Nick struggled his way in as he argued with nurses, trying to speak over and convince them he had no idea what they were saying as they went on to insist he go back to his room. It wasn’t until Callie translated and explained he was the father- with more surprising looks again- that they calmed, advising him harshly not to jostle her or disrupt any rest.

“Why do they always think I’m gonna assault you?” he questioned aloud, waiting until the door had clicked behind them to lean over and smother her with kisses.

“You look worse than I do,” she giggled between his smooches, noting the stitches across his face and bandaging covering his form.

“How’s my boy?” he asked lovingly, carefully avoiding the monitor as he kissed around her stomach, a wide smile growing across his face when he heard Leo move.

“Everything is clear. Back to doing jumping jacks,” she smiled sleepily.

“Really?” he asked in wonder, pausing to glance up at her as she nodded. “Part of me was convinced he wouldn’t be a hundred percent,”

“Me too,” she ran the back of her knuckles against his cheek as he pressed his face to her stomach. “El es nuestro milagro,”

“I know what that means,” he grinned, a final kiss placing just over her belly button and beside a particularly large bruise. “How’re you feeling baby?”

“Just tired, hungry. I’m sore but they can only get me aspirin,” she explained unenthusiastically.

“They won’t let you eat?” he asked, brows arching.

She shook her head. “Might need an x-ray,”

“That’s stupid,” he grunted, carefully crawling over her legs to plop onto the bed behind her with a loud huff, wrapping his arm under her bust and shaping to her. She groaned appreciatively, flipping the blanket back over his side to comfortably soak in the warmth radiating off him.

“You’re freezing,” he noted, flinching when she pushed her feet back and up between his calves.

“It’s cold in here,” she mumbled, moaning again when he stroked her arm.

It was quiet beside the steady thrum of Leo’s heartbeat, Callie’s skin quickly warming with every second he remained pressed to her. Though he could’ve slept, Nick still had a difficult time taking his eyes off the door, expecting it to blow open at any moment. It only secured his hold around her tighter, mumbling a low apology when she grunted.

“I can’t wait to be home,” she murmured. “We need to figure out what we’re gonna tell people if they ask,”

“Kandomere will be here soon to help,” he said into her hair. She looked back at him, a cut brow raising. “He’s the official we were trying to call before Tikka dropped us in that motel room,”

“How’s he gonna know we’re here?”

“We gave them our names. It’ll ping on his end eventually,” he explained, helping her resituate after slowly rolling onto her other side to face him, the monitor still strapped tightly around her. He gave her a lopsided grin, his bandaged hand smoothing away the dirty strands of hair from her face as she pulled his other hand up to ball under her chin, her big eyes sliding shut when his thumb stroked her chin.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Her voice broke through his sleepy haze.

He sighed, considering telling her nothing, we’ll be fine, but he wasn’t fond of daring anymore lies. “They’ll interrogate us, for hours probably. We’ll be examined again cuz wands are radioactive, and they’ll always keep an eye on you from now on,” he explained, watching the words bring down the light of her eyes little by little.

“Are they-” she cleared her throat when it broke. “Will they be rough?”

Nick’s brows pulled in together. “They won’t lay a finger on you. They’re assholes but they’re not animals,”

That seemed to calm some of the unrest, but she still clung to him nervously, moving his hand to her stomach, tucking her head under his chin. “What do I tell them?”

“The truth, nothing but. You were in the dark up until that night and you were just dragged along after that,”

“And what about you? What’ll they do to you?” Callie questioned.

“Nothing, hopefully. We tried to call Kandomere that night. It’s not like we ran willingly,”he rationalized, but his own words he hoped would keep Callie steady did little to pacify his own concerns. Her dissatisfied hum wasn’t unexpected. Nick knew in situations like this the only real reassurance for either of them would be seeing the ordeal at its end. There was no real knowing until then.

“So,” he cut through the tension. “How’re we gonna tell everyone we know we’re having a boy?”

She giggled, craning her head back to look at him. “Let’s just slip it into a normal conversation and see if they notice,”

“My mom’ll pick that up right away. She was hell bent on a girl,”

“Everyone was,” she mumbled, grimacing when her stomach growled loudly.

“Okay,” he kissed her forehead before struggling up onto his hands. “I’m gonna go find food,” he groaned, crawling back over her with difficulty.

“No, come back and spoon me,” she whined, wincing when her thigh twitched and aggravated the stitched wound.

“I’ll be back,” he leaned over to place a few more lasting kisses on her waiting lips. Now that there was no blasts overhead or the constant looming threat, Nick found it easy to lose himself in her touch featherlight across his face, even indulging in a few swipes of his tongue against hers that kick-started a steady chuff that blew across her cheek when his mouth wandered to her jaw.

“A nurse is gonna come in if you keep that up,” she whispered, catching his mouth again.

“Food,” he groaned, standing straight. “Food.” He did that funny little walk to the door, the snug jeans accentuating the sudden arrival of an unexpected guest. Now’s not the time, you dick. He flipped the lights off before hobbling out, knowing she preferred the darkness over the fluorescent lighting and figured she could get a cat nap in before he returned with his earnings.

Callie flashed her own mock snarl when he did before closing the door behind himself, then situating her head deeper into the crisp pillows she’d been propped up with. The bed wasn’t nearly as warm without Nick, but sleep was blanketing her, and now that Leo was calming, she found it easy to slip under, his heart beat still echoing through the room.

“Hey, there you are,” Nick had poked his head into the room upon seeing Daryl’s first and last name spelled incorrectly on the door, finding his friend sprawled across a bed with three emptied and cluttered food trays around him. “Now we know who got the better treatment,”

“I’m assumin’ that means they hate Orcs here like they do in LA?” Daryl queried, turning the volume down on the TV.

“I had to go find food for Callie,” he conveyed bitterly, grunting as he sat in the chair beside his bed.

“That’s fucked up,” his partner agreed. “So how we gon’ get back home after this?”

Nick looked at him derisively. “You know MTF will come kickin’ down the doors soon,”

Ward sighed, staring blankly at the TV. “Yeah, I just didn’t want to think about it,”

“At least we’ll have a ride home,”

“Then we gotta sit in those fuckin’ cells,”

Nick chewed his inner lip. There was no making light of that. “Excited to see Sherri?”

Daryl had only a flat stare for the Orc as his answer, feeling he didn’t actually have to get into the details of how sick he felt just thinking of the fight he was going home to. “Don’t you have’ta get that to Callie?”

Nick took the cue, standing with another sore grunt with his bag of various snacks to amble back to the door. “Find you when Kandomere does.” Nick sneered, closing the door behind him.

He’d long since given up trying to fall asleep after the last nurse came in to take Callie’s vitals and check the ongoing stream of Leo’s heartbeat printed across the endless paper. Even if she had been unreasonably loud and stirred Callie rather rudely, at least she’d kept the lights off so all she had to do was roll back against his chest and pass out after begging Leo to stop kicking her bladder. It left him wide awake and skipping through fuzzy channels on the old TV, sometimes rocking his raised knee to make the bed move and settle Leo down when he inevitably started to thrash enough to wake Callie up.

The fatigue sat in his eyes, but no matter how long he kept them closed in the dark of the room or voided his mind of any tangible thoughts, he just couldn’t shut off his brain. They’d come springing back like a rubberband, louder than before.

Everytime he looked down at Callie in a deep sleep and drooling against his shoulder, he’d see her fading in his arms. He wanted those moments wiped from his memory, but he expected nights filled with nightmares for weeks to come before he found any relief of the sort from them.

So he’d focus on her rosy cheeks, and steal small kisses against her chin or jaw when she’d groan and stir, her head always lifting but eyes remaining shut. What he wouldn’t do to be in their own bed again, without the wires taped and needles stuck in her despite enjoying listening to Leo’s monitor. He just wanted to be in familiar walls, driving down familiar streets-

A familiar, high pitched group of sirens came through the curtained window, and Nick couldn’t help but scoff.

Perfect timing.

“Baby?” Nick patted her thigh over his hips, rubbing when she nuzzled her face against his shoulder. “We gotta go,”

She barely opened her eyes, still rolled halfway back into her skull. “We can’t go an’where,” she slurred, her eyes sliding shut again.

Nick sighed; the extended nap she’d been in clearly wasn’t enough. “They’re here,”

That brought her to consciousness a little more. Callie rested her chin on his shoulder, looking directly at him with one eye open. “What if I mess up?”

“You can’t if you tell the truth,” he reaffirmed.

“But what if I do and they don’t let me go? Or I can’t see you?” she swallowed, her big eyes filling with worry.

“That’s not gonna happen, okay? I won’t let it,” he’d risen to rest on his elbow, holding her face so she’d recognize the sincerity of his words. “MTF chose to cover everything up after the first time-all those murders, all the involvement. They just want things quiet so they can keep slinking around,”

He kissed away her cynical gaze, untangling from her hold before standing stiffly to stretch past the discomfort still riddling his frame.

“Do you think they’ll even release us to them?” she grunted as she sat up, rolling her head back to crack her neck. Stiff beds with thin mattresses only made everything agonize even more across her battered body, she still desiring more sleep, but she didn’t need Nick’s keen hearing to catch the commotion down the hall. Brief arguing before an even briefer silence, and Nick rounded the bed to stand by her just as the door had opened to reveal sharply dressed individuals that swept the room quickly, uncaring of the racket they made.

Nick shook his head with a roll of his eyes when Callie glanced at him; all bark and no bite, he wanted to say.

At last Kandomere stepped in, his unimpressed frown almost making Nick snort, but he withheld from even grinning; surely he’d dealt with his own headaches trying to track them down. Clad in classic Kandomere attire, he crossed his arms, looking between them to scrutinize the various bandages and overall disheveled manner. A morbid curiosity showed in his bowed brows when his line of sight landed on Callie’s stomach, but Nick knew his general disgust in their coupling would prevent any prodding on his part over the matter.

“Well,” Kandomere cleared his throat. “Are we coming willingly?”

“We would’ve been more than willing three days ago,” Nick recounted, rousing little of a reaction from him.

“I hope you have a decent explanation as to why you abruptly vanished,”

“I hope you have a decent explanation as to why the officials that were supposed to be with us weren’t,” without skipping a beat Nick fired back, just as unwilling to pussyfoot around as he.

Kandomere shifted, those metallic eyes hesitating on Callie’s before he turned to the officer that walked in behind him, nodding at his hushed words.

“We’ll continue this back in California. Officer Ward is already waiting with transport.” He directed while turning to walk out, the tightly wound officials following.

Nick visibly relaxed, pushing off the bed to start gathering their sparse belongings.

“Well that was underwhelming,” Callie intoned. Nick faced her with a questioning raise of his brow. “I was expecting Men in Black, not Billie Eilish,”

Nick snorted loudly, continuing to chuckle as he finished rounding up their possessions, which turned out to only be her blood splattered shoes and her tattered clothing that he wouldn’t make her change back into. The scrubs she’d been offered weren’t ideal for the winter weather, but they were all around less alarming.

A nurse alongside the stoic doctor filed in soon after, reluctantly releasing Callie with stern instructions to stay out of trouble, solidifying their assumption that he hadn’t really bought that they’d been mugged. She was disconnected from the monitor and IV, but there was little to nothing she or Nick could do no matter how they wanted to stay to ensure Leo was completely out of the woods.

By the time they made their way through the secluded hospital and to the row of undeniably gorgeous jet-black SUV’s that stood out glaringly amongst the modest city they were nestled in, Ward was already sat in one, back in his dirty, frayed clothing. The grimace that bowed his returning mustache better suited him than the relaxed nature Nick had walked in on when he was still stretched across a gurney.

“I bet this didn’t raise any questions crossing the border,” Callie said below her breath as Nick opened the door to a separate car; he felt cramming in with Daryl would only prolong the suffering on everyone's end.

“At least we’re riding in comfort. I’m guessing it’s gonna be a long drive.” Nick mentioned after finding his seat beside her.

Thankfully they’d chosen the SUV Kandomere wouldn’t be riding shotgun in, but even if they had, Nick was sure he would’ve excused himself to a different car rather than be stuck with the Orc and his knocked up human. He could care less; it meant not having to worry about remaining uptight instead of comfortably leaning against Callie just as she did against him.

The line of black vehicles turned heads of people making their way through the streets as the last of the sunset filtered through the stacked homes and sparse businesses, the quaint city shrinking behind them. This could have been one of the small spots they’d find themselves in during one of their spontaneous visits, soaking in the sun and filling up on local food. Neither of them knew if they’d ever be able to return to their favorite vacation spot after the events that had unfolded, but both would agree they didn’t want to be venturing far once home, at least for a while.

But to get back home? It was a lot more than just a lengthy ride.

On top of the erratic and reckless manner of driving that left them thrown around in the back seats, the side to side started a particularly ruthless bout of motion sickness that Nick’s harsh beratement to the driver did little to stop, at least until Callie threatened to crawl between the seats and unload it in his lap.

There was also just getting comfortable in the stiff seats for those hours; trying to squeeze in a few naps to help the time go by since staring out the window was only so exciting with no music and little conversation in between. Their bathroom breaks were rushed, the time to select food for the remainder of the ride even shorter.

Even Kandomere looked ready to explode by the time they finally made it into LA, driving through familiar streets and finally starting to feel like the past few days could be put behind them, but they only veered away past the route that would have landed them home. Soon, they were before a series of structures Callie had always assumed were doctors offices for separate specialties- Nick also, his jaw was hung a little once the realization hit- but as they turned into the empty parking lot and pulled below the buildings to stop in the ill-lit underground garage, it was apparent from the guards stood by the elevators and levels of security to get past that MTF headquarters had been close to home all this time.

“Miss Flores, if you’d follow me,” Montehugh met them at their final entry through a door that only opened through keycard verification; surely Kandomere had notified him about their arrival.

Her timid glance up at him almost drove Nick to fight for their way out of there; they’d gone through so fucking much, he just wanted to take her home, but he knew getting this over with was the best way, even if it meant separating from her for hours unknown.

“I’ll see you soon.” He squeezed the back of her neck, refusing to look away until she nodded, even if it was weak. A few firm kisses helped lift her spirits a little more before she followed Montehugh back into a separate interview room, repeating Nick’s words in her head: just tell the truth.

And that’s exactly what they did- all three of them.

It started with the night Tikka ambushed Sergey, which led them back to Callie being cornered by Makhel; the second individual who’d been aiding to the destruction around LA, sending their trackers and alerts off frequently yet unable to hone in on what caused them. The same night they had tried phoning Kandomere over Tikka being just outside, he’d already been on his way to the diversion Makhel had caused thinking it was Tikka; both of them had had MTF running around like headless chickens.

Upon learning about just how maniacally powerful Makhel was, coupled with the disaster he left behind, it was clear none of them stood much of a chance on their own, which is why she sought out Ward. Maybe MTF would have been able to prevent it all if they’d made it in time, but he was such a dangerously erratic individual that surely it wouldn’t have been one simple take down. Surely some, or even multiple officials would have lost their lives just like the innocent bystanders he’d been claiming along his warpath.

While it was true that Makhel had been successful in murdering hundreds of Brights, all three of them disputed the level of involvement Rania had with it.

Kandomere insisted vehemently that she was just as responsible, but Nick fought back, detailing her sacrifice to spare Ward, expose Tikka- even offering some of her final moments to rekindle Callie and Leo before ultimately letting Makhel deal the last blow if it meant saving all of them with the exception of Fero. If it hadn’t been for her, even as she fought past her own demise, surely Callie wouldn’t be sitting in a room just down the hall. Ward likely would be dead, maybe Nick- definitely Tikka, even though they had no idea where they had left her in that deserted town.

Nick was certain Kandomere’s stance on Rania was umovable once it was revealed she was an Orc hybrid; his view on anything Orc was hideously skewed, so why would he think a half-Orc was capable of anything good?

Nick’s battling turned Kandomere hostile. Never had he seen such an outburst; a thrown chair and papers swept off the tables surface, his usually pale skin darkening into a furious flush as he hollered at the officer, but he stuck to his guns even as the elf berated him with accusations of a cover-up. All of their first hand accounts correlated flawlessly, but that still didn’t calm Kandomere’s bitterness, but Nick couldn’t blame him entirely. He’d spent the better part of his adult life hunting down Tikka’s bloodline and anyone Inferni, so to think that anyone involved with her could even possibly be innocent just wasn’t plausible.

When Tikka’s defective and deceptive plan was explained, it was like being handed the pieces of the trail MTF couldn’t complete.

They finally knew why she’d ventured back to LA so suddenly, but without her in custody, all of their efforts to find the three taken against their will and the repeated interrogations was ultimately useless.

Daryl and Nick were surprised the interrogations ended so quickly, but without the one person they intended on apprehending, and without either wand, they were shipped off to Medical. If MTF was cold before, they were glacial now.

It seemed they’d expected more out of them, even as victims of a kidnapping and near murder, and now they were useless to them once again.

Nick could care less when Kandomere ordered him out, the crook of his palm cupping his forehead as the beginnings of a sharp headache creeped under his skull. It made Nick wonder who the Elf reported to; who he faced with the grim news, but that thought was quickly pushed aside as he was taken to the separate facility that was a clear stretch across the underground structure, then up again, leading him to the same barren medical floor he’d stayed briefly in after their first encounter with the wand.

A long sigh of relief dropped his tense shoulders when he spotted Callie after scanning the wide floor quickly, her blood being drawn and pressure and oxygen being monitored with the other arm.

He flashed her a reassuring grin when she spotted him, her head perking up immediately, but he still had to go through the drills.

The stripping, disinfecting, examining for any remnants of the wand across their skin. Stitches were undone and redone, wounds again cleaned and bandaged; x-rays, ultrasounds, geiger counters- all of it. He was sore all over again by the time he’d been scrubbed raw and sent to a bed barefoot in stif scrubs, but he took hold of his own IV pole to first maneuver before Callie who’d finally been able to lay back after a much more extensive and invasive examination. She’d been physically exposed to magic, but even with all the tests done there was no knowing if it would effect with Leo or herself down the line.

He wrapped her in a bone crushing hug, scrunching his nose past the strong stench of disinfectant wash in her hair and skin. “We’re almost done,” he mumbled into her hair, feeling her nod under his chin.

“Okay.” She exhaled, unwillingly unwinding from him when he moved to his own bed to be connected to his own monitors and have his own blood drawn.

There was another long wait after they were finally left in peace to rest in their beds as the night ended and another soft LA sunrise started to creep through the massive windows lining the space they were in. Likely the higher ups were deciding what to do with them- compiling their accounts and their credibility. Neither Ward or Nick knew what could happen if it was decided they were lying, but Nick wouldn’t voice that to Callie. He believed she could make it home even if it was decided he wouldn’t; Callie had been roped in against her will. There was no reason for her to even still be there when it came down to it.

He watched her drifting in and out of sleep, her eyes meeting his in between the heavy blinks. The thin sheets did little to keep her warm in the cool room, he could tell. She was curled tight around her stomach, her arm hung over the edge of the bed.

Even if he stretched he couldn’t reach her, and it started to weaken his patience.

It was impossible not to count the minutes dragging by when all he had to do was watch the sun move higher into the sky, sometimes rolling over to ask how Ward was doing, but there was only stiff head shakes and a stiffer purse of his lips, his eyes trailing the armed and suited officials standing at each end of their beds.

After a while he started to drift, the dull stinging from the reopened wounds across him and bruises dulling enough to allow his mind to slip into a quiet place, but he was worried if he let himself wander there, he’d wake up to find himself alone.

There was brief times he let his eyes rest, only to jitter awake and realize he’d been out longer then he meant when the sun was in a different location in the sky, and although he told himself to remain vigilant, it happened again and again. The fourth time it happened, the sun was setting, but by then, he was too tired to care. Nick could barely find the energy to keep his eyes blinking rapidly enough to look over at Callie who had tossed and thrown her sheets around, finally settled into a deep sleep.

At least she’s sleeping, he thought to himself before eyeing the guard at his bed who had taken a look at her longer than Nick cared for.

His brows arched weakly, a low growl rolling off of him loud enough to bring the guards attention to the Orc who then chuffed, asserting his claim over his mate. Even if he only received an eyeroll in return, he made his stance known.

Nick exhaled. To a fucking human- real effective, dumbass.

He adjusted his head, fighting a yawn in his throat until it erupted.

If he could stay awake, just a little longer…

“Jakoby.”

Nick sprang up, the film over his eyes only adding to the confusion when he looked about and for a dragging second, didn’t recognize the room he was in until he found Callie sitting up in the gurney beside his. In a few short strokes of time, he was reacclimated, and now staring at Kandomere who was before the three of them, his hair tied back and fatigue hanging under his eyes.

“Sleep well?” Kandomere’s thick voice carried through the open floor, but Nick’s chuff carried farther.

“Okay we’re all up, let’s get this shit going so we can get the fuck outta here,” Daryl interjected before Nick and Kandomere started one of their typical squabbles.

“As you know we’ve been going over the details of your kidnapping to determine whether or not you had any willing involvement in what transpired, and we’ve been in contact with a team left behind in Balderrama to authenticate your claims-”

“Lemme guess, Tikka wasn’t there?” Ward already knew without asking, but Kandomere’s stiff nod verified it. Not surprised.

“We did not find her or the wands,” he exhaled sharply, “but we did find the bodies of the three you detailed,”he paused to open the folder he’d been holding, turning a few pages. “Makhel Portela, Rania Almeida and Fero Dragavei who in fact used to operate under Florida’s MTF branch,” he laid out photos along Daryl’s bed as he explained, their mutilated bodies frozen in time forever.

“She left Fero there?” Nick asked, grabbing the photos when handed to him.

“What good does carrying around a body do?” Callie asked, who had risen from her bed creakily to come sit by Nick, and look down at Rania’s photo dismally. She’d been scooped clean of every fiber of life, leaving her a discolored husk. “What’ll happen to their bodies?”

“Dragavei signed a proper disposal of remains contract when he first signed up, so he’ll be sent back to Florida and likely cremated to prevent distribution of his organs. The Orc will be autopsied and studied, and the hybrid will be held until we can locate any family or next of kin,” Kandomere explained, gathering the photos again.

“Distribution of his organs? Like on the black market?” Nick asked, somewhat perplexed.

“Bright remains are worth millions but otherwise useless,”

Callie held up Rani’s photo. “Can you go through the school they were at?”

“The school was destroyed after most of Shield of Light was killed off,”

“Her dad’s name is Tannatar, she told me,”

Kandomere nodded. “I’ll pass it on,”

It didn’t help much, but Callie hoped it would help reunite Rania with her family, even if what they would come to see was dismal.

“And us? You gonna send us out in body bags too?” Ward snapped; if he was destined to a bullet in the head or the rest of his years in a dingy underground cell, he wanted to get on with it already.

For once Kandomere chuckled. “No,” he cleared his throat, composing himself before facing Nick and Callie.

“On the night of March 14th, a dome of light hovering over downtown LA for approximately two and a half minutes was reported but found to be only an explosion from one of the businesses connected to a chain mall. You two happened to be shopping in that center at the time of the explosion, and tonight,” he glanced at his impressive pocket watch. “In twenty three minutes, you’ll be discharged and return home for two weeks of rest and rehabilitation. Your place of employment has already been notified,” he acknowledged Callie when her hand started to raise in concern, but it landed back in her lap.

“You were called to the scene of that same explosion when it was announced that terrorists could have been the direct cause, subsequently leading to exposure of an unknown gas leaking from the site. You were held in quarantine for three days and were discharged two hours ago but had to visit the precinct to retrieve your personal effects,” he then relayed to Ward, passing out their mock medical documents.

They all stared vacantly at Kandomere although listening intently, and although it seemed far fetched to blame their disappearances on a mock explosion, it smoothed over better than being hijacked by a Bright and hunted down by another.

“And I need not remind you all that you were exposed to raw magic and the wand for extended periods of time. You’ve all been cleared but stay vigilant for side effects of plasma poisoning, especially you,” he pointed to Callie. “We still don’t know how magic affects the body long term. I advise you to see your doctor soon,”

“I assume we still have a mountain of paperwork to sign?” Nick asked.

“Refusal will land you in a hole for the rest of your life,” Kandomere replied coolly.

Whereas the men had expected it, Callie hadn’t, and his cavalier manner about the entire cover-up rattled her nerves.

“Will we go back to the weekly interviews?” Nick asked, his tone dissatisfied.

“No. It obviously couldn’t keep you two out of trouble, but until Tikka is apprehended, you all will have a tail on you for your own safety,”

“Will they stay there or run off when there’s another explosion?” Ward mouthed off without a reply from Kandomere as he glided off towards a table with paperwork covering its surface.

“Do you think anyone even noticed we were gone?” Callie mumbled, but Nick shook his head.

“It was only two days we were gone,” he whispered back.

“Feels like weeks though.”

The clearing of a throat brought them back to Kandomere, the papers in order and three pens in hand as he waited.

The trio sighed, their impatience growing by the second.

More car rides that seemed to drag on longer than the interrogations.

Daryl had left in separate transport, voicing to Nick that if he should not show up to work by the time their leave was over with, it was Sherri who likely murdered him.

Slipping back into the crusty, rancid clothing only aided her anxiousness watching every street light turn red upon their arrival to the next intersection. Knowing exactly where she was now meant she knew exactly how long it took to get home, and she also knew that the ride from the unlabeled building was a stretch across town. Nick was silent beside her while often pulling her back by the shoulders in hopes she’d relax at least a little.

She’d stay settled for half a minute at most, resorting to leaning over her round stomach to take note of the landmarks zooming by them.

Nick finally kept an arm locked around her shoulders, his grip unyielding one of the times she tried to tug her way upright.

To say he was calm though would be a lie; he was just better at hiding his anxiousness, but watching Callie fidget around started to making his knee bounce.

When the SUV turned onto their street, they were already gathering their items, the door swinging open before the car could come to a complete stop. There were no goodbyes or even curt nods in thanks- only the swift slam of the door once they’d stepped onto the sidewalk, and it was off.

The neighborhood was quiet, as it always was this time of night, only the soft spraying of sprinklers from an adjacent lawn. Even the air in LA smelled homey; taco shops and smog, who would’ve thought Nick could appreciate something like that.

“Would it make sense if I said the sidewalk felt nice?” Nick smiled, but glancing over found her slumped shoulders and fatigue seemingly having increased tenfold. “What’s wrong?”

She rubbed her eyes while croaking, “Pucca’s in there,”

The joy upon arriving home was kicked clear off. He ran his hand across the top of his head with a deep groan. In the midst of the marathons of interrogations and exams and contracts, it had admittedly slipped right through the cracks of his mind. Three days later, he knew they’d be dealing with quite a morbid scene and the heartache they’d left behind as they ran.

“I’ll go in first,” he offered, but she shook her head, blinking away the start of tears.

“No I wanna go in too,” she took a steadying breath, clearing the crack in her voice when the constricting of repressed sobs tightened her throat. “She’s my baby too. I want to help.”

Surely she was wary, but her hardened brows and stiff frown showed determination through the exhaustion.

He slipped his palm into hers, leading her up the dewy lawn to the broken door closed only enough to make passing eyes think it still had a doorknob and deadbolt. Nick pushed the door open, flipping on the light and following Callie in.

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i did my best on that fight scene but if it's bad, forgive me! those kind of scenes are ffffffffucking hard to write 🖤 AND YAY TIME TO START GETTING BACK TO CUTE FLUFFY STUFF CUZ MAKHEL IS DONE.

thank you for all who continue to stick around while the updates are not staggered! i appreciate each and every one of you!!! if anyone has any questions about the characters (because i know i've been kind of vague about the details and backgrounds) please feel free to drop an ask! and as always, feedback is appreciated!

Translations: +Agh thaav'uk killaumn mausan fuckaumn hundur: that's for killing my fucking dog.

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