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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Wanda Maximoff x Dom!Reader - No jealousy

Summary: You and Wanda have an established relationship, and you were away for two weeks due to a mission. Wanda is testing your limits, and everyone seems to insist that you are jealous.

Warnings: (+18), Smut, Switch!Reader (most dominant reader), power dynamics change, bottom!wanda, teasing, spanking; also mentions of torture, heavy past etc.

Notes: I've been trying to bring in a little bit of dom reader, and it turned out to be a bit of switch or soft!dom reader, but it's still pretty dom I think. Let me know what you think please ‘cause i’m not sure i’m writing smut correctly haha. Nota em português: Eu fui traduzir a expressão "que baixaria" e não achei nada em inglês que tivesse o mesmo impacto, fiquei bem chateada kkkk que pegar a referencia finge que é engraçado imaginar o Bucky falando isso na cena da cozinha obrigada.

Words: 5.555 K || Read on AO3

Marks: @mionemymind @abimess

Translations: Scheiße = Shit || Amerikanischer Müll = American Trash.

//-//

Avengers Compound, New York, Present.

Throwing your jacket against the kitchen counter, you sighed in irritation.

Steve was mumbling something about responsibility and morals and you have a headache.

"Are you even listening to me?" Steve asked irritated and you let out a dry laugh as you looked around for something to drink.

"Sure, cap." You snickered without looking at him, and Steve let out an impatient sigh.

"I need you to start being careful, we can't risk the safety of the team..."

"Is anyone hurt, Steve?" You interrupted without a patient, punching the countertop. Steve was startled by your sudden response, but you didn't back down. Natasha and Bucky who were entering just behind you, exchanged glances before heading outside.

"This is not the point."

"That's the only thing that matters." You retort angrily. "I will do whatever is necessary." You assure seriously. "You worry about morality in the meantime."

Steve lets out an irritated sigh.

"You're not listening to me." He resumes crossing his arms. "There are lines we must not cross, or we are no different than those we face." He continued in earnest, and you rolled your eyes, finally finding a drink under the counter, and grabbing one of the glasses from the sink to pour yourself. "We need boundaries. If you don't change this attitude, you are no different than Hydra..."

The glass in your hand breaks, startling Steve again.

"Don't ever say something like that again." You angrily warn him and he frowns worried about the shards and that you might have hurt yourself, but you just turn and walk out of the kitchen.

You walk into the first bathroom you find, heading toward the sink to clean your hand. You watch carefully as the glass falls from your skin and the wounds close up.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror. Even though you have spent the last few hours in conflict, there is no bruise. You have even been shot twice, but no one could tell if it weren't for the torn fabric on your shirt. No one would know about the explosion you survived if it weren't for the ashes on the fabric. You were perfect fighting machine, exactly as Hydra wanted you to be.

Pushing away the painful memories that threatened to dwell in your mind, you turned off the faucet and wiped your hands, leaving the bathroom afterwards.

//-//

Hydra Military Base, Old Sokovia Area, 8 hours ago.

You rummage through the metal drawers impatiently. This mission is taking too long, and you are starting to get annoyed by the lack of action. Silence is never a good sign in jobs like this.

And then as if the universe was listening to your complaints, you heard a noise of something falling.

" Sounds to the north, I'm going to investigate." You warned your companions over the communicator, starting to move. Steve said something about waiting for reinforcements, but you were already opening the mechanical door, a pistol in your left hand.

The impact of two shots pushed you backward, and you felt something run down your uniform, and then a sharp pain. Laughing lightly, you fell to your knees.

"We got one." You heard someone mutter, and then there was a man getting up from behind a table at the far end of the room. Another man stopped hiding from one of the bookshelves, and they walked over to you.

"Sure thing, friends." You grumbled panting slightly.

"Scheiße, we got the healer." The one with the mustache muttered as soon as he looked at you closely, and you let out a smug smile as he took a step back. Your colleague was pointing his gun at you again, but you were already grabbing his wrist as you stood up and threw him to the ground.

You fought for a few moments, and you made a mental note to thank Natasha for improving your fighting considerably since the last mission, soon you knocked him out.

The other man was fighting what appeared to be a bronze door that was jammed, and you pulled the bullets out of your shirt before you pulled him by the shoulders and threw him to the floor.

" Come on buddy, I don't have all day." You warned pointing your own pistol at the man, who looked at you angrily. "Tell me what you were doing around here."

"Amerikanischer Müll" He cursed and you rolled your eyes, moving to kick him in the nose.

The man gasped in pain as he lifted his head again, his nose bloodied.

"Do you want to try again?" You asked irritated and he spat blood before speaking again.

"We come back for what is ours." He replied with irritation, and you frowned in confusion. But before you could ask anything else, Steve and Natasha rushed into the place.

Natasha was in charge of the interrogation, it was her thing anyway, and you helped Steve open the jammed door.

You entered the room next, and you choked in surprise when your gaze met the files displayed on the holograms around the place.

"So what did you find in there?" You heard Nat ask through the communicator, but you didn't answer, trying to control the anger that was spreading throughout your body.

Displayed in front of you were the files of the Maximoff twins' experiments, several pictures of the tests Hydra had run on them. One particular video caught your attention. It was Wanda, lying on a stretcher, several leather chains holding her to the mattress while Hydra sent electric shocks through a machine to her head, making her scream. You broke the projector with one punch, and Steve tried to calm you down.

"Hey, breathe." He asked raising his hands to your shoulders. You shook your head, panting.

The sound of Wanda's scream still echoed through the room, even without the image, and you grunted in anger, pushing Steve away.

Natasha blinked in surprise when you stormed into the room next, interrupting her interrogation when you kicked the Hydra agent in the chest. She took two steps back, surprised at your anger, but she barely had time to be shocked and you were already lifting the agent by his shirt in the air.

"How could you do that to them?" You asked angrily, throwing the agent to the ground. The man laughed helplessly, spitting blood. Steve grabbed you next, and you threw him across the room.

"They were always ours to play with." The man grumbled and you stepped forward again, kicking him in the face. He laughed bewilderedly, practically choking on his own blood. "Just like you."

"You'll pay for that." You muttered angrily and then punched him in the face. The man just laughed and that increased his fury. "What the fuck are you laughing at?"

The man started to choke and then he spit something out. You let him go.

"Hail Hydra." He muttered, and you had exactly one second to realize that the small device he spit out was the tip of one of the special grenades that Hydra agents have started carrying since last year. Hugging him quickly, you threw yourself against the window in front of you, and then he exploded at you as you fell through the air to the street.

When you hit the ground, you grunted in pain.

Steve is calling you on the communicator, but the explosion damaged the equipment and the noise is very disturbing, so you ripped the item out of your ear and threw it to the ground.

As your body recovered, you stayed on the ground, trying to ignore the urge to burn the Hydra to the ground for hurting your friends.

//-//

Avengers Compound, New York, Present.

Wanda was not in her room.

You let out a tired sigh as you fiddled with your cell phone, but there was no message from her about having some other commitment that would justify her not being at the compound at the time she usually was watching her favorite shows.

After you showered and put on clothes that didn't have as many battle marks, you went to visit your girlfriend, but she wasn't there.

"Friday, where's Wanda?" You asked loudly in the hallway.

"Miss Maximoff is in the northern outer area, along with Mr. Vision." Announces the AI next and you frown.

Walking towards the location that Friday indicted, you crossed your arms when you saw through the glass of the compound, your girlfriend and her teammate laughing together.

They didn't see you, seeming distracted by their conversation.

"Wow, you look scary when you're jealous." Commented a voice from beside you suddenly, and you blinked in surprise as you noticed young Peter Parker approaching.

"Missed the school bus, kid?" you tease and Peter rolls his eyes, blushing slightly.

"I'm not trying to annoy you." He says stopping beside you, and looking in the same direction as you.

"I wouldn't recommend that either." You retort, feeling an irritation settle in the pit of your stomach as you watch Vision make Wanda laugh again. What the hell was so funny.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about you know?" Peter remarked after a moment. "I don't think Wanda sees Vision that way, they're just friends."

"I'm not jealous." You lied angrily, clearly jealous. Peter didn't want to contradict you however.

"Of course not." He said slightly startled. "I just... Wanda... She... You and her are a nice couple. Even if Vision has the stone, it's not something to worry about and..."

"Shut up, kid." You grumble angrily as you turn around, deciding to calm your nerves before you lose your mind and send Vision to the moon with one punch.

//-//

Having Pietro Maximoff as a brother in law was a pain in the ass most of the time.

You liked him in general, the problem was when he teased you, because he seemed to know exactly what to say to piss you off.

When you got back to the common room, he was on the couch, playing some stupid video game, and you sat down next to him and turned on the television.

It took him five minutes before he started to annoy you.

"My sister is getting along pretty well with Vision lately, isn't she?" He comments with a smile without taking his eyes off his cell phone. You squeeze the television control harder than necessary.

"Bite me."

Pietro laughs at your aggressiveness. Wanda and Vision enter the kitchen the next moment, their laughter slowly dying down. You don't take your eyes off the TV.

"Honey, I didn't know you were back already." Wanda says as soon as she sees you on the couch, smiling as she approaches you. She kisses your cheek, and frowns at your lack of reaction. You force a smile. "What's up?"

"Relax, little sister, she's kind of green today." Mocks Pietro, and you cast him an annoyed look, before looking back at Wanda.

"I'm just tired, babe." You say, stealing a quick kiss from her. Wanda seems to believe you and then walks away, heading toward the counter.

It takes three minutes for Vision to make a stupid comment and Wanda to laugh again, and you sigh in irritation.

"Wow, that's sad." Pietro teases again in a tone low enough for only you to hear. "Maybe you should watch your girl."

"I'll stick this remote in a place you won't like." You retort in the same tone and Pietro lets out a short laugh, turning his attention back to his cell phone.

You risk a backward glance next, and then the remote control breaks off in your hand. Vision is brushing a strand of hair out of Wanda's face, and she looks surprised and slightly embarrassed by the touch. Pietro laughs at your lack of control, but you stand up next, throwing the rest of the object to the ground and attracting the attention of the other two.

You glare angrily at Wanda before leaving.

//-//

You need to punch something.

So you go back to the training room, and put on the first pair of boxing gloves you can find.

Climbing into the ring quickly, you start punching the punching bag that Steve left over from the last training session.

It takes ten minutes for Wanda to find you.

"Y/N, what was that about?" she asks slightly annoyed as you approach. You are trying to maintain control so you don't rip the punching bag off the metal stand.

"Why don't you go laugh with your new best friend and leave me alone?" You retorted and Wanda frowned in confusion, then let out a dry laugh.

"Are you jealous?"

Your next punch rocks the iron support of the ceiling.

"No, Wanda." You retort as you stop punching, and start pulling off your gloves. Wanda crosses her arms and has a little smile on her face, which irritates you even more. " I don't feel jealous."

"Oh, yeah?" She responds with irony, and you are throwing the gloves on the floor, and approaching her. She takes a few steps back, impressed by your posture.

"Tell me dear, do I have reason to be?" You ask as you approach. "Everyone wants to remind me that that damn stone makes the toaster think that you two have some kind of connection and that I should be careful." You continue and then Wanda reaches for a wall, and you rest one of your hands beside her head, pinning her against your body. "But I know better. I have nothing to worry about."

"Y/N..." Wanda starts half breathlessly, trying to keep the look in your eyes, and failing.

"Am I wrong, baby girl?" You ask raising your free hand to her cheek, stroking her skin with your finger. "Is there anyone who makes you feel the way I do?"

Wanda sighs, denying with her head next. You give a smug little smile, placing your hand on her chin, and running your finger over her lower lip.

"Then why are you laughing so hard at that piece of tin, dear?" You questioned bringing your face closer to her neck, Wanda closed her eyes as you inhaled her perfume. "Did you want to make me angry? Did you want to be punished?"

Wanda gasps low, denying with her head. You begin to deposit wet kisses against her collarbone and move your hand down her body from her chin.

"God, Wanda, you've been so needy." You comment kissing a sensitive spot on her neck and making her sigh. "Needy enough to get wet with the toaster."

Your teasing makes Wanda grunt in irritation, and you let out a short laugh feeling her tighten the fabric of your shirt.

"What's the matter, baby? Are you angry with me?" You teased, pulling your face away from her neck. Wanda looked at you with a mixture of irritation and excitement.

"Don't say such things." She says half breathlessly. "Vision is just my friend. I don't... I don't see him like that."

You stare at her for a moment, and then back away completely.

"Ask your friend to help you cum then." You retort before turning away. Wanda lets out an impatient sigh, but she doesn't go after you.

//-//

Steve Rogers is testing your patience.

He set up weekly meetings with the team about social responsibilities and hero morality and whatever other patriotic crap he was following, and this was the first of them.

It had been forty minutes since he had been talking, and you were impressed that Tony Stark was still awake.

"And so we conclude that as the Avengers, it is our responsibility to make a difference." Steve spoke as he turned off the presentation.

"I'm thrilled." You grumbled next and the room looked at you. Steve sighed.

"Do you have anything to add, Y/N?" Steve asked seriously, and you let out a short laugh.

"Oh, of course." You say crossing your arms. "Maybe the rest of the team doesn't know but this whole bullshit is only happening because of me."

"Y/N..."

"No, cap, come on." You interrupt with irony. "Tell the team why you are making everyone learn about American history."

"Now I'm curious." Commented Tony looking at Steve, who just had a tired expression.

"This is not about pointing out mistakes." Steve says and you laugh.

"No, of course not." You retort with irony getting up. "This is about hypocrisy really."

"Kid..."

"Don't even go that way!" You interrupt angrily and then turn to Tony. "You want to know what happened? Great! Let's start with the Stark bomb that dropped on Sokovia!"

Tony blinks in confusion at your outburst, and the team looks at you with surprise and concern, while Steve holds up his hands to try to calm you down.

"Please, I'm not trying to-"

"No, Captain!" You shout. "You want to talk about moral values, don't you?" You sneer with irritation. "I have a list of shit that happens in this place."

"Stop it, now!" The captain asked angrily, and you looked at him incredulously. "You killed someone!" He charges and the team looks at you in surprise. "That's not how we do things here..."

"We have killed thousands of civilians in New York." You interrupt coldly. "Every building that fell to the ground had a family on every floor. Not to mention the missions that came after." You reminded them and Steve clenched his jaw.

"That was different."

"They hurt Wanda."

"Y/N."

You shoved Steve in the shoulders, and he took a step back. Tony and Natasha stood up.

"I'm going to kill every agent that was in that lab." You tell him. "Everyone who hurt her is going to pay."

Your colleagues look in shock at your words, but you just turn away, opening the door angrily.

In the hallway, Wanda caught up with you.

"What was all that about?" She asked worriedly as you leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

"I hate the hypocrisy of this team." You retorted with irritation, but your anger subsided considerably when Wanda placed her hand on your cheek, asking you to look at her.

"Talk to me."

You sighed, touching your foreheads together.

"On the last mission, I...we found the decommissioned base where you got your powers." You count and Wanda blinks in surprise. "I lost control when I looked at the files."

"Honey..."

"Wanda." You interrupt with a weak smile. "Please, you can't agree with them."

"I don't." She adds as she strokes your cheek, "I'm just sorry you had to see it."

You shrug, letting your arms hug your waist.

"You're not angry? Or who knows, disappointed?"

Wanda denies with her head.

"I feel the same way about you." She says. "I can't think about the people who arrested you without wanting to blow up everything around me."

You laugh lightly.

"That's some shit Steve doesn't want to understand." You say next and Wanda sighs.

"I think he understands, honey." Wanda says and you blink in confusion, "It's the same thing with Bucky."

You sigh looking away.

"Shit, you're right." You grumble, and then add with a slight smile. "Maybe he was upset about the explosion."

Wanda frowns in confusion. And then she nudges you slightly when you tell her your little story with the grenade.

"Have you lost your mind?" She asks angrily. "Don't you ever do anything like that again!"

"Hey, I was saving the ass of those two mortals in the room" You complain humorously, but Wanda sighs impatiently.

"My god, this is all just because Steve must have been worried to death that something was going to happen to you!" She says and you frown.

"What are you talking about?"

"Honey, the captain is just trying to get you to behave." She clarifies. "He doesn't want you to abuse your powers, and put yourself at risk for no reason. Honestly, I don't want to either."

You stand thoughtfully for a few minutes and then sigh.

"Damn, now I'm going to have to apologize."

Wanda makes a noise of agreement with her mouth and moves closer, stealing a quick kiss from you. She smiles when you try to kiss her back, pulling away.

"What?"

"I remembered that I'm mad at you." She says and you look at her with confusion.

"What did I do?"

"That scene earlier in the gym." She says and you sigh impatiently. "It wasn't nice."

"You're being so mean." You retort and Wanda flashes you a small smile before turning away, walking in the opposite direction.

You decide that you should apologize to the rest of the team and return to the conference room.

//-//

Wanda was being a brat.

After you apologized to the team, and Steve made it clear that he was concerned and that he understood your anger, but that there were better ways to deal with what Hydra did to the people you love, the atmosphere eased a lot. And you were hoping to spend some time with your girlfriend, but she was too busy teasing you.

She spent the last few minutes cooking with Vision. The guy who didn't eat food.

You rolled your eyes impatiently as you threw yourself on the couch, a newspaper in your hands.

"This is ridiculous, honey" You mentally warned her as you noticed her gaze on you. Wanda didn't sketch any reaction as she cooked.

"Sorry, weren't you the one who said I was, what was the word, needy?" You heard her sneer in your head. You bit your lips to keep from smiling.

"Clearly you are, dear."

"And whose fault is that?" She retorted and you frowned, attracting the attention of Bucky who was standing next to you. You smiled slightly, telling him that it was just a news report about the new political changes that had taken your attention, and then turned your focus back to the newspaper.

"What are you talking about?" You asked Wanda in your thoughts.

"You were gone for two weeks." She complained, and you took your eyes off the paper to look into the kitchen. Wanda had her back to you, stirring with a spoon in one of the pots. Vision stood next to her, watching the procedure. You clenched your jaw. "I've been all by myself."

"Are you trying to piss me off, Wanda?" You ask angrily, watching the redhead meters in front of you signal for Vision to come closer to take a look at the pot.

"I'm not doing anything." She thinks sounding harmlessly, and you close the paper tightly as you watch Vision cast her a shy smile.

Bucky looks at you curiously.

"Everything okay?" He asks and you nod as you stand up toward the kitchen.

"Wanda, I want to talk to you." You tell her stopping with your arms crossed in front of the counter. Wanda flashes you a little smile.

"I'm busy right now, honey." She retorts as she returns the spoon to the pot, stirring the mixture.

"We're making Sokovian food." Completed Vision with a smile, but you completely ignored him.

"I'm going to count to three." You warn and Wanda swallows dryly, looking at you.

"I don't..."

"Room now, or I'll make you cum against the kitchen counter."

Wanda's eyes widen, and Vision looks extremely surprised. The redhead ducks her head and walks out of the kitchen, you following her. Bucky mumbles something like "for the love of god, why all that obscenity" as you leave.

//-//

There is a palpable tension in the air during the silent walk to your room.

When Wanda opens the door and walks inside, you sigh as you close the door.

"What was that in the kitchen, dear?" You ask her as you unbutton your shirt, Wanda looks at you next, biting her lower lip in anticipation. "Insinuating that I don't pay enough attention to you. Teasing me with Vision."

"I'm sorry." She mumbles softly and you shake your head slightly, taking off your shirt and standing in just your bra. Wanda blushes and takes a step toward you, but you just hold up your finger.

"I'm going to be in charge tonight, honey." You warn as you take off your shoes. "By the way, you do look a beautiful thing in that skirt. I could barely control myself during the meeting."

Wanda smiles with embarrassment, looking away to the floor. You approach, lifting her chin with your finger slowly.

"Can I undress you?" you ask and she sighs softly, nodding afterwards. You drag your finger from her chin down, around her silhouette. When you get to shoulder height, you drag the left strap to the side, and then repeat the motion on the right. Wanda's blouse loosens on her body, and you watch her chest rise and fall rapidly, her breathing out of rhythm.

You raise your other hand next, and turn your gaze to Wanda. In a twist of your hands, you tear the fabric in front, and Wanda moans softly.

"Are you anxious, baby?" You ask her as the fabric falls away, and you run a finger down her torso to the hem of her skirt. Wanda swallows dryly. "You must be so wet."

Wanda sighs, closing her eyes momentarily. You begin to remove your skirt next, and let out a low growl when you realize there is nothing underneath as the material falls away.

"Wanda, Wanda, Wanda." You scold her maliciously, looking at her exposed intimacy and feeling your mouth fill with water. "Absolutely sinful."

Wanda sighs, moving slightly forward. You bite your lips, noticing her red cheeks. Her body cries out to be touched.

"That's no way to behave, honey." You tell her, lifting your fingers to push up the straps of your bra. "Exposed during a team meeting. Tsk, what a naughty girl."

Wanda whimpers, and you smile. "Is that what you wanted, babe?" You ask as you unzip her bra. " For me to put my fingers in you under the table? Make you come in my hand while everyone watched?"

"Please." She sighs in a husky voice. "Kiss me."

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

You give a little smile at your girlfriend's breathless confession, and lower your face to the height of her neck, just as her bra falls to the floor. Depositing wet kisses all the way down, you listen to Wanda sigh with each touch of your lips against her skin.

When you reach her breasts, you raise your right hand to play with the hardened nipple between your fingers while using your mouth on the other breast, and Wanda throws her head back, moaning with her mouth open. Sucking and licking the flesh, you delight in the sounds you get from her.

"Babe, please." She pleads breathlessly. "Touch me."

You smile as you release her hardened nipple, raising your face to the height of Wanda's.

"I'm sorry, baby, but it's not going to be that easy." You warn as you squeeze her breast with a full hand. "You need to be punished for today."

Wanda sighs and then you kiss her intensely, making her stumble back, but your hand on her waist holds her against you.

Your tongue invades her mouth, and Wanda moans against your lips, her hands moving up to your neck. You smile as you lift your hands to hers to put them down.

"You can't touch." You warn between kisses and Wanda sighs, letting your tongue tangle in hers sensually.

You begin to lower your kisses again, and Wanda writhes against you, her fists clenched in an effort to resist the urge to touch you. You lick the length of her neck and one of her hands touches your waist.

"What a disobedient brat." You tease against her skin, and then use your right hand to slap her ass, making Wanda moan loudly. You wish to see the mark, so you hug Wanda around the waist, bringing your bodies together, and look down. The bright red mark. Wanda whimpers against you, her other hand coming up to your belt, and you pull away only to kiss her on the lips hard enough to leave her helpless.

As she begins to play with the beam of your belt, you slap her ass again, on the other side, and her knees buckle slightly.

"Fuck." She whimpers breathlessly, and you bring your hand to her neck, forcing her to keep her gaze on you.

"Get on the bed." You command and Wanda sighs, and then you release her. She moves to the mattress, ass thrusting toward you as she kneels on the bed, hands on the headboard.

"Will you be a good girl, Wanda?" You ask as you raise your hands to her ass, squeezing the flesh as she gasps.

"Yes."

"I don't believe you." You taunt, slapping her ass. She leans over, moaning. You spank her again, her body arching as she throws her head back, moaning with her mouth open.

Then you move forward, pulling her hair back as a hand slips between her legs, your fingers teasing her entrance and making her whimper.

"Look how wet you are, baby." You whisper against her ear, Wanda has her eyes closed tightly, her hips moving in search of more friction. "Were you missing me, love?"

"Yes." She gasps pushing her hips back, your fingers slipping inside and drawing sighs from both of you. But you withdrew them next, s Wanda whimpers. "Please, honey, touch me."

"You don't deserve it Wanda." You start against her ear. "But you feel so good, baby. So wet and hot, I can't resist."

You suddenly penetrate her with two fingers, deep and precisely, and Wanda cries out, moaning your name.

"Fuck, yes." She gasps moving her hips, you slide in and out with ease, feeling Wanda flushed.

"Look at you baby, crumbling in my fingers." You gasp, your hand releasing her hair as you drag it to her breast, squeezing the flesh.

"I...I 'm com..." Wanda begins to whimper and you smile, feeling her body quiver in spasms, the rhythm of her hips disablisting as her walls get tighter and you feel her pulsing in your fingers.

"Cum for me, baby girl." You whisper in her ear, and one stroke later is all it takes for Wanda to arch her back, coming on your fingers with her mouth open as she screams your name.

You withdraw your fingers as she falls to the mattress, turning to you next. Bringing your fingers to your mouth, you taste Wanda as she looks up at you with dilated pupils.

"You taste so good babe." You tell her with a smile, and Wanda raises her hands to your waist, asking you to climb on top of her.

You slowly shake your head, reaching up to remove your pants. Wanda bites her lips as she watches you undress.

"I want to show you something, honey." You tell her after removing your clothes, straightening to sit on her thigh. Wanda sighs as she feels your wet intimacy against her. "Do you like that?" You ask watching her reaction, Wanda raises her torso, bringing your faces closer together as her hands go to your waist. "Do you like how wet I get on top of you?"

"Fuck yes." She gasps against your lips, you begin to move against her thigh, feeling your eyes spin in their orbit with the sensation.

"What about you, Wanda?" You ask slipping your fingers into her again,making her bury her face in your neck. "Look at that baby, you're soaking wet too."

Wanda moans, her hands tightening around your waist as you feel your fingers in her. You increase the speed of your movements against her thigh at the same rate as your fingers move in and out of her, Wanda begins to force her hips to keep up.

"No one makes me feel like this, Wanda." You confess breathlessly, penetrating deep. "I am yours."

Wanda moans and forces herself to confess.

"And I am yours." She retorts groaning, and you feel her walls tightening in your fingers as the feeling at the tip of your stomach tightens.

"Let's cum together baby" You tell her breathlessly, and Wanda shudders nodding. Forcing your hips against her thigh, you gasp, trying to keep the rhythm in your fingers.

A few strokes later and you struggle to keep up, your body shaking in spasms. Wanda tightens her hands on your waist, forcing you down as you move in and out of her. Wanda begins to curse in Sokovian, moaning breathlessly, and you smile, feeling your eyes roll. And then you cum together a moment later.

You collapse against her, as Wanda falls onto the mattress. Depositing lazy kisses against her collarbone, you smile as she sighs, her fingers running up your back as you pull out of her.

"Was that enough attention honey?" You tease a minute later and Wanda laughs softly, biting her lips.

You raise your head to look at her, feeling your heart soar at the image of her lazy gaze, her lips puffy and parted.

"Do you love me?" You ask in a whisper and Wanda sighs.

"I do." She agrees and you raise your hand to her neck, your fingers strolling along her chin.

"Show me."

Wanda nods moving forward to kiss you on the lips.

#wanda maximoff #wandaxreader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #bottom!wanda #bottom!wandamaximoff #dom!reader #softdom!reader #smut

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s-brant · 3 years

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Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #i'm gonna miss these dorks #🥺#I love how he tries to break up with her and she’s like ‘no❤️’#also totally do not put on ‘seven’ by Taylor Swift during the childhood flashbacks unless u wanna cry #cause I did and my sensitive ass was crying #that song is about John B and JJ okay #it just is

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batsandbugs · 4 years

Text

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 3: Food Court Shenanigans

AN: Well, it’s two months later, but I’m finally back! Enjoy!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Cautiously they snuck around from display to display - hiding their cloth robins in increasingly creative places, on a corkboard, with a dining set, on a fake bird. It became somewhat of a competition to find the best place within the display room.

They remained serious in their mission at first, but soon conversation flowed. Snide comments about passing customers, little anecdotes - Damian’s humor was hilarious once you understood his sarcasm and pointed edges were just a defense mechanism (it reminded her of Chloe)- and joking around. Well, as much as they could be, being on the lookout for his older brothers.

Over an hour they hid over thirty birds, changed outfits twice, spotted Jason another time, which resulted in Damian diving behind some fake curtains while Marinette tried not to drool over a butcher-block table perfect for a sewing room (but which was way too expensive).

“Coast is clear,” Marinette called, once Jason once again disappeared. Damian slid out from behind the curtain and joined her by the table.

“This is nice,” he said. “But I like the dark oak better.” He pointed to the options available, and Marinette had to agree.

“Yeah, but my cabinets are light brown. Not that I need this or can afford it for that matter. I didn’t have a proper workstation even when I was in Paris.”

“Why not?”

“No room. My parents had the bakery downstairs, then they lived on the second floor. I lived in a converted attic, which was great - I even had a balcony, but my computer desk took up a lot of room.” She shrugged a little self-consciously. “Besides, my projects always ended up splayed all over the floor, anyway.”

“That’s fair,” he said with a small nod. He pulled out a map of the store, although Marinette couldn’t ever remember seeing ones to pick up. “We've neared the end of the showrooms - or at least the ones we placed calling cards in - once we enter the warehouse we’ll be out in the open. I’m sure one of my brothers are stationed there.”

“Question is do we want to leave calling cards on the shelves of the warehouse, or do we need to avoid them more?” Marinette asked.

Damian considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “We’ve still got several hours to go - open and bold moves now are an unnecessary risk. I would propose avoiding it altogether, but…” he trailed off.

“What?” she prompted. A loud rumbling sound erupted from her stomach, and Marinette instantly wanted to die. Damian bit his lip, holding off a small smile.

“Oh, laugh it up.” Marinette rolled her eyes, studiously ignoring the burning in her cheeks. “All I had to eat today was a pack of crackers.”

“I thought you might be hungry - you could go grab something to eat from the food court and take a break if you wanted?”

Marinette frowned. “But what about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

Damian waved her off. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve gone longer than a few hours without food before.” His eyes were hard and cold, opposite of the teasing glint that had been there a moment before. It sent a small shiver down Marinette’s spine. It was obvious to anyone - or maybe it was just her - that Damian had been through things.

But it didn’t sit right with her to head off to the safety of the food court and leave him alone and without food. While he had seemed perfectly capable of handling himself before she came along Marinette was very invested in how this turned out.

“How about I go grab both of us something to eat, come back here, and then we work on our next move from there?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Fine, if it makes you feel better.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black wallet.

Marinette shook her head. “No, no, I can-”

He shoved a black metallic card into her hands; it weighed more than she thought it should.

“I insist.”

“I have money.”

“So do I.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not–it’s… payment.”

“I’m doing this for fun.”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” He crossed his arms and glared. It might have worked. If Marinette had been someone else. But she had been subjected to both Chole and Kagami’s overprotective and stubborn glares for years. This was nothing in comparison.

“I can pay, it’s nothing.”

He rolled his eyes again. “You’re a college student, it’s not nothing. Take. The. Card.”

Marinette threw her hands in the air. “Fine, you stubborn man.” A brief smile overtook Damian’s features, and then he dove out of sight. She turned to leave.

“I’m a vegetarian," he called. "Nothing with meat. And the pin is 1914.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in fifteen.” Walking away with the card in hand, she felt a little guilty for not fighting more. She was the one who was hungry, and who had offered to get him food. He didn’t need to give her his card.

Sighing in fond exasperation, she left the end of the display rooms. The warehouse section was large with rows upon rows of metallic shelving covered in boxes, but the food court sat off to the side; easy to find. It was mildly busy for a weekend afternoon, so she quickly stood in line and figured out what to order.

As she placed her order, she thought for a moment about just buying everything with her card, and then returning it to Damian as if she used it. She had a sneaking suspicion he would see right through that. Even after years of being a superhero, she still sucked at lying directly to someone’s face.

She scrolled through her phone, enjoying the slight break off her feet when she heard a familiar-sounding voice.

“Damn it, I don’t see the demon spawn,” growled an irritated voice.

Jason.

It was only years of practiced eavesdropping that stilled Mariette’s head from turning toward voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Damian’s older brother running a hand through his two-toned hair. A slightly smaller, but no less attractive man stood next to him, frowning at his phone.

“His credit card just pinged; he can’t have left that quickly.”

Marinette felt herself grow completely still at the mention of the credit card.

‘I am so going to tell him, I told you so,’ she thought furiously in her mind. How the hell would she leave without looking suspicious?

A third man jogged up to the two. A little older than them, but still just as attractive.

'This entire family looks like they could be on the cover of a freaking magazine,’ grumbled the part of her mind that was not overtaken with panic.

“I just checked the perimeter. No sign of him. Are you sure the charge was for the food court, Timmy?”

The man with the phone rolled his eyes. “Yeah–It comes out as $8.32, IKEA Food Court, order number 177.”

“Order 177. Order 177. Your food is ready,” called out a server. They placed the food on the counter, and Marinette saw the men all turn in sync to where the order laid innocently on the counter.

Marinette felt her stomach rumble again but knew the food was out of her reach now. Sacrifices had to be made to win.

‘Damn, I was looking forward to those meatballs and fries.’ No. She had to get out of here without Damian’s brothers noticing anything suspicious. They walked over to the counter, probably to ask the server who had ordered the food and which way they had gone.

Shit. She didn’t have any time.

Tapping on her locked screen, she placed it up to her ear as if taking a call.

“Hey Chole, yeah, no good to hear from you…” She rose from the plastic picnic bench. Only a few minutes before had seemed like such a nice place to rest, now it mocked her. She strolled away from the food court calmly, knowing one wrong move and she would be found out.

She reached into her bag, still walking normally, and grabbed a small metallic ball. It had a green paw print on the front.

Now, this was an experiment she and the kwamis had worked on over the summer. With a little help from Max–not that he knew what it was for–they had siphoned off a bit of pure energy from the Kwami’s and placed it into a small metallic ball that could be activated in a time of need. Mostly when it wasn’t safe to transform. It wasn’t super powerful and, so far, they’d only managed it with Plagg and Tikki, but it was something.

‘A bit of bad luck to distract them,’ Marinette thought.

Now, strictly speaking, this wasn’t exactly what they had in mind when creating the little devices, but desperate times called for desperate measures and all that.

She pressed the small paw print–using a bit of her own energy to activate the device–and threw it on the ground, letting it roll. She continued to walk calmly, and by the time she reached the entrance back to the showrooms, a clatter of noise erupted behind her. She only let herself glance back for a second, watching as a mostly empty display shelf collapsed onto an empty forklift.

Marinette winced. Hopefully, nothing was too damaged.

Off to the side she saw multiple people had gotten into a traffic jam with their shopping carts, and… oh, everything had spilled out of one, and another looked like it had lost two wheels.

… okay, maybe the balls were a bit powerful.

Seeing she wasn’t being followed, she picked up her pace and made her way back to the showroom she’d left Damian at. Along the way, she saw multiple employees rushing toward the warehouse section. She felt a little bad for them, it would be a mess cleaning all this up, but it was her best shot at a clean escape.

After what felt like forever, but was just five minutes, she made it back to Damian’s hiding spot. Taking a moment to check her surroundings, she glanced around, not seeing any of Damian’s brothers. She breathed a small sigh of relief. She entered the showroom and ducked behind the counter.

“We need to go,” she whispered.

“Where’s the food?”

She shook her head. “Who cares about the food, we have bigger problems. Your brothers were waiting in ambush.” She shoved his credit card back at them. “They tracked your card.”

“Damn it,” Damian muttered.

She paused, thinking over the absurdity of the situation. “Who tracks their brother’s credit card?”

“People who want to win. What about you, Miss Disguises-in-your-purse?”

“They’ve come in handy multiple times.”

“Attention all IKEA customers be warned that aisles seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty are now closed because of potentially unsafe shelving units. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

Damian looked at her with a questioning glance, “Did you…?”

“I needed a distraction.”

“How… you know what… no, never mind.” He shook his head, but a small smile told Marinette it amused him.

“They’ll know you’re working with a partner if they get anything out of the server at the register. We need a better hiding spot.”

“Well, while you caused chaos, I figured out our next move.” He motioned her to follow him, and they crept along the floor to the back of the showroom. He moved aside a curtain to reveal an air conditioning grate big enough for both of them to crawl into. “The ventilation layout shows this running straight back to the loading docks, which have rooftop access. We can access another shaft which will take us back to the front of the store. I figured the long route would be safer than going the ground route.”

“Genius.” Said Marinette in amazement, although slightly wondering how on earth he got access to something like ventilation layouts.

“I am aware.”

“But how will we get it off the wall? I have a sewing kit, not a tool belt.”

Damian reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

“That’s a pen,” Marinette deadpanned.

“It’s a specially designed pen.” He grasped the top. “Avert your eyes.” Marinette glanced away, but then heard the sizzle of metal, and felt the warm rush of heat.

She looked. In Damian’s hand was a small laser, shaped like a pen, easily cutting through the metallic grate blocking off the air shaft.

“It’s a LASER?” Marinette whispered in a shriek. “You… just have a laser in your pocket.”

“Well, you apparently disabled four industrial shelving units with your mind.” He grabbed hold of the grate as it came loose and placed it behind the curtain.

“I didn’t disable four shelving units. Just one,” she paused, “and a forklift… and some shopping carts. Just enough to cause a distraction.”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, but she could see the glee lurking beneath the surface. She couldn’t help the smile spreading across her own face. Something about Damian was infectiously fun and absurd. Marinette was reminded of her earlier days as a hero before the weight of the city fully settled on her shoulders. Back when fights were simple, and midnight patrols were racing across the Parisian rooftops–making the blood in her veins pound with the rhythm of her steps.

She missed it.

“Ladies, first,” Damian said, gesturing to the vent.

“Thanks.” She crawled in, beyond grateful she decided to wear pants that day. Damian crawled in right behind her and readjusted the curtain over the uncovered air shaft.

She grabbed her phone from her bag and turned on the light. Holding it and crawling was difficult, but it was better than crawling around in total darkness. It was times like this where she questioned the absolute insanity of her life.

She wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Tag List: (Closed, sorry!! I’m so glad you all like it though.)

@multplelifes @bluesimani @justhugefangirl @nik-nak-3@redscarlet95 @purplesundaze @incredulous-reader @k-poplunardreams @our-preciousss @blackmagicforever @vgirl-10123 @lozzybowe @wannajointhecrabcult @dast218 @chaotic-mess-of-a-life @fidget-eep @kawaiigiantjudgefish @queenmj10@tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @crazylittlemunchkin @fandom-writer642 @nach0ava @ladybug-182 @sam-i-am-0222@spyofthenightcourt @how-to-fuction-properly@emotionalsupportginger @dreamykitty25 @tomanyfandomsonmy-mind @mystery-5-5 @theatreandcomicfreak @weird-pale-blonde-person @whatthechickenfriedfuck @myazael@pawsitivelymiraculous @urbanpineapplefarmer @karategirl119@consumeconstantly @hauntedstudent99 @ertyzeta @thornalchemist23 @iloveitwhen @animegirlweeb@byronsacademics @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @moonlitjiminie@iglowinggemma28 @constancetruggle @catgirlkittypryde @waffelyunsure @maskedpainter @lilkymilky @unhappyraspberry @avengerthewarrior @quotesandanime @tbehartoo @clumsy-owl-4178 @g-arya @chocolateherringtacofan @jalaluvsu @crazyrandomrebel @fatimaabbasrizvi @thenillabean @goblinwhoships @bluefyoto94 @nerinalith @loopingtangent @demonicbusiness @hecate-hallow @themcclan @tropestropestropes @paintedhope7

#damimari #damianette #daminette #maribat #maridami #damian x marinette #mlb crossover #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne #fanfic

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mandolovian · 4 years

Text

behind the console

pairing: din djarin/the mandalorian x reader

warnings: none! lots of fluff! (sleep what’s sleep)

word count: 1.7k

A month or so after you had joined the Mandalorian on the Razor Crest, the baby had taken a very strong liking to your dangling earring. Just the left one - the one he would chew idly on whenever you carried him in your arms. The Mandalorian had long since stopped trying to get him to stop, and instead watched with a curiously tilted helmet as the baby slowly fell asleep, the earring firmly held between his teeth.

It only took a few days for the baby to slowly slip the earring out of your piercing, and his big plaintive eyes made it extraordinarily difficult to ask for it back (to which the Mandalorian chastised you later - ‘You need to hold your ground! Who knows how many earrings you’ll lose like this.’)

The baby’s little ball was long forgotten, and had slipped down the console to rest against the glass of the cockpit windshield. You leaned over the controls to pick it up, intent on screwing it back onto the gear shift, but the Mandalorian’s gloved hand wrapped around your wrist, holding you back.

(and you try your best to control your breathing, to lower your heart rate, but there was no way he missed the way your pulse rose at the touch.)

‘It’s okay,’ he murmured as he shifted his gaze back at the stars. You held your arm against your chest, rubbing a little absentmindedly at your wrist. Behind you, the baby snuffled a little in his sleep.

‘You don’t want it back on the gear shift?’ you asked, and didn’t receive a response in return.

Taking that as an affirmative, you let the small ball roll against the console, and left the cockpit for the night.

---

You were surprised that it lasted as long as it did.

An unfortunate combination of a Twi’lek with impressive combat skills and Mando’s flamethrower had resulted in his fleece cape being burned beyond repair. With the ship safely in hyperspace and stoically on autopilot, Mando sat on a crate on the hull to sort through the damage of the day.

It was rare to see him without much of his armour. Hunched over, the fabric of his simple shirt stretched over shoulder blades, and his sleeves were dutifully folded up to his elbows. A sigh escaped the reaches of his helmet, quietened by the static, and he turned the scraps of the cape over in his hands.

‘Nothing you can do?’ you asked as you climbed down the ladder, and he just sighed again in response. He inclined his helmet in invitation, and you took the cape from his hands. There truly wasn’t much left - the remaining salvageable fabric was scarcely bigger than the length of your forearm, and the edges had somehow been melted down. You frowned at the fabric, and Mando let out a dry laugh at your pout.

‘A lot of my weapons were damaged,’ he said. He tipped his helmet side to side, stretching the cords of his neck with a soft groan. ‘We might have to stop for supplies sooner than I thought. Could you put in the coordinates for Dantooine?’

You rested your hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Mando hummed, and you suppressed the urge to press your fingers harder against the muscles, just to hear him groan again.

‘Of course,’ you whispered.

Later, when Mando joined you in the cockpit, you kept your eyes firmly on your datapad. You definitely didn’t see him running his fingers over the fabric of his cape, nearly folded into a small square, tied with scrap of ribbon, pressed between the edge of the console and the windshield.

---

‘Have you ever been here before?’ Din asked, his boots making soft crunching noises against the sand.

‘Never,’ you said. ‘Well, definitely never here, on this planet. But I’ve also never seen water like this before.’

The beach was lined with activity - little marquees of pop-up markets, and vendors selling the most eclectic of goods. Here, a young girl sat at a wicker table under a blue tarp, painstakingly applying paint to the face of a toddler squealing with glee. In another stall, several hangers displayed scarves in a dizzying array of colours, and a portly woman, wearing several scarves herself, was arguing passionately with a customer.

You shifted the baby against your hip, and he cooed at the sites of the sea. ‘See there, adi’ika?’ you said, pointing towards the glittering reflection of the horizon. ‘Water!’

The baby looked at your hand, and waved his own in an imitation of your pointing. He giggled, tapped your cheek with his waving hand, and babbled against your shoulder.

You laughed a little. ‘That isn’t how you say water,’ you teased gently, pinching his cheek, ‘but we’ll get there eventually.’

It was peaceful. A momentary reprieve from the nomadic lifestyle of planet hopping, and you allowed yourself to idly daydream of a small beachside cottage and quietly furnished it in your mind - a front garden with rows upon rows of vegetables. A sunroom with a loth-cat lounging lazily on a wicker couch. A bed, half-covered in plump pillows and patchwork blankets.

A framed crayon drawing in the front doorway. Maybe a pair of boots outside the front door.

Din lowered himself to sit cross-legged next to you on the sand, leaning back on his hands behind him. He tutted at the baby, who was puttering around happily in the shallows, squealing in delight at every small wave.

‘It’ll be difficult to get him back on the ship,’ Din said quietly. He nudged your shoulder with his, urging you to lean back, and you do just that, resting your bodyweight a little against his.

‘He’ll tire himself out,’ you replied gently.

It was an odd appearance, and you knew that. You, dressed in one of Din’s old tunics, leaning against a fully-armoured Mandalorian on a lively beach, watching a little green baby wrinkle his nose at accidentally swallowing salt water, and you were loathe to think of what the beachgoers thought of the combination.

‘I found some sea glass,’ said Din, and he held out his hand for you. Three small pebbles sat on his palm, light blue and translucent, faded by the wind and the sea. The light of the suns flickered off the surface of the glass, and they knocked against each other with soft clinks.

He found some sea glass. You couldn’t really explain why your eyes became watery.

Din kept his visor trained on the baby, who was now sitting in the water. ‘We can put them behind the console,’ he continued, not noticing your sniffles. ‘I think we still have space there.’

---

Ground protocol had been activated, and good thing too, because the dust storm on Er’Kit was all but tipping the Crest over. The hollow low whistling of the wind was not the most comforting and, given that the power had somehow been knocked out, you only had the dim emergency runner lights to keep you company.

The side ramp of the Crest opened slowly - manually, you gathered, given the creaky clunks of the hydraulics. You sat in the pilot's seat and stared ahead into the sheets of dust battering the windshield, counting the heavy footfalls in the hull. Eight to get from the doorway to the ladder, and four up the ladder.

He sounded tired.

The smooth beskar helmet pressed against the top of your head, and you heard the soft rustles of gloves being removed before Din wrapped his arms around your chest. You leaned down and pressed a kiss against his forearm.

‘Sand is stupid,’ Din mumbled, and you hummed in agreement. ‘Anyone who lives on Er’Kit is stupid. Whatever made the wires on the Crest so friable is stupid.’

You let Din grumble a little more, rubbing his forearm absentmindedly.

‘As soon as we get enough credits, we’re buying a house.’

That brought attention sharply back into focus. You spun yourself in the chair out of Din’s grip, frowning at the visor. ‘A house?’ you said incredulously.

Din took off his helmet with a soft grunt, frowning when a steady stream of sand fell out of it when he tipped it over. He had already removed the rest of his beskar, leaving behind a man in dusty blacks. He was so beautiful, you thought, admiring the lines adorning the corners of his eyes, and the way his hair had flattened against his scalp. You stood to face him, reaching up to brush your fingers through his hair, returning volume to it. Din shut his eyes at the action, and leaned forward to press his forehead to yours.

‘A house,’ he said. ‘One with the garden that you want. And all the loth-cats you want. You don’t have to spend another day on a ship if you don’t want to, and especially not on a desert planet like this.’

He leaned back to look at you, and pressed a sandy kiss to the corner of your lip. ‘If anything, we’re running out of space for our trinkets.’

The walls of the cockpit were covered in paper artworks of shaky crayon handprints - some five-fingered, some three. Small beaded bracelets hung from almost every control on the console, and a little clay pot of dried flowers sat right in the middle of the console.

To the right of the pilots seat, your earring hung off the unscrewed gear shift - the metal hook bent into a loop so it wouldn’t slip off. The baby held the other firmly in his little hand while he slept in his pod.

‘We do need more space, don’t we,’ you said finally, and Din kissed you slowly in response. You could feel his smile against your lips, and you tugged gently at his curls.

‘Nowhere with sand, though.’

‘Of course not.’

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yespleasetommyshelby · 3 years

Text

Love in the 21st - Jay Halstead Fic - Two

"Alright, Halstead, Dawson, Lindsey, you guys breach first, the rest of us will follow behind." Voight instructed receiving nods from everyone as the first three made there way up the metal staircase of the old motel. Just as they reached the top bullets started flying as three men burst out of the room and ran for it round the back of the building, residents screamed and tried to duck to avoid being hit in the crossfire.

"Everyone move out and find them, Platt, you're with me!" Voight yelled through the coms, everyone holding their guns up as they raced to catch the shooters.

Following Voight's lead we made our way to the room that was our original target, I kept my gun up as Voight slowly pushed the door open fully and stepped inside, me right behind him. The rooms were covered in blood, noticing a trail on the floor I motioned over to Voight who nodded and began to follow. The trail led us to a bathroom where the body of a man was laid over the bath tub that was full of blood, but his head was resting on the sink, he'd been decapitated.

"Jesus Christ." I whispered to myself as the rest of the team came in after losing the suspects.

"That's Rev." Jay spoke as he took a closer look at the lone head sitting and watching.

"Get forensics down here, let's head back to base." Voight instructed walking out of the room. I started to follow until I heard what sounded like a sniffle coming from a closet in the hall.

"Hey, anyone checked in here?" I asked raising my gun as I received shakes of the heads from my team. Keeping my gun raised I slowly opened the door only to find a teenager sat in the back corner, looking scared out of his mind. "Hey, it's okay, what are you doing here?" I asked reaching out and watching as he slowly took my hand pulling himself up.

"They just barged in, I ran and hid in here, I could hear him crying man, he was begging for his life." The boy said as he stared at the ground, almost like he was reliving what just happened.

"What's your name kid?" Voight asked coming up besides me.

"D'Anthony, I'm just a runner, I swear!" He said holding his hands up in defense.

"It's gotta be a cartel, beheadings are their thing." Antonio said as he walked over to the three of us.

"Alright, lets head back to base, you're coming too kid." He instructed patting the boy on his shoulder.

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

As we arrived back at the district Voight and Al took D'Anthony down to an interrogation room and came back up all of half an hour later with the name of a Columbian cartel hitman, Pulpo. That was an hour ago and since then we've got no closer to finding this guy's real name, let alone where he is.

"I gotta go talk to a CI, keep on digging and find me something on this piece of crap. Everything we do stays in-house, you tell me the truth so that I can lie for you." Voights loud voice carries through the bullpen as he walks away without a second look.

----

"This guy is known as Coop," Voight starts as he slaps another picture up on the board. "My CI says that this guy will know where Pulpo is, lets move out." He says, everyone rushing to the armory to get their gear.

As we approach Coop's place with our guns raised Jay signals that the door has been left open slightly, slowly and quietly making our way inside we clear the house room by room and it's empty, except for the body of man laying in a puddle of his own blood whose head sits on top of the counter lifeless, its own smaller puddle of blood slowly dripping down onto the floor.

"I guess this is Coop." Erin says taking a closer look at the lone head.

"Someone's cleaning house." I thought out loud receiving nods of agreement from my team members.

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

"Hey Officer Platt, how's it going?" My Aunt's voice makes me jump as I walk past her desk towards the stairs leading to intelligence.

"Hey Sarge, how's it going?" I asked turning and leaning on the front of her desk.

"How's intelligence treating you?" She asked handing a patrolmen a set of keys without looking at them.

"So far so good, well, other than the cartel cutting peoples heads off." I said sarcastically just as the patrolman Kim, that I'd met earlier walked in looking rather pissed.

"Listen, I got a cousin in the morgue downtown, I need you to go and grab me something." Trudy started as she wrote an address down on a slip of paper before siding it over the desk towards Kim. "It's a small gold ring with a diamond, he wears it on his pinky finger of his left hand, get it and bring it to me." She instructed apparently not realising just how weird that sounded.

Kim turned to me looking just as confused as I felt. "I'm sorry Sarge, what?" She asked in disbelief as she looked at the address on the paper.

"The man owes me money, he's not getting out of it just because he died. Now go." She spoke shooing her away, with another odd look between me and Trudy, Kim slowly walked away looking back over her shoulder at me with a raised brow, I shrugged since I didn't have a clue what was going on right now.

"What cousin exactly?" I asked as I looked back at Trudy.

"On my mothers side, you wouldn't have met him, he borrowed four hundred bucks a couple of years ago and I want my money back." She said nonchalantly shrugging and going back to her computer.

"Right." I said slowly nodding. "I'm gunna head back upstairs, we do have a Colombian hitman to catch." I sighed turning and walking up to the hand scanner to buzz myself up to intelligence.

"Be safe!" She called just as I went through the gate.

"You know I will be!" I called back without turning around.

"I pulled Coop's phone records, there's multiple calls to the same number in the last week or so, problem is it's a burner phone and it's gone dead." Jay announced just as I got to my desk.

"Can you find out where the phone came from? There could be security footage of the guy who brought it." I said looking over at Jin, intelligence's resident tech guy, who nodded his head.

"Give me two minutes." He said before disapearring back to his tech cave, as I like to call it, Jay right behind him.

"The phone was brought in a store down on the south side, known territory for the Columbian Cartel." Jay says as he comes back up from the cave.

"Take Platt, go get me a name." Voight nodded before walking back into his office.

"Let's go mini sarge." Jay smiled as he walked past my desk. Narrowing my eyes at him I couldn't hep but laugh slightly, grabbing my coat and following him out.

----

"Ready?" Jay asks as we got out of the car and started walking to the store that sits on the corner of the street.

"You know I am." I grinned cheekily at him before pushing the door open and walking in. "Hey, we need a name of a guy that came in here just over a week ago and purchased a burner phone." I said getting straight to the point shrugging when Jay raised an eyebrow at me.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The guys said shrugging his shoulders and avoiding eye contact, a lone receipt apparently much more interesting than the two intelligence officers stood in his store.

"Come on man, we know it was brought from this store, so we aren't gunna leave until you give us the name of the guy who brought it." Jay told him motioning between the two of us only receiving a shrug in reply. Alright, we tried talking, let's do it my way.

"Hey Jay, a lot of stores round here get robbed quite often, right?" I asked looking over at him, leaning against the counter casually as the store keeper watched me with caution in his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, almost everyday." He nodded going along with me with a slight confused frown.

"And most stores keep a weapon of some sort behind the checkout right?" I asked him again receiving a nod and a confused look in reply. "I'm assuming you've got something behind there, am I right?" I spoke turning to the shopkeeper this time.

"Um, yes I have a bat, but it's totally legal man, it's only for self defense, I've never even used it." He admitted holding his hands up with wide eyes.

"Can I see it please, Sir?" I asked holding my hand out for the bat. With a sigh and a slight nod he reached down under the checkout and pulled out a wooden baseball bat that, like he had said, didn't look like it had been used.

Nodding my head slightly I held it by the handle tightly and suddenly swung, knocking down a display of sweets that was at the front of his store. Ignoring his yells for me to stop I took another swing, knocking bottles of this and that off of the shelves, he's lucky they were plastic or he would've had quite a problem there.

"You got to stop her man, come on." The guy yelled at Jay who was watching with a slight grin on his face, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders at the man.

"Give me a name and I'll stop." I told him shrugging while slightly swinging the bat by my legs.

"I don't have a name." He yelled looking between me and Jay, who just raised an eyebrow at me.

"Alrighty then." I shrugged before I swung the bat into his shelves once more, only aiming to knock things off the shelf, not cause any real damage, but he didn't need to know that.

"Fine! Omar! Omar Rojas!" He yelled just as I raised the bat to swing again. "Just stop! Please!" He pleaded.

Nodding his head Jay patted the owner on the back. "See, wasn't so difficult was it?" He asked sarcastically as he stepped over packets and bottles that were littered over the floor to get to the door.

"You might wanna tidy up in here, its a bit of a mess." I smiled sweetly at the man before throwing his bat on the ground and walking out to be met by Jay.

"Hey, don't get me wrong that was real badass, but not exactly by the books." He laughed as we made our way to the car.

"Yeah well, what is it Voight said? Tell him the truth and he'll lie for me?" I asked with a laugh climbing into the car, him following with a laugh of his own.

Hey guys! So, I don't actually know how to creat links and what not on here (I'm on mobile) so I've tagged the series as 'love in the 21st One/Two/Three etc..

#jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagines #jay halstead imagine #one chicago pd imagine #chicago pd fic #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd imagines #one chicago imagine #one chicago fic #jay Halstead fic #love in the 21st #love in the 21st two

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whumpwillow · 3 years

Text

Strung-up Villain

Another little snippet I found in my old writing folder, this is a hero and villain one where the villain is the whumpee, found by the hero, strung up with a bunch of wires just cuz I like the aesthetic of it and also villain whump but you knew that already if you’ve seen my blog

Warnings: torture mention, blood, bruises, broken bones, strung up with wires

“It’s Villain.”

The Hero leader pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back, sighing. He tried to keep the irritation off his face when he addressed the employee in front of him.

“What has he done now?”

The employee looked to the side, as if he could see the villain out the window. Against all reasoning, Hero looked too, but there was no one there.

“I-I don’t know,” the employee stammered.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“…Yes.”

Hero really couldn’t believe the sight right before his eyes, that this sort of thing was even possible—because there was no way something like this would happen to Villain, not like this, not this easily…

But there he was, strung up in the middle of the park, suspended by dozens of silver wires like a fly caught in a web. The wires attached to various things around the park: the street lights, park benches, trees, all going in different directions to produce a morbid display. They met up at a single point in the center—Villain. Every single wire pierced through his body at different angles, holding up his limp form. He was unconscious, limbs dangling loosely in the air or draped over sharp metal strands, his body so bloody that Hero could barely recognize him. Blood ran down the shining wires, creating a tableau of despair.

Hero put a hand over his mouth. He never thought he would see anything like this—Villain wasn’t an easy person to defeat. He’d gone up against him more times than anyone in the city, and still he always managed to escape. Yet here he was. For him to be reduced to something like this was too much for him to comprehend.

Hero stepped forward, finding himself reaching out a hand, seeing it come away bloody when he touched one of the wires. His stomach churned at the sight.

“What should we do with him?” one of Hero’s partners asked.

Hero turned to face them. “Take him in.”

Nobody was sure whether to put Villain in a cell or in the medical center. Of course, Hero told them the obvious answer was the medical center, because he was heavily injured and unconscious. Hero wasn’t sure when Villain would wake up and had no idea the state he’d be in when that happened. Everyone was on edge; they’d rather Villain be locked up tight with no chance of escape, which sounded like the logical course of action to Hero, and probably the smarter idea…but he couldn’t bring himself to just throw Villain away, no matter what he’d done. They had safety precautions in the med-center, it’d be alright as long as they kept an eye on him.

So much for a quiet day, Hero thought, looking at the still-unconscious villain.

Villain lie on the cot they’d prepared for him. He’d been cleaned up and Hero could see the full extent of the damage now that it wasn’t as obscured as before, back in the park where Villain had hung from those wires. Without all the blood from before, he looked terrible. Even in sleep, his face was pinched and strained, lacking any of the peace that should have accompanied a restful slumber.

The injuries they’d found on him were more extensive than just the puncture wounds from the wires. He’d broken a few ribs, a wrist, and several fingers, and an array of bruises, cuts and scrapes made Villain’s body look somewhat of a patchwork piece of abstract art. His skin was nothing but blue, purple and green blotches.

Even worse, Hero felt sorry to see him like this.

He wanted to believe that was a good thing—humans were meant to feel sympathy. Heroes weren’t meant to. But Villain had done so much worse than this, so many terrible things, that Hero felt shameful for his sympathy and for wanting to not feel that way.

Because really, what right did Villain have to deserve sympathy after all he’d done?

He was tortured.

The hero sighed and ran hand through his hair, wishing these things were simple.

—

#whump #whump writing #my writing #Heroes and Villains #hero and villain #villain whump #villain whumpee #blood #blood tw #tw blood #torture mention #strung up #broken ribs #heroes and villains whump #vulnerable villains

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hearts-hunger · 3 years

Text

aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter two || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

chapter one

Series Summary: In search of the Jedi you’ve been tasked to find, you and Din wrestle with the bittersweet discovery of your little one’s past and destined future. || Part Three of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: A forest planet with no forests, a Magistrate with the city pinned under her thumb, and a commission to kill the Jedi you were looking for. Yep, sounds about right for you and Din.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst | Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence

A/N: In my humble opinion, this chapter is light years better than the first one. Basically Din being a big strong gentle protective husband, love that for him. I hope you like it! ♡

The walls of the city were every bit as bleak as the landscape they jutted up from. Dirty grey stone was topped by a bell tower and a pair of soldiers, their breather masks dark with a thin, horizontal visor. They turned to each other as you approached from the edge of the forest, and their conversation was clipped and modulated through their vocoders.

“What do you think, cyar’ika?” Din asked, his voice low. “Should I start wearing a mask like that?”

You looked up at him, confused by the question. “No. I like your mask the way it is.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “I know,” he said. “I was kidding.”

“Oh,” you said, feeling a little sheepish. He’d been trying to ease your obvious tension with a little humor, and it had gone straight over your head.

He gently nudged his shoulder against yours. “Take a deep breath, cyare,” he said kindly. “We have nothing to hide.”

Nothing except a ship that was flagged by New Republic records, a stolen asset of the Imperial warlords, and the man who was wanted for both transgressions. You couldn’t help a wry smile and knew he was smiling back at you under the helm.

As you approached the gate, a third, maskless soldier appeared to stand in front of the wide, oddly-shaped bell that topped the tower. He peered down at you through the gloom and took in your small party as you came to a stop.

“State your business,” he called down.

Din kept his posture intentionally relaxed. “Been tracking for a few days,” he said. “Looking for a layover.”

The soldier raised a brow. “Nice armor.”

You husband didn’t offer a comment, though you weren’t sure what the soldier had been expecting in response. The soldier looked from Din to you, and then to the baby in your arms.

“You a hunter, then?” he asked. You heard the suspicion in his tone; bounty hunters, especially Mandalorians, were usually lone wolves. To travel in such vulnerable company was unheard of for someone who made their living in violence.

Din wasn’t shaken; he didn’t owe anyone an explanation. “That’s right.”

“Guild?”

You schooled your expression and fought the temptation to cast a nervous glance at your husband. Though he wasn’t wanted by the Guild any more, thanks to Greef, Din still hadn’t been reinstated. Thankfully he was a much better liar than you were, by virtue of his helmet and extensive practice, and kept his tone neutral.

“Last I checked,” he said. Hopefully this soldier wouldn’t feel the need to make sure.

One of the masked soldiers said something, and the soldier you’d been speaking to gave the order to open the gate. You released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding - it had been a long time since you'd accompanied Din on a hunt, and you had never been as good as he was at keeping your nerves in check. He briefly took your hand in his own and gave it a quick, comforting squeeze.

The city was no more welcoming than the scorched forest, and you stayed close by your husband’s side as he led you through the thoroughfare. He stood tall and walked with intention, and you were better able to calm the unease that plagued you as you drew strength from his confidence and composure. Though he’d been nervous before, you knew he was in his element now; he’d honed his ability to bluff and intimidate for years, until it had become second nature. You caught curious and even hostile looks from citizens and soldiers alike, but no one approached you; a broad-shouldered Mandalorian clad head to toe in beskar was a strong deterrent to anyone looking for trouble.

If the state of the city was any indication, it seemed as though Calodan had trouble in spades. Masked soldiers marched through the city, boots tramping over broken cobblestones as they led people away from the main road. Anyone not accompanied by soldiers moved with caution and haste, looking over their shoulders and rushing indoors like something was after them. No one spoke - no friendly greetings were exchanged, no children played in the street. Broken-down droids wandered aimlessly with rusty joints and damaged vocabulators.

It seemed like an oppressive, desolate, dangerous place to live. If this is where Ahsoka Tano made her home, you would rather break your vow to the Armorer than leave your baby with her. You wouldn’t leave him here. You couldn’t.

Din went up the only vendor on the street, a silver-haired old woman who watched him with a wary gaze.

“Pardon me, vendor, have you heard of anyone - ”

She turned and ducked inside without a word, and Din cut himself off with a sigh. Your baby gave a little babble and reached out after her.

“Shh, my darling,” you said gently, offering your finger for him to hold. He wrapped his claws around it and gave you a questioning look.

You bit your lip. He wasn’t being naughty; he wasn’t even being loud, really. But he always drew attention anyway, and his curious little coos would only attract more unwanted gazes. You pressed a soft kiss to his head and he was content to snuggle close to you again, but not before you realized he had attracted the attention of two younglings in an alley a few paces away. An older man knelt in front of them; they looked at your baby with wide eyes.

Din took a step towards the man. “You there,” he said easily. “I need some information. I’m looking for someone.”

The man ushered the children away and straightened.

“Please, do not speak to them,” he said firmly. “Or to any of us.”

You couldn't think why - surely they wouldn’t get in trouble for merely talking to you, and Din had shown no indication that he was looking for a fight.

Din sighed. “Look, I just need to know - ”

“The Magistrate wants to see you.”

You jumped at the warped, metallic voice so close behind you; you grabbed Din’s arm in panic and pulled yourself closer to him, pressing the baby safely between you. Din turned slowly, glancing at you to make sure you were alright before he turned his gaze to the masked soldiers that flanked you. Your hand trembled where it gripped the fabric of his flight suit; he briefly put his hand over yours and didn’t attempt to pry your fingers loose.

“It’s alright, cyare,” he said, softly enough that his modulator caught a little. You slowly let him go even though you wanted nothing more than to hold on tighter.

The soldiers waited for you to comply but seemed unwilling to act with any force if unprovoked. You guessed their presence alone must be enough to prompt obedience on the part of the townspeople, and wondered if anyone dared to question the bidding of the Magistrate. Your husband didn’t seem of any mind to, and he guided you back into the center of the street with a light touch on your back.

You tried to get your heart to stop beating so wildly in your chest. Din wouldn’t let anything happen to you, you knew. The soldiers accompanied you down the remainder of the street until it stopped at another gate; prisoners were strung up in shock cages on either side, groaning and pleading for help as currents of white-hot electricity jolted through them.

So that was what happened to anyone who questioned the bidding of the Magistrate. You shielded your little one from seeing the gruesome display and avoided looking at it yourself, fervently trying not to think about how your family might meet a similar fate after your meeting. Your baby burrowed closer against your chest as you followed Din through the gate.

The doors behind you closed and left you in a holding area of sorts, and you felt a brief thrill of claustrophobia before the second set of doors parted to reveal a beautiful courtyard. The difference between it and the rest of the city was jarring: lush trees framed twin pools on either side of the walkway, and a woman in long robes gazed into the water as it lapped up against the stone.

“Come forward.” Her voice was calm, commanding. You and Din complied, watching as she kept her attention on the water.

“You are a Mandalorian?” she asked. She sprinkled something from a little golden bowl into the water, and the surface shimmered with ripples as something moved below.

“Yes,” Din said. You were thankful, despite everything, at how quickly his voice soothed you even when he wasn’t speaking to you. You concentrated on the feel of him beside you - steady, calm, solid. Like he’d reminded you to at the front gate, you took a deep breath.

The Magistrate didn't turn from the water. “I have a proposition that may interest you.”

You felt a your tension ease, but not by much. You may not have been called to a private audience to be imprisoned in a shock cage or sent out of the city, but the thought of making a deal with her still made you wary.

Din considered her. “My price is high,” he warned.

She looked up at you then, moving to the center of the walkway; she circled like a tusk-cat for a moment, sizing you up.

“This target is priceless,” she said finally. “A Jedi plagues me. I want you to kill her.”

Ahsoka Tano was battling with the Magistrate of the city? She was obviously powerful, if the soldiers had done so poor a job of dealing with her that the Magistrate was looking to enlist a bounty hunter’s help. But as skilled as Din was, he’d never fought a Jedi - you had been hoping he wouldn’t have to.

The magistrate looked at you, eyeing you and your baby with interest. You wanted to step behind Din and hide, but made yourself stay still.

“That’s a difficult task,” Din told her.

She didn’t seem troubled. “One that you are well suited for,” she said. “The Jedi are the ancient enemy of Mandalore.”

Another reminder of the seemingly endless list of reasons why this whole venture was a bad idea - Jedi seemed to make enemies wherever they went. Though you supposed standing up to this Magistrate who kept her citizens in poverty and oppression indicated a moral code in the Jedi you were seeking, it still didn’t seem any way of life for one as little as your son.

If the Magistrate had expected to get a rise out of your husband with that comment, she was disappointed. “As I said, my price is high.”

She beckoned to the droid behind her, a guard who wielded a silver spear. You stiffened, and Din moved himself in front of you ever so slightly as she took the spear and slowly approached you.

“What do you make of this?” she asked. She offered the spear to your husband, and he cautiously moved to take it from her. You stayed where you were, your pulse thrumming a wary beat.

Din studied the spear, looking up its length and turning it over in his hands. Unlike the rest of the metal in the city, it caught the weak sunlight easily and shone like your husband’s armor. It looked at home in his hands; you knew it would be an impressive weapon if he were to use it. He raised his arm and brought the side of the spear down on his vambrace; it gave a clear, ringing tone at the contact like that of a temple bell.

“Beskar,” Din said. A weapon of that strength would be valuable to anyone, but its significance ran deeper to a Mandalorian. You wondered how he felt at the Magistrate owning something that rightfully belonged to his people, about her using it as leverage to get him to kill for her.

The Magistrate was no stranger to its significance. “Pure beskar,” she agreed. “Like your armor. Kill the Jedi, and it’s yours.”

Din handed the spear back to her. “Where do I find this Jedi?”

The Magistrate gave a self-satisfied smile, clearly thinking she had won him over to do her bidding.

“Last my scouts reported, she was deep in the forest southwest of the city,” she said. She looked over his shoulder at you. “Are you planning to take the girl and the little one with you?”

Was she suggesting he leave you here? You knew better than anyone that would only happen over your husband’s dead body.

Din held the Magistrate’s gaze.“Wherever I go, they go.”

She raised a brow. “Strange, for a Mandalorian to be attached to something so... fragile.”

You wished you felt braver under the scrutiny of her gaze and the sharpness of her observation. It was a sentiment you’d heard countless times since you and Din had started courting, and though you’d learned not to let it bother you as much, you still couldn’t ignore the truth of it. Mandalorians ran with other Mandalorians, not younglings and nervous things like you who had to be reminded to breathe. Din had never intentionally done anything to make you feel weak or less than - in fact, he did everything he could to teach you your own strength and bravery - but you knew it was a rare thing to find someone as good and kind as he was.

Meeting the Magistrate’s gaze, you raised your chin, trying to muster some defiance; she gave you a small, derisive smile in return.

“My chief officer will lead you out of the city and give you the Jedi’s last known coordinates” she said to Din. “Come back when you have killed her, and I shall uphold my end of the bargain.”

The doors behind you groaned open, and it was only then that Din came back to you. You knew he was aware of every potential threat and prepared to protect you from them, but you still felt uneasy with your back to the Magistrate. He steadied you with a gentle touch to your arm, and your baby cooed up at his father as you returned through the gate.

The soldier who’d questioned you earlier was waiting for you; Din spoke to him briefly, getting the coordinates as promised, and put himself between you and the gaunt officer as you walked back to the front gate. Fog threaded through the jagged treeline and curled over the charred ground, and the greenish sun was sinking lower.

You baby gave a little babble, drawing the officer’s dubious gaze. You gave the officer a challenging look, daring him to say something - it was easier to do with Din between you than it would have been otherwise.

“What is that thing?” the officer finally asked.

You glared at him. Who did he think he was? Thing, indeed. You’d like to give him a piece of your mind. But before you could retort with a healthy dose of mama-bear indignation, Din stepped in.

“We keep it around for luck,” he said, with what you were sure was a withering look under the helmet.

The officer sized him up. “You’re gonna need it where you’re headed.”

Din didn’t offer a response. He put his hand on the small of your back and led you away from the city, towards the southwest; the baby looked over your shoulder and gave the officer a parting coo, social as always. Despite your nerves, you couldn’t help a small smile and nuzzled a kiss against your baby’s cheek. His soft giggle was comforting as the forest became denser, and you held onto the precious sound as you pressed closer to Din’s side.

“Your daddy says we only keep you around for luck,” you told your baby.

Din looked down at your little one and gently tapped his nose. “Maybe if your mama wouldn’t go picking a fight with the chief officer, I wouldn’t have to.”

You huffed. “I wasn’t the one picking a fight. He called our son a ‘thing’, Din. A thing.”

He gave an amused hum. “I know. But I didn’t want to have to explain to the Magistrate why her chief officer was beaten to death by your tiny fists.”

You gave a wry smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You held your hand up in front of you and made a fist.

“They’re not that tiny.”

He took your hand in his, gently turning it this way and that in mock-seriousness until you laughed.

“Alright, fine,” you said. “They are tiny. Especially compared to yours.”

He chuckled and raised your knuckles to the bottom of his visor in a light kiss; you gave him a bashful smile back.

You walked the next few minutes in companionable silence, Din helping you through the obstacles the broken trees presented when you needed it. The forest wasn’t nice, by any estimation, but it was a good deal less stressful than the city had been. The baby could babble as much as he liked, and you were free to peruse your thoughts on how your situation had changed.

You hadn’t really known what to expect, but nothing that had happened so far seemed an indication that leaving your baby with Ahsoka Tano was a good idea. A forest planet with no forests, a Magistrate with the city pinned under her thumb, a commission to kill the Jedi you were looking for. Maybe you’d naively thought the Jedi would be a peaceful sort, that you’d be comfortable leaving your little one with someone kind who lived on a nice planet where he would be happy while he trained.

He cooed back at the deep lowing of some huge animal, and you hugged him close. No - even if everything had gone exactly as you wanted it to, you wouldn’t be comfortable leaving him. Just the thought of it made your whole body ache with grief. He was your baby, even if he was technically older than both you and Din. What sort of mother gave up her child like that, to a perfect stranger?

You didn’t realize how tensely you’d curled in on yourself, how closely you held your baby like someone would snatch him away at any moment; he gave a little babble of protest, and you tried to relax. You kissed his head.

“Sorry, ad’ika,” you said quietly.

Din looked over at you. “You alright?” You knew from his tone he meant more than just physically, and you worried your bottom lip.

“You’re not going to kill her, are you?”

He held a low-hanging branch out of your way. “No, I’m not,” he said. “Even if I wasn’t looking for her, it wouldn’t be a noble kill. I don’t work for tyrants.”

You looked up at him. He was focused on making sure you were headed in the right direction, but you knew he would listen if you had more to say.

“How do you think the Magistrate got that spear?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe she had it made out of imperial beskar, or it might be an old Mandalorian weapon that fell into her hands somehow.”

You frowned. He didn’t seem that concerned about it, but you’d seen your husband willing to shoot first and ask questions later when it came to stolen Mandalorian armor. He’d nearly had a shootout with Cobb over it, and you didn’t understand his apathy towards the beskar spear.

“You don’t want it?” you pressed.

He looked over at you. “Do you? Even if we have to pay for it in blood?”

You flinched. He’d said “we”, but you both knew he’d be the one with blood on his hands, and he’d had enough of that already to know what it cost. Stolen armor meant a dead Mandalorian - or worse, dar’manda, someone who had willingly given up the Way. To bring it back where it rightfully belonged was a matter of the Mandalorian soul. A beskar spear was, in the end, just a spear; he’d get more than he bargained for, working for someone like the Magistrate for a mere weapon, and you both knew it.

You turned your head and didn’t look at him. “Sorry.”

He sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know that’s not what you meant.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment, this silence more tense than the last; without having to be asked, he offered you his hand to help you over a fallen tree in your path. You held his hand tighter than you really needed to, feeling a wave of relief and a little embarrassment when he kept his hand in yours even when you were safely on the other side.

“I really am sorry, Din,” you said quietly. “I didn’t mean to question your decision. I know you wouldn’t do something like that. Of course the spear isn’t worth it.”

He shook his head. "You don't have to apologize. I knew that wasn’t what you were saying, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Please forgive me.”

You took your hand from his, and his body language showed surprise only for a moment before you put your arm around his waist and pressed close to him. He relaxed and drew you close; he ran a soothing hand over your back, resting his helm against your head.

“I don’t like any of this,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. Both of you were wound pretty tightly, and you hoped it wouldn't cause any more spats. Your baby reached out for his dad and Din offered him a finger to hold onto.

Din sighed. “I know. I don’t like it either. But we’re already here - we might as well find her and see what she has to say.”

He ran his thumb over the baby’s hand. “She might not even want to train him. He’s still so little.”

Your baby cooed and cocked his head, and the mannerism reminded you so much of Din that you felt a rush of tears you couldn’t prepare for. You leaned further into Din’s steadiness and took a wobbly breath.

“Promise me we won’t - ” Your voice hitched. You looked up at him. “Promise me we won’t leave him with her if it’s not safe. If she’s not - kind to him. I can’t leave him with someone who doesn’t - ”

You stopped yourself before you said what you meant, someone who doesn’t love him. To leave him with someone who loved him was too much to hope for, even in the best of circumstances. You’d have to let him go at some point, you knew, but you almost couldn’t bear it and certainly refused to if he wasn’t going to be safe and happy.

Your husband rested his helm against your forehead. “I promise, cyar'ika.” You knew how much he meant it, and felt some of the tension bleed out of you as you stayed safely in his arms.

You walked for a long time before you neared the coordinates the officer had given you, winding through the remains of what must have been a beautiful forest before it was destroyed. The city must have gotten some material use out of stripping the landscape bare, but it wouldn’t have surprised you if the Magistrate had ordered it just for the sake of inflicting further destruction. It stretched on for miles, this barren wasteland, and the skeletal remains were so tangled together that it was often difficult to get through.

You ducked under a heavy, fallen trunk, minding your head carefully - though you hadn’t been hurt yet, your usually composed husband had endured a comical amount of aggravations during your hike. His cloak snagged on every little thing, he’d smacked his helmet stepping under a fallen tree, and he’d tripped so dramatically over a hidden root that you’d had to hold onto him for support as you doubled over in deep, hearty laughter. He’d grumbled good-naturedly as he let you lean on his arm, and eventually he'd started laughing too. It worked wonders to ease your tension and fatigue, and your baby had giggled with you, delighted to see his parents so amused.

Now, though, Din’s posture had straightened a little more as the tracker on his vambrace gave a chime. He pulled the strap of his Amban rife over his head and held the weapon in a relaxed but ready position.

“Well, these are the coordinates,” he told you, walking forward as he scanned the area. “Keep your eyes open. We must be close.”

He tapped the side of his helmet to activate his HUD; you looked around, unsure if you’d be able to spot anything that was trying to hide with the sun sinking low and the fog creeping in.

A far-off sound, like a tree being snapped in two, made you jump; an unfriendly animal screech followed, and you closed the small distance between you and your husband.

“You hear that?” he asked.

You nodded, grabbing his arm just below his pauldron. He gave your hand a distracted pat, trying to comfort you and stay aware of your surroundings at the same time.

“Don’t worry,” he said. He nodded to a boulder lodged in a mass of tree roots to your right. “Stay right here. Let me see what’s out there.”

You did as he said, cradling your baby close and worrying your bottom lip as Din took the sight off his rifle. He used it to scan the mass of scraggly trees ahead; you looked that way too, though you didn't hope to see anything he wouldn’t.

His gaze snagged on something, and he relaxed. “False alarm,” he said. “It’s just - ”

A bright, loud hiss came from behind you; for a second, all you could make out was a brilliant white light. Moving on instinct, you shielded your baby with your body, the unmistakable sound of weapons hitting beskar ringing in your ears.

Read chapter three!

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekchic, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013 ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven, @sarahjkl82-blog, @remmysbounty, @bitchin-beskar, @cosmicbreathe, @prettyboyskywalker, @happyxdayxbitch, @radiowallet ♡

let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

#big strong protective men who are actually gentle as hell???? that's like crack to me #let me know what you think :)#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #aay'han mar'eyce #jate'kara series #maddie writes stuff!

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phantompearlsalt · 3 years

Text

Sour Cherry, Chapter 17

Preview AND the real deal in one day? I’m on a roll 😎 But in all seriousness: super happy I could share this (more or less) on time with everyone! I’ve started working on a side project I’ll share more about tomorrow so I’m still figuring out my writing schedule. Also promise I’ll respond to all asks this week as well! As always, feel free to check out this chapter on AO3 and know that I adore all kudos, comments, asks, etc. You all make this journey such a gift ❤️

These days, things somehow felt slow and exciting at the same time — it was odd. There was so much at stake and all of it lay within the borders of Republic City. In a few weeks time, Kuvira’s spirit cannon would reach completion and the army would be on its way to claim all that remained to consecrate the Empire.

Although you still find yourself caught up the more bureaucratic aspects of the work — paperwork, meetings, more paperwork — it feels like you can almost touch the weight of anticipation that hangs in the air. Nothing else slows down but everyone appears to hold a collective breath as Baatar works on the final touches of the machine.

Today in particular, you decide to take a trip to engineering. Kuvira is nowhere to be found so you assume she’s off in some pressing meeting with her sergeants. Perhaps strategizing for the City’s response and especially the Avatar’s. Given the scope of the army’s proposed attack, you can’t possibly imagine anyone, not even Korra, withstanding such magnitude of force.

You feel a slight twinge in your chest at the thought of what lies ahead. You think of Bolin, Varrick, and Zhu Li. You wonder whether Raiko will willingly submit to Kuvira and spare the damages that will transpire if he doesn’t.

But at this point, you know better than that. If the United Republic had wanted to end things peacefully, Kuvira would have already reached an accord with them. It was clear no one was willing to budge so you could only hope that the damages would be as minimal as possible.

You stroll into the warehouse, following the sharp sounds of electricity and metal clanking together. A number of privates salute you as you walk past and you offer them reassuring smiles. “At ease, privates,” you chuckle. Despite how much time has passed, you’ll never grow accustomed to the way people interact with you for being both Kuvira’s significant other and a critical role in her Inner Circle.

Baatar recognizes your voice and he looks down from the platform several feet above you. He calls your name excitedly and you can’t help but grin. Admittedly you’ve never been too fond of the man (even back in Zaofu) but you would be wrong to deny all of the incredible work he’s put into bringing the army this far along. Plus, he’s done his best to get on your good side once it became clear his chances with Kuvira were effectively eliminated.

“How’re things going up there?” you call out.

“They’re going,” Baatar responds, somewhat disillusioned. Your brow furrows together and you cross your arms.

“What’s the matter? You don’t sound too pleased,” you remark.

“I can’t seem to make the connection between the cannon and the suit’s body...each piece functions properly on its own but the wiring simply won’t synthesize everything together,” he explains.

“Hm...I’m not sure how much help I could be but could I come check it out at least? If anything it’ll be a good way for me to admire all your handiwork,” you say.

Baatar smiles halfheartedly and sighs. “I suppose. Perhaps there’s something you might notice that I haven’t been able to. Five straight hours can do that to someone,” he admits, leaning over to press the yellow button that unfolds a metal staircase.

Once it lands on the floor with a soft clink, you leap onto it and head up until you’re within an arm’s length from Baatar. Being much closer to him you can see the lines of exhaustion etched below his eyes. His hair is gelled down neatly, though some strands of it fall along his temples where it sticks to a thin film of perspiration.

“Baatar...have you seriously been working on this for five hours straight?” you ask.

He appears confused by the question and purses his lips. “Of course I have. What else would I be working on?” he replies.

“I understand but...you should take a break soon. At least a half hour or something,” you recommend. He vehemently shakes his head in protest.

“Absolutely not. Kuvira wouldn’t allow it and with good reason. Every moment wasted on anything other than this machine is more time lost to take Republic City for the Empire. I will not be the reason everything we’ve worked for is lost,” he states.

You stay quiet, watching him worriedly before you release a soft sigh. You always knew Baatar to be...a deeply passionate man since joining Kuvira. From what you had pieced together during your conversations with her, you learned that he grew up in his father’s shadow. He was always praised as the mirror image of the older Baatar, with an aptitude for design and engineering.

When he joined Kuvira, it was probably the first time in his life that something was entirely his own. Not an addition to his father’s work, not a continuation of everything so many people expected of him. What he created was novel, powerful, and completely his own.

Understandably, he had grown so invested in this final display of his autonomy and innovation that any potential threat to it was unfathomable.

“It’s alright, I understand,” you reassure him, stepping forward and tentatively resting your hand on his forearm. You feel him tense beneath you and you wish he hadn’t because now it feels even more awkward. You’ve never felt the urge to offer him any sort of comfort until now but then he relaxes and you can slide your hand away without feeling too uncomfortable.

“So!” you exclaim, hoping to break the odd tension. “You said you were having trouble connecting the cannon to the rest of the suit?”

“Indeed,” Baatar sighs. He peers into gaping machinery, sifting through thick cords of wiring and metal. “I’ve checked for any and all missing pieces and there isn’t a single thing out of place. I wonder if you’d be able to see anything I might be missing.”

You chew on your lower lip, growing nervous at the prospect of going anywhere near the obviously complicated technology. The chances of you damaging anything are close to none...though they aren’t quite zero.

Nevertheless, you lean forward just an inch to gaze upon the convoluted maze coiled within the massive platinum encasements. None of it makes sense to you and you feel foolish even bothering to check.

Even so, you angle your hand forward and throw Bataar a questioning look. He nods and you start carefully pushing aside the cords in hopes of seeing, well, something.

At the exact moment you feel an indentation in one of the metal fibers, you hear the echo of footsteps below and the sound of Kuvira’s voice. You mean to pull away in excitement but the hem of your sleeve gets caught.

Grumbling, you manage to pull it away but not before feeling a sensation pulse through your body that’s lightning hot and stinging all the same. The pain concentrates in your arm for a split second and your eyes are forced closed.

The only thing you’re aware of is the muffled sound of shouting around you beneath your own screaming before your head crashes against something cold and hard and your vision fades into complete darkness.

---

“This could have been so much worse, Baatar. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been?”

The voice sounds distant, almost warped, as if it were coming from another room. Wait...are you in a room? It feels still and quiet so you assume you are.

Your eyes are sealed shut and it feels like your brain is trying to push out of your skull. When you try to twitch your fingers, a searing pain shoots up your left arm and a pained sound gets caught in your throat.

Okay. So no moving yet.

You inhale slowly and wince at the sharp ache in your ribs and your chest. Other than that, nothing hurts too bad if you stay relatively still so you focus on maintaining a careful breath.

As you start to grow accustomed to the aches and pains, you let your eyelids flutter open. Well, flutter almost seems too glamorous to describe the heavy feeling when you peel them apart. It feels like you’ve had them shut for weeks.

You try not to move your head around too much as you scan your surroundings, realizing you’re back in the tent you share with Kuvira. The lanterns have been blown out so you assume it’s nighttime until you hear the voices again.

“Kuvira, I apologize profusely for my lapse in judgement. I should have known better than to—”

“You’re right. You should have known better and you didn’t. Baatar, I expect nothing but the utmost professionalism from you and now is not the time to make such potentially fatal errors.”

Though you can’t see anything, you clearly envision what poor Baatar’s face must look like: crumpled in defeat and tight with regret. You want to get up and reassure him you’re okay, though you aren’t really sure what happened in the first place.

Instead, you clear your throat and before you can even open your mouth, Kuvira’s voice whispers something rushedly before she bends the door open and steps inside. You expect to see Baatar join her but she enters alone, sliding it shut and preventing anyone else from entering.

“You’re awake,” Kuvira sighs, rushing over to you and kneeling at your side. Her hands hover over your arm, unsure, and it catches you off guard. Kuvira’s self-assurance rarely falters — when it does, it’s a cause for concern.

“I am,” you affirm, attempting a soft grin before you try to push yourself up. As your left arm protests in agony, you realize it’s been bandaged with multiple layers of thick gauze. Kuvira notices your confused expression and her face grows grim.

“What happened?” you ask. Kuvira stares at your arm for a few moments in thick silence, almost as if her capacity to speak had been plucked from her throat the instant you broached the subject.

“There was a damaged piece of armored cable,” she eventually says. “Between the wiring and what little spirit energy was being transmitted from the suit’s core, it was exposed enough to deliver a shock that knocked you out for hours.”

Ah. So that explained the bandaged arm and why everything else seared in a dull, muted ache.

“Hours? That’s better than what I thought,” you joked. “I could’ve sworn I was out for weeks!” You attempt to laugh but Kuvira finally looks up at you and her expression is so grave it effectively shuts down whatever attempt you make to lighten the situation.

“You could have been,” she hisses. “Had you gotten any closer to that damaged material who knows what could have—I don’t know what I—”

“Kuvira,” you interrupt. Her eyes slide shut and she grips the bedsheet tight, closing her fist over the material with a force that would break anything else if it were more solid. You manage to lift yourself up with your good arm and once you’re upright, you press your palm against her cheek.

“I’m okay, really I am,” you reassure her. “It’s probably just some bruising here and there. Plus my arm will be good in no time, you’ll see.”

“I know that, it’s just…” Kuvira’s voice trails off for a few moments before she can continue. She swallows hard and exhales shakily. “I walked in exactly as it happened and...it looked like you were gone. I heard you scream and when you went quiet, your body hit the ground and I could’ve sworn you...you weren’t there anymore.”

“I’m here now, Kuvira,” you murmur, dragging your thumb over her cheekbone in that way she loves but has never actually verbalized. You maintain a slow pace until you feel Kuvira melt into your touch, her features softening.

“I’m right here with you, alright?” you tell her. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m going to be okay and I promise I’ll be more careful. Now why don’t we go on a walk and maybe grab some tea?”

“No,” Kuvira responds quickly. “You stay here and I’ll bring you whatever you need. Besides, it’s late and you should be resting anyway. We’ll spend the night in the tent and see how you’re feeling tomorrow. Just...wait here.”

She leans forward to press her lips against your temple, staying there for a moment, confirming to herself that you’re really alive, and then breaks away with a reluctant stride. You sigh but smile inwardly, leaning back and hoping you get better soon so Kuvira will feel more at ease.

---

True to form, you recover within the span of a few days from the worst of it all. You take it easy in the days immediately succeeding the accident, even finding some spare time to meet with Baatar and assure him there’s no bad blood. He can’t find it in himself to accept forgiveness, though frankly you don’t blame any of it on him. You make it a point to eat the occasional meal with him when time permits...something you never envisioned doing mere months ago.

Character development indeed.

Though your arm takes longer to heal, you get back to work within three days time, albeit with slightly less mobility. Nevertheless, you approach your assignments with the same level of attention and detail as you would any other time.

However, the one thing that remains the same is Kuvira’s unwillingness to stay away from you for longer than thirty minute intervals.

Ever since the accident, she stays by your side almost nonstop except when she’s called away for business that doesn’t involve you. A hand on your waist when you lift yourself off a chair, her arms circling you as you get out of bed, her fingers guiding you towards an exit when there are too many people nearby.

Today, you’re filing away the last of the latest shipment updates from Yi. You sigh and Kuvira looks up from across the room. “Are you alright? Are you in pain?” she asks worriedly.

You bite your lip with hopes that it’ll stop you from rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “I’m fine, Kuvira,” you respond. “Head’s just feeling loaded from all these files. I think I’m going to close out for the day.”

“Of course. Let me take you to our quarters,” Kuvira replies, shoving away whatever she was working on and making her way towards you. She offers you her hand which you take, not without some exasperation.

“I can get there on my own, you know,” you remind her, hoping you don’t come off as too abrasive. Luckily it seems to go over her head because Kuvira is too preoccupied with making sure your knee doesn’t smash against the desk or that the wall doesn’t touch any other part of your body.

“Of course I know that but I won’t let you,” Kuvira says simply. And with that, she guides you back to the tent with one arm wrapped around your waist, her hand digging softly into your side. The guards look on with a mix of sympathetic glances and the occasional teasing grin. You grimace in response and do your best to ignore them, affronted that they’ve become so bold.

You reach the tent and you aren’t sure what look Kuvira gives the guards because they quickly scramble away (or as good as one can scramble in a bulky mech suit) so she can bend the door open. She steps in first, letting you lean on her arm to lift you up the two steps.

“Here, let’s get you into bed,” she murmurs, leading you towards the mattress and releasing your hand as you sit down.

“Kuvira…” You start to say but something in her face makes you stop. You’re tempted to tell her to ease up, that you’re fine and she’s worrying over nothing but you remind yourself what you would’ve felt in her place. You’ve seen Kuvira come close to death too many times and the thought nearly destroyed you.

So you keep quiet because you know she’s not actually being domineering. You hold her hand between both of yours and bring it to your lips, sliding the glove off so you can press your mouth against her bare skin.

“Don’t leave, Kuvira,” you murmur. “Can you...can you stay with me?”

“Of course,” Kuvira whispers, her face losing some of its tension as she sits to your side. She watches you intently and you can’t tell what she’s looking for. Perhaps some indication of pain? Discomfort?

The tent is quiet for some time and when Kuvira breaks the silence her voice is unusually hesitant. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable lately,” she sighs. You look at her and her expression is unreadable.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I’m afraid I’ve been rather...overbearing for the past few days. I know you’d never say it outright but I imagine it’s been difficult for you to deal with,” she explains. “I hope you understand why I’ve done it though.”

She adds that last sentence almost as if to reassure herself that her behavior is warranted which, frankly, it absolutely is and it pains you to think she doesn’t believe that.

You press closer to her until your thighs touch, lifting your hand to tilt her face towards yours and cupping your fingers around her jaw.

“Of course I understand, Kuvira. It’s absolutely fine. I can’t expect you to recover from something so frightening in such a short amount of time. I’m sorry if I gave the impression that you had to,” you apologize.

Kuvira exhales sharply and her lips curl into a faint smile. “Never. If anything you’ve been extremely patient for someone who’s had their partner doting on them for almost every waking hour,” she chuckles.

You grin and lean forward until the tip of your nose brushes against Kuvira’s. “Well I can’t say it hasn’t been kind of sweet having the Great Uniter at my beck and call,” you respond slyly.

“But don’t you always?” Kuvira asks, closing the gap between your faces just enough for her lips to nearly graze over your own.

“I suppose you’d think so,” you giggle. “Clearly you’ve been more...zealous as of late, haven’t you?”

Kuvira hums while she slides the other glove off her hand, lifting her fingers until they wrap around the back of your neck. The caress of warm skin produces a thrill that courses all the way down your spine. “May I kiss you?” she whispers and her breath tickles the skin below your ear.

“Please,” you respond, bridging the space that separates you and finally bringing her supple mouth against yours. The kiss is tentative and chaste, so similar to the ones you would share in the early days of your relationship. Kuvira’s hand stays still on your skin, mirroring the carefulness of her mouth, so evidently displaying her anxiety of moving too abruptly for fear of harming you in some way.

So you decide to encourage her further, parting your lips and letting the tip of your tongue playfully brush against hers. Kuvira gasps and jerks backward, her face already tinted a lovely shade of red. It’s an unusual look for her but one that you relish for its rarity.

“What’s the matter? Too much?” you ask. The inquiry comes out sounding much more playful than you’d intended.

“I, um. I guess I didn’t expect that. I thought you would want to take things slow for now,” she elaborates. Kuvira is normally so composed, hyper-aware of every sound and movement she makes especially when she’s being closely observed, which is why you’re pleasantly surprised to see the way her throat clenches as she swallows.

“I’ll take things slow if that’s what you want. Is that what you want, Kuvira?” you ask innocently, lifting your eyebrows and removing your hands from her body. “Do you just want me to kiss you nice and slow...not deeper and harder until you feel your heart pounding against your chest? Not until you start kissing my neck and moving your hand lower and lower...just enough to feel how wet—”

Much to your delight, you’re swiftly cut off when Kuvira seals her mouth over yours again, the force of it strong enough to push you back an inch. You make a pleased sound in your throat and finally throw your arms around her neck, readjusting until you can swing your legs over her thighs and rest upon her lap.

Kuvira’s hands drift mindlessly over your sides, not quite touching but not too far off either. You grow exasperated so you tug on them and wrap them around your hips, grinding downwards so she can feel the growing heat between your legs. How desperately you’ve wanted this for days now.

She moans softly against your mouth and her patience wears thin within moments. Between the havoc you wreak on her lips and the canting motion of your body against her thighs, she eventually cradles you against her arm before placing you onto the mattress on your back.

You gasp in pleasant surprise once she hovers over you. She carries her weight with even greater caution, overly cognizant of potentially pressing down too hard and hurting you.

“What happened to taking it slow?” you tease breathlessly, hovering your fingers over the metal plates on her shoulder. She notices right away and knocks them off with quick work of her hands. They’re tossed onto the ground with a resounding clash.

“I think you should be asking yourself that question,” she responds, leaning down until her lips dance across your neck. “What was that you were mentioning earlier?” she whispers against you, dragging her tongue along the skin that isn’t covered by your uniform.

Your body instantly arches upward, feeling Kuvira’s breasts press against your chest. Between the accident and how busy everything already was before that, it had been weeks since you’ve been with her like this.

Therefore it’s no surprise that your body responds accordingly.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve gone all soft on me,” Kuvira says, pushing away the collar of your uniform and carefully sinking her teeth into the flesh at the base of your neck. You’re at a total loss for words, the sounds and syllables dissipating with each brush of Kuvira’s mouth on your body.

“Because that would be such a shame. I do love it when you make me work for it,” she sighs. Her hands, firm yet careful nonetheless, drift downwards until one rests over your hip. Even through the layers of fabric, her touch produces a sensation like fire that spreads from the point of contact all the way to each bit of muscle and nerve.

“But you also love it when I’m completely at your mercy, don’t you?” you shoot back, rather proud that your voice isn’t as weak as you expected it to be. Kuvira cocks an eyebrow and removes her mouth from your neck. You mourn the loss momentarily but keep going.

“You can’t deny it, Kuvira,” you continue, your eyes widening with glee. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you have me all tied up, completely and utterly at your disposal for whatever you desire. Haven’t you missed that? The way I’m completely helpless when you bind me up and all I can do is wait to see what you’ll do next.”

“It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for some time,” Kuvira exhales, already short of breath.

“Oh I certainly have. And given how you can barely get through an entire sentence without gasping for air, I’d say you’re quite a fan of the prospect yourself,” you murmur.

“Are you sure? You’re not in any pain at all? I don’t want to hurt you,” Kuvira says quietly, the lustful look on her face morphing into one of concern.

You nod assuredly and shyly press your lips to hers again. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure. We’ve got our word, remember? I’ll let you know if I need you to stop.”

Kuvira nods against your touch and moves her hand to the back of your neck once more, this time undoing the buttons that hold the article together and lifting your arms to pull it away. The fabric bunches up around your bandaged forearm and though the gauze isn’t as thick anymore, it’s enough to make you both pause.

You bite back the laughter flooding your mouth and Kuvira looks vaguely irritated. Nevertheless, she approaches the minor hiccup with her usual, unhurried maneuvers until it slides away and you’re only covered by a soft undershirt.

The scars beneath the gauze start throbbing a bit but you manage to keep the worst at bay. It’s nothing too bad — nothing worth paying much attention to.

Kuvira spends the next few moments showering kisses, bites, and caresses over every inch of skin she can reach with her mouth. She takes you apart with slow and intentional movements until all you can do is lay frenzied with desire beneath her ministrations and attempt to hold back the pathetically desperate sounds that fall from your lips.

She begins to lift up the undershirt until it glides over and off your head and falls to the ground, along with the growing heap of Kuvira’s clothes mixed with your own. She keeps your arms high above your head, sliding her fingers over your skin and pauses. When she stops, you realize your eyes have been shut so you snap them open and look down at her impatiently.

“Don’t you worry...I’ve got exactly what you’ve been waiting for,” she murmurs. Kuvira lifts her hands and starts to coil her fingers. You hear the sharp sound of metal sliding against metal and then you see two silver strips emerging from her abandoned uniform. They float menacingly above your bodies, gradually curling into crescent shapes that hover over your wrists.

“I think it’s about time,” Kuvira whispers. Not a moment is wasted between the time she utters those words and the sensation of frigid metal clasping around your wrists, pulling your arms together and holding you down tight.

You’re met with an immediate burst of exhilaration and you ride it for about five seconds before it’s overridden with a growing feeling of discomfort that spreads under your bandages. You do your best to ignore it and instead focus on Kuvira moving downwards until she reaches the hem of your trousers.

“Now let’s see just how much you’ve wanted this,” she purrs against your hip, clipping her teeth over the edge of the fabric and using it to guide her hands as they slide it off. She’s soon met with the throbbing heat nestled between your thighs and you sigh in shameless pleasure.

As delicious as it feels, the pain in your arm only intensifies with each passing moment. You attempt to zero in on Kuvira’s mouth brushing against your bare hip, your thigh, the feeling of her lips hovering over the wet fabric of your underwear. It becomes overwhelming — the tension of wanting more but feeling your arm quiver with increasing pain.

“May I?” Kuvira asks, hooking her finger over the thin fabric and hinting at tearing it off. You murmur a quivering “yes” and hope she can’t sense the discomfort in your voice. She promptly removes them, dragging them down your legs and pressing her face against the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

It’s such an unbearable union of tender and carnal that it makes your body jerk hard against the restraints. The material digs into your injury just enough to make you cry out in distress.

“Silver, Kuvira! Silver,” you grunt through gritted teeth. Kuvira immediately breaks away and bends the metal strips off from your arms. They land on the floor with a harsh sound that makes you flinch.

“What do you need? What should I do?” she asks calmly. It would almost startle you how quickly she manages to shift tonalities but right now, it brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“My arm...it-it stings,” you mumble, carrying it down until it rests on your abdomen. “I just need a second. Maybe that healing salve?”

“Of course. Stay still, alright? I’ve kept it in my desk,” Kuvira reassures, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead and leaping off the bed. She throws a spare bed sheet over her body as she strides across the room, shuffling through a drawer until she finds the salve and a sealed green pouch.

She kneels on the bed and slides her arm around your bare back to help lift you up with little pressure. Once you’re upright, she gingerly takes your injured arm between her hands and begins to unfold the gauze.

The skin that emerges is marred with a thin layer of scarred flesh, much less angry than how it appeared just last week. Kuvira uncovers the glass jar and scoops a portion of the salve onto two fingers that she presses against the wound.

It feels awful at first, almost exacerbating the pain, but it gradually melts into a refreshing coolness that numbs the discomfort. You hiss a bit at the beginning and Kuvira lifts her hand away.

“Is it too much?” she murmurs. “I’m not pressing down too hard, am I?”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, not at all,” you respond. “You’re totally fine. Just stung at first. It feels good now, I promise.”

Kuvira nods in understanding, rubbing the last of the substance onto your skin and pulling open the small pouch. She pulls out a long strip of gauze that she untangles and starts folding over your arm, sealing the salve’s properties against the scars.

She moves smoothly, indicative of one who has done this many times before. You wonder how often she had tended to others’ wounds as a guard in Zaofu.

“You’re all set,” she affirms once she ties it all together. She rests her hand over her handiwork, stroking her thumb over the material and looking up at you concernedly. “What else do you need?”

“I hate to say it but I think you were right,” you chuckle. “I think...I just want to sleep now. Do you, uh...do you mind, er—holding me?”

Kuvira’s face brightens even in the darkness of the tent and she nods, guiding your bodies back down to the bed so she can curl her body around yours, mindful of where your injured arm rests. Your legs tangle with hers as Kuvira tugs a thick blanket over your shoulders, bringing you closer to her chest until your forehead touches her collarbone.

The silence is comfortable, soothing. Exactly what you need. But you can’t shake the slight degree of embarrassment that clings to your thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Kuvira murmurs. “I know you want to...and I understand. I won’t scold you for it but just know you don’t have to. I’m glad you told me. That’s what we do, right? Honesty.”

You nod against her and swallow. “You’re right...I appreciate it,” you respond. And though you don’t exchange any more words for what remains of the evening before you fall asleep, you lose yourself in the calming silence that follows. Kuvira’s hands float up and down your back and your shoulders, guiding you into a dreamless sleep that welcomes you with warmth and safety.

#sour cherry #kuvira/reader #kuvira x reader #kuvira legend of korra #kuvira lok #avatar lok #x reader #reader insert #minor accident #protective!kuvira #remember this is NOT a spicy chapter!!!#just like...a hint of spice...some hot cheetos dust if you will

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mihidecet · 4 years

Text

SBi d&d AU: Tubbo

Aka: Tibi’s MCYT WritingTober, day 20!

From @the-only-gamer-gost ‘s list of prompts, another entry for “Fanmade AU” ahahah And as requested by a super cool anon: “ i'd love to see more of tommy's backstory in the d&d au! especially if we can meet tubbo?” :D

Ask and you shall receive! You can also find Tubbo’s reference sheet made by the wonderful @whatimevendoinhere here! Also, @rigatonipastaroni made a super sweet comic about the reunion, waaay before the chapter was even posted!!

There is nothing quite as sad as a bard with a broken guitar.

It happens during a fight, a sadly-not-that-unusual spar with a rogue elemental that had decided to mess with a village just because they had been bored.

Absolutely unrelatable. Tommy's patron had commented, the absolute hypocrite.

Still, the overall business had been quite straightforward: get to the outskirts, find the bad guy, kick their ass, profit.

Nothing they hadn't done before.

And like everything they expected to go smoothly, things went wrong.

Tommy would say that thankfully nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was perfectly fine, and they'd gotten a particularly big reward for something that standard.

Wilbur would say, instead, that his guitar had been irreparably damaged, its neck snapped in half and body ripped apart, shards laying on the ground like blood, a gruesome heart-wrenching sight that would haunt him until the end of times.

Tommy's patron had warned him that his second-degree cousin was a bit dramatic, but maybe it was just standard bard behaviour.

To be fair, the guitar was mostly gone.

Wilbur had picked up as many pieces as he could and stuffed them in its case, but no amount of mending cantrips had been able to fix it. Phil had tried, but he didn't know how guitars worked and it was hard to discriminate where each shard needed to be placed in order to mold it all back together, like a freakishly hard jigsaw puzzle.

And Wilbur had been extremely proud of his guitar, as apparently it had been a gift and a memento of his grandiose adventures. Sentimental values and such.

Not that Tommy could say anything about it, not after the friendship bracelet incident.

For about a week, every time they stopped by a town, they looked for a carpenter first, a musical expert second, and an arcane expert third.

They never managed to fix it. The thing was, it happened to be a weirdly specific and skill-needing task, so nobody they found was either confident enough or prepared enough to do it.

So they moved on, and the bard's lament continued.

It gets to the point where one night, the innkeeper approaches their table during one of Will's performances - the tiefling had insisted in keeping the tradition of offering his musical entertainment in each tavern they resided in, now with just his voice and sometimes his flute, but being unable to have music as he sang and vice versa was truly different.

That night, Wilbur is singing a ballad so sad and tear-jerking that the innkeeper actually approaches them and asks if everything is alright.

"Oh- oh, yes, my apologies, everything is alright. -" Phil instantly responds, looking quite awkward "- It's just that his guitar broke, and we haven't been able to find anyone to fix it. It was of great personal importance."

The innkeeper nods understandingly, an expression of deep empathetic sadness on their face, before their eyes light up.

"You know, I might just have what you need. You guys are lucky, the Fixer Upper just arrived a week ago! If he doesn't know how to fix it, nobody will."

After obtaining a brief explanation of where to find this infamous "Fixer Upper", who apparently works for free and will probably ask for food, shelter or protection as he moves to the next town over, the innkeeper leaves them be, assuring them that it'll be the solution to all their problems.

Phil finds himself, despite the overall skepticism, feeling a bit of hope. If nothing, at least he might be able to convince Wilbur to buy a new one - make new memories.

Even Wilbur is less enthusiastic than usual when they tell him, but after all they've been redirected to plenty of miracle workers that turned out to be unable to do anything.

The only thing that feels a bit off, is how Tommy's patron keeps giggling in his head - the way he does when he knows something Tommy doesn't. It's a bother, but Tommy's too tired to try and investigate.

The "Fixer Upper" is staying in a farm just outside the village, apparently sleeping in the barn.

He comes to the village every couple of months, apparently used to circling back around the same couple of dozen of places, constantly travelling from one to the other and helping out whoever needs something fixed. The innkeeper that recommended him apparently had him fix their son's prosthetic leg, which has been working better than ever.

The fact that he never asks for compensation is what keeps them all on the defensive: nobody does anything for anyone without coin on the line, so Wilbur is already somewhat expecting to find yet another old relative making deals with young children.

Yes, he is still a bit bothered by the fact that his second degree cousin spends half of his time inside Tommy's head.

No, he's not going to bring it up.

Approaching the barn, an increasing cacophony of sounds greets them, and Wilbur starts looking less and less convinced and more and more like he wants to leave - not to blame him, the noises are definitely not reassuring.

They enter the barn, where one side is perfectly fine and the other has a bunch of mechanical and metallic parts strewn on the ground.

At this point, Techno has a hand on Wilbur's arm, either to instill some confidence in him or to keep him from running away with the shattered guitar.

Then all of them stop, frozen in their tracks, as something completely out of the ordinary appears from behind a wooden wall - that is quite an extraordinary feat, considering the peculiar array of people they are.

There's a huge block of metal, vaguely rectangular shaped and painted black and yellow, floating towards them. It has what looks like the spinny part of a windmill rotating at embarrassingly high speed over it, and the noise it makes vaguely resembles that of a low hum, or maybe a buzz.

Two large semi-transparent circles - its … eyes? - emit a soft light that shines against Phil's palm as it bumps against him, the elf cooing with an adoring expression.

"Hello dear, you're not one of nature's children but you are alive, aren't you?"

Even Tommy, who has no idea how magic or nature works - he made a pact with a demon for a reason, alright? - can see that it's an impressive display of craftsmanship.

Wilbur is looking quite confused on Phil's right, but he's no longer needing Techno to keep him from bailing on the whole thing. And to be honest, if somebody's able to make … this, maybe they'll be able to fix his guitar.

"AH- Visitors! Sorry, I hadn't heard you coming in-" a short figure stumbles in sight from behind a pile of apparently garbage.

The short man, who appears to be human, had wild brown hair, somewhat darker in certain spots where black oil seems to have gotten stuck. There seems to be oil and soot all over his clothes and hands, where bandages cover his fingers.

On his head reside a pair of goggles - multiple lenses of different thicknesses and colours appended to its sides - and he's holding a wrench as if they'd interrupted his work, which would explain the worrying noises.

The mechanic has a bright welcoming smile on his face when he appears, which immediately falters the moment he sees the infamous mercenary group, expression turning to fear. Which is understandable, given their fame of being quick, efficient and rather costly, unless they're working for the good of all.

Then it turns to shock, when Tommy takes a tentative step forward from behind Phil's back. Which is less understandable.

"Tubbo?" Tommy's voice calls, almost breathless. The boy takes off his goggles and blinks. The wrench he was holding clutters to the ground.

"Holy shit, Toms."

The warlock lets out a strangled yelp, then blinks out of existence in a puff of bright red smoke, reappearing right in front of the other boy and picking him up in a bone crushing hug as he laughs - more joyous than Wilbur's ever heard him - and the two of them fall to the ground.

When Tubbo is still a teenager, he loses his best friend to the prejudice and scorn of their hometown.

All they need to see are the buddying horns on his forehead, the flames licking at his fingertips, the reddening skin around his eyes, and they banish him.

They come for him, in the middle of the night, and find nobody but his parents in his home, because Tommy has always been smarter than he let on.

Half a day earlier, Tommy had said his goodbyes to the last few people that deserved to know where he was going; never once asking for his parents' forgiveness for something he always knew he was going to do - Tubbo had never seen his best friend more sure of anything, even at the worst moments, when the ritual was about to begin, or the few first weeks when he had to use all his coins to buy salve for burns.

And so Tubbo was left alone, left behind.

It lasted for one day.

Tubbo had never been particularly gifted in the craft his parents had tried to teach him - glass blowing was definitely not his forte, his hands too strong, his grip too tight - and he'd never shown any latent arcane power. Books on the arcane were long, boring and complex, the glyphs all looking the same and mixing with each other on the page.

But that didn't mean anything to him: he was going to do great things, with or without magic, and he was going to find his best friend again.

Fate wanted to keep them apart? Tubbo was going to stare Fate in the face and laugh.

If the glyphs and arcane chants of the mages weren't going to cooperate, he was going to force his hands into the fabric of the arcane plane and pull magic out by himself.

And again, why stick to prayers and dealings with other entities when he could just make it himself?

To be fair, it does take him a lot more time than the couple of weeks of research and half-and-hour-deal that was Tommy's experience. But Tubbo's always been a quick learner.

The day he finishes his big project, he leaves his home, ready for adventure.

He has a map of the coast, enough coin to pay for emergencies and a backpack full of the tools he needs to offer his assistance to whomever will need it.

His marked path will bring him around the same towns. Tommy is bound to pass by at least one of them during his travels.

Tubbo's going to be alright.

Tommy's eyes are absolutely not, under no circumstances, shining as he tries to squeeze the life out of his best friend.

Tubbo is just laughing, which is quite rude in Tommy's personal opinion, he should be struggling to breathe due to his impressive strength.

"Look at you! You made it!" The mechanic cheers, squeezing tighter - which, ouch, when did he become strong, it must have been all the working with metal, this is the worst possible outcome. Tommy lets him go for a moment, leaning back to splutter and wave wildly at the mechanical bee still intent on bumping its head against Phil's hand. By the Nine Hells, Tubbo made a living bee with the attitude of a puppy out of metal.

"I made it?! You made bees!" Tommy protests, feeling a swell of pride for how far his best friend has come. On a completely unrelated note, there must be light shining insistently in his eyes.

"I know! Aren't they cute! Ah! Let me introduce you to them!" Tubbo exclaims, hurrying to stand up - nearly elbowing Tommy in the gut - and grabbing his hand so that he can drag Tommy towards the bee from earlier.

Then he stops in his tracks - which makes Tommy slam into his back and get oil stains on his favourite shirt - as he realises there are three other people in the room, all staring at them with varying degrees of amusement.

"So, what just happened?" Wilbur asks, looking quite shell shocked.

#mcyt writingtober #sbi dnd au #now sbi&co #dnd au #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #philza #ph1lza #tubbo

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens one-shot “At the End” (Rated PG)

Summary: When the angels and demons finally succeed in having their war, there's only one thing that Aziraphale and Crowley can do with the time Earth has left...

Say goodbye to their home. (1408 words)

Notes: I wrote this hoping I would be accepted into a zine that ended up being canceled. The theme was basically what happens after Armageddon.

Read on AO3.

"Wot do you think you'll miss most about Earth?"

"Really, my dear?" Aziraphale clicks his tongue in disgust, but he can't bring himself to look away from the chaos ensuing below them to berate his companion properly. "What a question to ask at a time like this!"

"I think this is the perfect time to ask that question," Crowley says, but without his teasing edge. He offers it sympathetically. They both have a similar connection to this planet, had an investment in it thriving, but Crowley feels Aziraphale's heart breaking more than his. "When you lose something, you mourn it."

"It's not entirely lost! N-not yet." Aziraphale chokes around the words. Even though they leave his mouth passionately, he knows he has sinned by saying them.

Not lost yet may be the biggest lie he's ever told.

The first few hours had been soul-crushing.

The moment Holy rays broke through the clouds and shone down from above, ethereal voices announcing the arrival of God's angelic army, a flock of the faithful came out in droves to greet them. They prayed, sang joyously, raised their voices to the Heavens, invoked every one of God's Holy monickers. It should have been a huge stroke to Her ego... if She had been paying attention.

From Aziraphale and Crowley's perch atop St. Paul's Cathedral, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Those God-fearing mortals were the first to get trodden underfoot as angels barreled over them to confront their enemy - an extremely vulgar and unnecessary display when one considers that angelic footsoldiers can fly.

Hordes of evil-doers emerged from hiding as well, in lesser, but equally exuberant, numbers. They seemed suspiciously more eager for the fight, proving that those who call themselves 'Christian' might outnumber worshippers of Lucifer, but demons had their zealots better prepared for what the end of times would actually entail.

Either way, it didn't matter.

Those humans willing to spill blood at the drop of a hat, even their own, were used as cannon fodder against a foe they couldn't possibly hope to defeat. Within seconds, thousands lay dead on the streets of London and, Aziraphale suspected, all over the world.

For their part, Aziraphale and Crowley refused to join the battle, but no one paid them a lick of attention. An angel cavorting with a demon was no longer an issue. They could finally do as they pleased without fear of retribution, albeit on a planet whose hours were numbered.

"I would have to say I'm going to miss my car," Crowley continues, provoking conversation in an effort to allay his angel's anxiety. "And my flat. And alcohol. Hell's bells am I going to miss alcohol."

"Pity we don't have some now. I think a hull full would find itself useful," Aziraphale adds in a weak attempt at humor.

"Wot about you? Will you miss the food? Your bookshop?"

Aziraphale sighs. "Humanity."

Crowley raises a brow. "Humanity?"

"Yes. Without humanity, the rest of it wouldn't have been possible." Aziraphale scans the carnage below, trying not to focus for too long on any one thing... or any one person. He's already seen too many faces he recognizes, twisted from agony. "Without humanity, it wouldn't have meant anything."

"I suppose."

A tortured voice rings out, but it's snuffed out quickly. Aziraphale doesn't know which side does it, but he shakes his head in shame all the same. “I thought She’d show them mercy. I thought that, in the end, She’d come through. Spare them. That She wouldn't allow them to suffer as bystanders in all of this.”

“I hate to be the one to say I told you so, but… ”

“Then don’t, my dear.” Aziraphale reaches out and takes Crowley's hand, pleading wordlessly for him to stop, but also needing him for comfort. “Where is She? Where has She gone? Why has She abandoned them?”

"You've been asking that question for generations. I would think, by now, you'd know the answer."

"But I don't. Perhaps I should... " Aziraphale swallows heavily, his attention pulled to the skies by a streak of gold, then one of violet, passing overhead. "They know," he spits bitterly. Crowley follows his angel's gaze to the trails above them, one which he assumes must be Gabriel's. "She's obviously told them."

"Perhaps not," Crowley says, not in an attempt to defend Her, but to soothe his angel. "Just like last time, they're doing wot they think is right. Following wot they believe."

"And what do they believe? I don't know! They've never told me!"

"You'd think you'd all be on the same page. I mean, there's a book about it and all."

Aziraphale scoffs at that. "I think you and I both know that the archangels, Gabriel in particular, have never held any stock in books. Books are primitive, human things. They have nothing to do with angels. Not even the Bible... " A host more gold streaks zip by, and Aziraphale's words trail off into nothingness. Of all the books in Aziraphale's collection, his Bibles have always been his favorites. And not just the misprinted ones. The words inside gave him comfort, especially during those long stretches when he didn't hear from God at all. Though written by man, they were imparted by Her (if he overlooked the dodgy editing).

But they're gone. Not a single one remains, not even in the church where they stand, its insides crackling, burning beneath their feet.

Earth had become Aziraphale's Eden. Now, so many things he held dear are disappearing before his eyes.

Crowley squeezes the hand holding his. "Come, my love. It’s time to leave the garden.”

Aziraphale's eyes snap his way. They linger on his face for a moment, then drop to their clasped hands. “6000 years on this planet and you choose today of all days to call me your love?”

“I'm sorry." Crowley inches closer, lifts Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "I really am. I should have said it sooner. But I’m going to take you to a place where I’ll say it every day. I promise.” He wraps an arm around his angel's shoulders, gently urging Aziraphale to leave before the battle brewing, showing no sign of slowing down until it has consumed every last brick, every last breath of air, swallows them, too.

But Aziraphale hesitates. "C-can't we take them with us?" He gestures down to a tattered group of frightened survivors - a shivering young woman, no older than twenty-five if she's a day, and three children, all under the age of ten - huddled in a narrow crevice created by a metal door off its hinges, sheltering them among the rubble of the church's ruined stairs.

They've found themselves a decent hideaway, Aziraphale thinks. But he knows they're simply delaying the inevitable. They'll be found out before too long, become collateral damage.

Like everyone else.

"We can't just leave them to die, Crowley."

"We have no other choice." Crowley's need to escape intensifies as he watches the poor humans, tastes their fear rise with the heat of the flames. "Besides, perhaps they'll pull through. You never know. Humans have always been resourceful. They might find a way."

"Do you honestly think so?"

"Yes," Crowley lies. He would give his angel anything in the universe, anything within his power. He's trying to give him faith.

Because he can't give him this.

They can't save anyone but themselves.

Crowley turns Aziraphale away, blocks his view by unfurling his dark wings, ready to lift his angel into the air on his own if Aziraphale refuses. "I'm sorry, my love. We must leave them behind."

Aziraphale relents, unfurling his own white wings and heading for the upper atmosphere, watery eyes focused on the where in front of him and not the destruction behind him, with Crowley's shard of hope keeping his heart pinned in place.

Crowley should do the same. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But like Lot's wife, Crowley peeks behind him one last time to say goodbye to this place that has been his home for most of his existence.

It was a wonderful existence, but mostly because he had Aziraphale there to muddle through with him.

At least Crowley will still have him when all is said and done.

The last thing Crowley sees before they breach the clouds is St. Paul's Cathedral crumble in on itself, leaving behind a mound of ash.

And nothing more.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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merakiaes · 4 years

Text

A Nice Night In The Middle Of July - William Miller

Pairing: William Miller x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: Not proofread so sorry in advance for any possible mistakes. First time I’m writing for Will so sorry if it’s a bit OOC, leave a comment and let me know what you think xx

Wordcount: 3377

Summary: Having a barbecue with Will and the boys on a nice summer night.

“This is why I can’t have nice things, you know.” You mumbled against Will’s shoulder, looking down at his hands as he struggled to fix the broken chain of your golden bracelet.

Will only grumbled under his breath, using a small pair of pliers to bend open the small golden rings.

“I’m fixing it, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He insisted, like he had been for the past ten minutes.

But you knew that his patience was wearing thin, pressing a light kiss to his shirt-clad shoulder and gently rubbing his bicep with your hand.

“Will, I love you and you know that.” You said, pressing another kiss to his shoulder. “You’re a good man and a good soldier, but you’re not handy. Not in the slightest.”

He stopped fiddling with the chain, turning his head around to look at you with his eyebrows raised in a playful manner. “What do you mean I’m not handy?” He asked. “I fixed the broken sink, didn’t I?”

“That’s not quite how I remember it.” You chuckled.

“No? How do you remember it?” He put the pliers down, turning his body towards you.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling as he took you into his arms. “You made it worse and Benny was forced to come over in the middle of the night to clean up your mess so that we wouldn’t flood and permanently damage the house. That’s how I remember it.”

He turned quiet for a moment, his fingers that had previously been rubbing small, comforting circles on your waist where his hand had found its place, coming to a halt.

“What is it with you and nitpicking, hm?” He asked after another moment of silence, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not nitpicking if your brother saved us from going bankrupt all because you were too stubborn to admit you needed help, honey.” You pointed out, chuckling.

He started chuckling too. “Yeah, yeah.” He agreed, before leaning in closer to your face. “You know you love me.”

Smirking, you raised your arms to wrap them around his neck, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Whatever makes you sleep at night.” You mumbled, and began leaning in to close the space between you.

Your eyes fluttered close and your lips were just about to brush against each other’s, when the door to the living room flung open with a loud bang, causing the two of you to jump apart in shock.

Your eyes instantly found Ben as he walked outside into the backyard where you were sitting, his arms thrown out and his hips moving around in a ridiculous dance.

“Who’s ready to get their party on? Woo-woo!” He sang and while Will annoyedly rolled his eyes beside you, you laughed at his childish antics, bringing a hand up to your chest in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus, Benny!” You exclaimed. “You scared the crap out of me.”

Benny laughed loudly at you, jumping down the steps of the back-porch and heading your way. “Well, I am naturally terrifying.” He answered playfully and you chuckled.

Before any of you could say anything else, Tom appeared, walking out through the same door as Ben had just seconds before.

“I think we’re too old to party.” He commented simply with a small smile playing on his lips as he headed down the steps and in your direction, referring to the first words Ben had spoken when coming outside.

Ben, however, didn’t listen, giving his friend a disappointed look. “Oh, come on, man. You’re never too old for a good ole’ bender.”

Tom raised his eyebrows at his choice of wording and beside you, Will chuckled, pointing a finger to one of the chairs across from you.

“Sit your ass down, Ben.” He said, and his brother flashed him a cheeky grin, doing as told just as Pope appeared on the porch.

The second you turned your heads to look at him, he raised both of his hands into the air to put the four six-packs he was holding on display. “I brought the beer.” He said, stating the obvious and flashing you his pearly whites.

“And I brought the meat.” Tom joined in, coming up to the table and dumping the paper bag he had brought with him onto the wooden table, bringing said meat out and slapping the pieces onto the bag “This is the real deal, I’m telling you.”

Just the sight of the raw meat got you excited and you couldn’t wait until it was all cooked and ready to eat, not having eaten since lunch time.

Before any of you could comment on the good-quality meat, however, Catfish was jogging down the steps of the porch too, waving his hands around.

“And I brought my good company. Thank you, Frankie!” He cheered himself on, causing you to chuckle at the sarcastic tone in his voice.

“Thank you, Frankie.” You told him sincerely, your smile widening as he came up to your side and planted a friendly kiss on your cheek.

Once him and Pope had sat down next to Ben, they wasted no time in digging into the carton packages of beer.

Pope snapped the metal cap off a bottle and stretched it out for you to take and you accepted it without looking at him, keeping your gaze on Tom as he moved to the grill standing off to the side. “We got the grill all warmed up for you, Tom.”

Tom simply nodded his head, flipping the lid open and grabbing the metal kitchen utensils laying on the wooden bord next to the grill to stir the coals around.

While he busied himself with the grill, too engrossed in the task at hand to even spare you another glance, Ben leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

“What have you got there, brother dearest?” He asked, and you moved your gaze to Will, seeing that he was now giving fixing the bracelet another attempt.

You hadn’t even noticed him going back to it, but now that he had, you could only roll your eyes. “My bracelet. He broke it.”

“On accident.” Will quickly filled in, without looking up from the golden piece of jewelry.

“How did you manage that?” Ben chuckled and, again, you rolled your eyes.

“He was fiddling with it, even though I told him not too, and as usual, he was too rough.”

A mischievous grin crept up the youngest Miller’s as he watched you, his hand slowly raising the bottle of bear to his lips. “Really?” He asked when he lowered it again after taking a sip, raising his eyebrows. “Because Will here tells me you like it rough.”

Pope and Catfish both choked on their beers at his words and Tom was obviously trying to cover his laughter up with coughs over by the grill.

Your eyes opened wide for a moment, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but then it turned into a glare, your head whipping around to face your boyfriend and your hand shooting out to slap his chest. “Will!”

Will’s glare was already set on his younger brother when you turned to look at him, his foot kicking him underneath the table, causing his younger brother to quickly raise his hands in surrender.

“Kidding, kidding.” He said, but your glare didn’t leave Will, your arms crossing over your chest and a questioning eyebrow shooting up.

Before anyone could say anything else on the matter, however, Ben reached his hand out for the bracelet and the pliers in his older brother’s hands, nodding his head. “Let me have a look.”

Will turned to look at him, shaking his head. “I got it.” He insisted and you snorted, putting your hand on his.

“No, you don’t. Time to swallow your pride.” You said, trying to pry the pliers out of his fingers. “Give it to him, baby.”

He sighed, but did as told, handing the pliers and the bracelet to his brother, who wasted no time in starting to look it over.

While he busied himself with that, Will wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your arm. “Come here, you.” He said, and you did as told, moving into his side and settling comfortably under his arm.

“So, how’s your day been, guys?” You asked then, looking between all of them.

All of them shrugged, and Frankie leaned back into his seat, blowing a raspberry and raising his eyebrows. “Well, no one died.” He replied in a causal manner, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“Those are your standards?” You asked, but when only getting an amused smirk in return, you shook your head in a chuckle. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.”

They hummed in agreement and you turned to Tom, raising your bottle of beer to your lips and taking a sip before asking. “How’s Tess, Tom?”

Without looking away from the grill, where he had now put the first round of meat onto the metal grid, he answered. “She’s good. Very good, actually. She won the spelling bee yesterday.”

“You should’ve seen her. It was impressive.” Benny wasted no time in pitching in from across you, causing you all to turn to him.

You raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of your beer and snuggling further into Will’s side. “What were you doing at Tom’s daughter’s spelling bee competition?” You asked, and Frankie chuckled, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” He asked, amusement evident in his voice. “He’s trying to nail her English teacher.”

“And I’m succeeding.” Ben instantly answered, pointing the pliers at his friend. “And not only with her. Teachers are just crazy for me, man. I think they’ve got a thing for soldiers or something. Or maybe it’s just because I’m smoother than the cream cheese on a bagel.”

Tom scoffed from where he stood, and you did the same, shaking your head. “Please, you’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.”

At the sound of your words, he turned towards you, pointing the pliers at you instead. “Watch it, or maybe I’ll keep the bracelet for myself.”

You leaned forward at that, eyes wide with expectation. “Did you fix it?”

Placing his hand over his heart, he gave you a feign hurt look. “You doubted me? I’m wounded.” He said and you rolled your eyes, holding your hand out.

Chuckling, he dropped the bracelet in your hand and you smiled to see that the chain was now whole again. “That was quick.” You pointed out, ignoring the way Will scoffed from beside you and smiling at his brother. “Thank you, Benny.”

“Don’t mention it.” He raised his beer to you and smiled, before bringing the bottle to his lips.

You turned to Will, looking up at him and holding the bracelet up. “Help me put it back on?” You asked and he grumbled under his breath, but nonetheless took it from you and undid the clasp.

You held your wrist up for him and he put the bracelet on without any trouble whatsoever. You moved to bring your hand back down but he caught your wrist, holding your eyes as he moved your hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

A smile instantly rose to your face but before either of you could say anything, the egg clock went off inside the house, causing all of you to stop what you were doing to look at the porch door.

You smacked your lips. “Looks like the potatoes are done in the oven.” You told them, and went to stand up.

But Pope quickly got to his feet, holding a hand out to stop you and flashing you a soft smile. “I’ll get them, you sit down.” He said, and you returned the smile, nodding your head and sinking back down next to Will.

Next to stand up was Ben, pushing his chair back and putting his now empty bottle down on the table.

“I’m gonna go raid your liquor cabinet.” He said, and beside him, Frankie put out a cigarette that you had barely even noticed him light in the first place, standing up too.

“I could go for some whiskey.” He agreed, the three of them heading toward the porch.

You looked after them until they had all disappeared into the living room, heaving a sigh when you could no longer see them. “Oh, well… I guess it’s just us three th- Where are you going?” You cut yourself off when you turned to look at Tom, seeing that he was now also moving to leave.

“You didn’t bring the limes.” He told you simply, wiping his hands on a towel to rid them of the marinade that the meat was covered in.

“Oh, shoot.” You groaned, giving him an apologetic look. “I totally forgot. They’re in the fridge.”

He smiled at you, throwing the towel at the table and nodding. “Got it, be right back.” He said, stopping only to point a finger at you, giving you a pointed look. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You opened your mouth to reply but before you could get a word out, you felt a sharp pinch at your butt, a surprised yelp leaving your lips instead.

“No promises.” Will said from beside you, causing you to turn around to look at him, catching him trying to hide his pleased smirk behind his beer.

You rolled your eyes at his cheeky antics and Tom only chuckled, before heading for the porch and leaving the two of you alone.

You watched the side of Will’s face closely as he took another sip of his beer, a hum leaving his lips before he leaned forward to put the bottle on the table in order to give you his full, undivided attention.

When he turned to face you with a small smirk playing on his lips, your face instantly lit up in a big smile, said smile widening even further when he leaned his face into your neck, his beard tickling your skin.

He started planting feather-light kisses along your neck, out on your jaw all the way to your chin.

“Hey, there.” He mumbled when his face was right in front of yours, and you smiled, looking down at his lips.

“Hi, yourself.” You mumbled, bringing your hands up to his neck, stroking the back of his head slowly.

He analyzed your face, the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

“You’ve got...” He trailed off, and you followed his every move with your eyes as he brought a hand up to your face, the rough pads of his fingers brushing over your skin. “An eyelash.” He finished, bringing his thumb up in front of you, a single, black eyelash now resting on the pad.

You chuckled, blowing the lash off, before reaching up with your free hand to take his in yours. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He replied, taking you back under his arm and smirking playfully at you. “So, you come here often?”

You snorted, raising an eyebrow at him. “Well, considering that I live here, yeah.” You replied, and this time it was his turn to snort.

“Cute.” He said, and kissed you.

You hummed into the kiss, using your hand at his neck to pull him closer. “Thanks.” You mumbled against his lips. “I murdered a care bear and ate its heart to get this adorable.”

At the sound of your words, Will had to pull away from you with a laugh. “Wow.” He drawled lowly, raising his eyebrows. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Neither was the care bear.” You gave him a feign evil look, before breaking into a wide grin.

He chuckled at your antics, shaking his head. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.” You mumbled, letting go of his hand to bring it to his neck where your other one was already at, pulling him in for another kiss.

“That I do.” He mumbled against your lips, and you simply smiled, pulling him closer.

The sweet moment of passion was cut short, however, when the sound of a can opening reached your ears, the two of you opening your eyes and slowly turning your faces around to the side, your lips only coming apart when you spotted Benny standing at the end of the porch with a grin on his face.

You brought your hand up to wipe your lips, narrowing your eyes at your boyfriend’s brother. “We were having a moment.” You said, eyes only narrowing further when he loudly slurped the can.

“And I’m having a beer.” He deadpanned, still grinning like an idiot as he walked to where you were sitting at the table.

“I thought you were going to go get the whiskey.” You raised your eyebrow, and he wasted no time in raising the bottle you hadn’t noticed until then.

“I did, but that’s for later.” He replied, sinking down into his old chair just as the others returned outside, talking loudly.

While Pope and Frankie sat back down, Tom busied himself with cutting up the limes at a cutting board he had brought with him outside, all while the six of you engaged in conversation about everything between heaven and earth, reminiscing in old memories.

The food was served close to an hour later and it was even better than you’d imagined it would be, tasting like heaven when you hadn’t eaten anything else for so many hours.

The clock was well past midnight by the time you finished, but the conversations never stopped, drunken laughter filling your entire backyard.

The topic at hand was currently about the time Ben had stolen his neighbor and crush’s underwear in high school and thrown them up in the highest tree in the neighborhood for all to see, something he was still to this day very proud of, when you suddenly felt Will’s face nuzzling into the crook between your neck and shoulder.

His nose grazed over your neck, moving the hair out of the way, so that he could press a kiss to the skin.

“I love you.” His gruff voice came right by your ear a second later, and you smiled, closing your eyes as he hugged you closer.

“I love you too, baby.” You mumbled, your smiled widening when he pressed another kiss to your skin, this time right at the corner of your lips.

“Hey, no more of that! You can bone each other later, preferably when we’re not here!” Ben’s voice yelled out, and before you got the time to react, you were hit in the face with a piece of lime peel.

You jumped, turning to glare at Ben who was smiling drunkenly at you, looking awfully pleased with himself.

“You’re the worst.” You told him, and he only stuck his tongue out at you, causing all of the others to fall into a fit of laughter.

Will started laughing too, his chest rumbling behind your back, the sound automatically causing the glare to fall from your face and be replaced by a smile.

You turned back to him, bringing your hands up to grab his face, causing his eyes to flicker up to yours.

He raised a questioning eyebrow at you and you smiled, bringing him closer.

“But you.” You mumbled, swiping your thumbs over his cheeks anf pausing to peck his lips, pressing your forehead against his once you came back apart. “Are the best.”

He smiled, leaning in to press his lips against yours in another kiss, but was cut short by another lime peel being thrown at your heads, followed by a second, a third and a fourth, forcing the two of you to come back apart to cover your heads as the guys continued to torment you until they were all out of peels.

It was a beautiful night in the middle of July and you were together, drinking, eating, laughing, talking and having a good time with your closest friends, wrapped up in the arms of the love of your life. Everything was perfect, and nothing could bring you down.

#william miller #will miller #william ironhead miller #william miller x reader #will miller x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier imagine #charlie hunnam

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thecreaturecodex · 4 years

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Asura Rana, Cas

[Furtober finishes off with a big bang and a Big Bad. Heroes of Horror introduced Cas, the Lord of Spite, and I remember a lot of people making fun of him at the time. The idea that a supervillain evil god has the head of a moose was seen as ridiculous, and comparisons to Bullwinkle were common. Nowadays, the fact that moose are huge and terrifying relict megafauna seems to be more appreciated, and there’s something I find appealing about the idea of a prey species becoming the hunter. Appropriate for a god of spite and revenge. The knee pads and codpiece made of human skulls are admittedly silly, though.

The original Cas was NE and a god, and his CR 25 avatar was basically just a 20th level ranger with some extra outsider HD and a few surprisingly weak SLAs. I’ve moved him to LE to fit with his retribution theme, and because his hatred of the gods seems very appropriate for the asuras. I’ve left some of the ranger abilities, but added some inquisitor material as well, in addition to a few new surprises.]

Asura Rana, Cas CR 26 LE Outsider (extraplanar) This giant has reddish brown skin and the head of a moose, the antlers stained with blood. It has clawed hands, cloven hooves and brandishes a large mace of black metal. Its body seems to shimmer with heat.

Cas Lord of Spite, the Red Grudge, He Who Balances the Scales Concerns spite, disproportionate retribution, vengeance Domains Destruction, Evil, Law, Strength Subdomains Corruption, Ferocity, Hatred, Judgment Worshipers inquisitors, vigilantes, the wronged Minions asuras, devourers, revenants Unholy Symbol a rack of blood-stained antlers Favored Weapon heavy mace Devotion spend one hour ruminating aloud on those that have wronged you, beginning in a whisper and culminating in a scream. Gain a +4 profane bonus on Diplomacy checks to gather information, Survival checks to follow tracks, and Intimidate checks. Boons 1: bestow curse 1/day; 2: transformation 1/day; 3: energy drain 1/day

Cas the Lord of Spite is an asura rana who nurses hate and frustration, stoking the fires of vengeance until they erupt destructively. According to his cult, he was once a mortal huntsman with a loving family. He and his family grew isolated from their community, until violence erupted and his whole family was slain. Due to the social standing of his assailants, he could not turn to the law for recourse, and so turned to the gods. When divine intervention was not forthcoming, he swore vengeance against both his assailants and the divine order, fueling his apotheosis through pure rage and resulting in the destruction of the entire kingdom.

Cas’ ultimate hatred is towards the gods, making him a natural member of the asura ranas. His ambition is still greater; he is currently brooding over his lesser position surrounded by more powerful asuras, the Lords of the Nine and even Asmodeus himself. Cas covets true divinity, but he knows he has a long way to go, and this sulking bitterness fuels him. His violent outbursts at every slight make him a fiend of few allies and many toadies, but more powerful archfiends attempt to steer his rage into useful directions.

The Red Grudge enjoys combat, but he even more enjoys drawing out the hunt of a victim and increasing their terror. He is rarely found without the Ebon Rod of Cas, which he wields in two hands in order to feel more savagely its crushing blows. Cas’ blood boils with the heat of his rage, and the shimmer this causes makes him difficult to strike in combat. Cas is a skilled spellcaster despite his love of violence, and uses magic to inflict pain, forbid actions and heal himself and his allies.

Cas’ faithful are few and far between, and often keep a low profile. His cult broods in dungeons and cellars, not meets in exalted temples. He delights in perverting those with legitimate grievances, as he once was, turning them into ruthless vigilantes who kill to punish minor crimes. His priesthood believes that civilization is a thin veneer beneath which lies nothing but chaos, and it must be kept in order through savage violence. They also believe that anyone, even the most holy and pure, can become a follower of Cas if wronged sufficiently. The faithful of Cas have an unfortunate tendency to rise as undead upon their death, continuing their campaigns of violent revenge beyond the grave.

Ebon Rod of Cas (major artifact) The prized weapon of Cas, he occasionally loans it out to his devout in order to strike somewhere where he cannot go himself. The Ebon Rod of Cas is a Large +3 vicious adamantine heavy mace. It acts as a bane weapon against any creature that has caused injury to its wielder for up to 1 year. It is effectively immune to sundering and other forms of direct damage; a creature that deals damage to it must succeed a DC 25 Will save or take that damage instead. The Ebon Rod of Cas can only be destroyed if it is carried for 100 years by an empyreal lord devoted to peace and forgiveness, whereupon it evaporates into mist.

Cas CR 26 XP 2,457,600 LE Large outsider (asura, asura rana, evil, extraplanar, lawful) Init +7; Senses darkvision 60 ft., detect good, Perception +39, see in darkness, true seeing Aura frightful presence (60 ft., DC 34) Defense AC 44, touch 26, flat-footed 36 (-1 size, +7 Dex, +1 dodge, +9 profane, +18 natural) hp 573 (31d10+403); regeneration 25 (deific or mythic) Fort +23, Ref +23, Will +28; +8 vs. mind-influencing, improved evasion DR 15/good, epic and cold iron; Immune ability damage, ability drain, charm effects, compulsion effects, curse effects, death effects, disease, divinations, energy drain, fear, fire, petrifaction, poison, polymorph; Resist acid 30, electricity 30; SR 37 Defensive Abilities freedom of movement, hateful ward, heat shimmer Offense Speed 50 ft., fly 100 ft. (perfect) Melee Ebon Rod of Cas +48/+43/+38/+33 (2d6+25 plus 2d6 vicious/19-20), gore +40 (2d8+7 plus 2d6 fire) or 2 claws +45 (2d6+12 plus 2d6 fire), gore +45 (2d8+12 plus 2d6 fire) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks agony beam, favored enemy (dragons +2, good outsiders +6, evil outsiders +4, humans +4, magical beasts +2) Spell-like Abilities CL 26th, concentration +35 Constant—detect good, freedom of movement, mind blank, true seeing At will—bestow curse (DC 23), enervation, greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. material only), malicious spite (DC 23), permanent image (DC 25), vampiric touch 3/day—command undead (DC 26), fire storm (DC 27), greater dispel magic, instant enemy, quickened major curse (DC 25), summon asuras 1/day—energy drain (DC 28), unhallow, wail of the banshee (DC 28), wish Spells CL 20th, concentration +29 6th (6/day)—blade barrier (DC 25), harm (DC 25), heal (DC 25), mass fester (DC 25), overwhelming presence (DC 25) 5th (7/day)—dispel good (DC 24), geas/quest, greater command (DC 24), mass castigate (DC 24), unwilling shield (DC 24) 4th (7/day)—cure critical wounds (DC 23), divination, divine power, fear (DC 23), greater invisibility, spell immunity 3rd (7/day)—arcane sight, deeper darkness, dimensional anchor, heroism, terrible remorse (DC 22), ward the faithful 2nd (7/day)—cure moderate wounds (DC 21), howling agony (DC 21), knock, resist energy, silence (DC 21), spiritual weapon 1st (8/day)—bless, comprehend languages, cure light wounds, divine favor, expeditious retreat, shield of faith 0th—bleed (DC 19), brand (DC 19), create water, detect magic, read magic, resistance Statistics Str 35, Dex 25, Con 37, Int 22, Wis 28, Cha 28 Base Atk +31; CMB +44; CMD 61 Feats Combat Expertise, Combat Reflexes, Critical Focus, Dazzling Display, Dodge, Improved Critical (mace), Intimidating Prowess, Mobility, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (major curse), Shatter Defenses, Spring Attack, Staggering Critical, Stand Still, Stunning Critical, Whirlwind Attack Skills Appraise +29, Bluff +35, Escape Artist +11, Fly +41, Intimidate +47, Linguistics +29, Knowledge (arcana, history, nobility, religion) +29, Knowledge (local, planes) +32, Perception +39, Sense Motive +35, Spellcraft +29, Stealth +31, Survival +35; Racial Modifiers +6 Escape Artist, +4 Perception Languages Celestial, Common, Infernal, 23 others; telepathy 300 ft. SQ asura rana traits Ecology Environment any land or underground (Hell) Organization unique Treasure double standard (Ebon Rod of Cas, other treasure) Special Abilities Agony Beam (Su) Once every 1d4 rounds as a standard action, Cas can unleash a beam of pure pain in a 120 foot line. All living creatures in the area take 12d12 damage and are filled with pain for 1 minute, suffering a -4 penalty on attack rolls, skill checks and ability checks. A successful DC 34 Fortitude save halves the damage and negates the penalties. Multiple failed saves cause the duration of the penalties to stack. This is a pain effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. Asura Rana Traits (Ex, Su and Sp) Cas has the following traits:

Cas can grant spells to his worshipers as if he were a deity.

Cas’ natural weapons, as well as any weapons it wields, are treated as lawful, epic, and evil for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction.

Infernal Resurrection (Ex) Cas rules an infernal domain. If he is slain, his body rapidly melts into corruption (leaving behind any gear he held or carried), his soul returns to a hidden location within his realm, and it is immediately restored to life (as true resurrection) at that location. Once this occurs, Cas can’t use this ability again until a full year has passed. An asura rana that is slain again during this year or is killed by unusual methods (such as by a true deity or an artifact created for this purpose) is slain forever.

Immunity to ability damage, ability drain, charm effects, compulsion effects, death effects, energy drain, and petrification.

Regeneration (Ex) Only chaotic, epic and good damage, or damage from a creature of equal or greater power (such as an archdevil, deity, demon lord, or protean lord) interrupts Cas’s regeneration.

Resistance to acid 30, and electricity 30

Summon Asuras (Sp) Three times per day as a swift action, Cas can summon any asura or combination of asuras whose total combined CR is 20 or lower. This otherwise works like the summon universal monster rule with a 100% chance of success, and counts as a 9th-level spell effect.

Telepathy 300 feet.

Favored Enemy (Ex) Cas gains the favored enemy ability of a 20th level ranger. Hateful Ward (Su) Cas gains a profane bonus to his armor class equal to his Charisma modifier. Heat Shimmer (Su) Cas’ body radiates heat, warping his position and protecting him from attacks. Creatures gain a 20% miss chance on attack rolls against Cas if they use sight, and a creature that strikes Cas with a melee weapon, natural weapon, unarmed strike or touch attack takes 2d6 points of fire damage. Weapons with the reach property do not endanger their wielders in this way. If Cas takes 30 or more points of cold damage from a single spell or effect, this ability is suppressed for 1d4 rounds. Spells Cas gains spellcasting as a 20th level inquisitor. He does not gain other class abilities of inquisitors, such as the judgment ability.

#cas #asura #pathfinder 1e #D&D #furry

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daxieoclock · 3 years

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Okay let’s do this. TW for scientific dehumanization

This is Vee, my Final Fantasy 7 OC (primarily with the remake in mind, though the meta aspects of that story don’t play a part here). Formerly from a small village whose inhabitants were captured and experimented on by Shinra, she possesses minor draconic abilities and an affinity with fire Materia as a result of those experiments. She only escaped the labs at all by accidentally faking her death – going into cardiac shock during an experiment and then surviving their attempt to dispose of her body through incineration, due to her newfound immunity to flame. Vee was then nursed back to health in a small religious collective centered around worship of the Ancients, and spent a few years there until she had recovered enough to leave. While she isn’t quite an amnesiac, the trauma from those labs has fucked significantly with her memories and self of self.

Personality-wise, Vee is brash and self-assured, displaying both an abundance of confidence and a general sense of polite ease. She’s a hopeless flirt, but drops that behavior immediately around her elders and anyone who shows discomfort in being flirted with. While she jumps at the chance to make a show, she also shies away from attention outside of her control, hiding her fiend eyes behind sunglasses and keeping her wings dismissed. That overly casual persona also helps hide a deep insatiable fury towards Shinra, SOLDIERs and especially that snickering scientist bastard, whose throat she would personally like to tear out for everything he’s done to her and her family.

In combat, she keeps at least one hand in her pocket at all times, and fights with close-range fire magic and a flame sword she can summon and dismiss at will.

AU summary (including Gay Details) under cut.

EDIT: I’ve made a few minor edits and added events up until a little ways past the departure from Midgar.

EDIT 2: I made this into a fic.

Initial

A large aspect of the “Vee AU,” so to speak, is the change of timescale: stretching out the events of the plot over the span of a couple months rather than a couple weeks, with multiple periods of reprieve between urgent setpieces. Other than that, the first big change comes after Cloud’s meeting with Aerith, in that he makes it back to Seventh Heaven without being pulled into the Wall Market nonsense – Aerith tagging along the whole time. Aerith meets Tifa and decides to stick around for a bit, Cloud slips back into his friendly neighborhood merc gig, and Avalanche stresses in the background about their next move.

It’s during this point that Cloud investigates a commotion nearby Sector 7 only to find the cause to be a bloodied Vee standing amidst a bunch of ko’d Shinra soldiers. When she notices Cloud’s mako eyes, she attacks him – SOLDIERS were the people who took her to the labs – before half-collapsing from her injuries. Cloud heals her, and makes the ‘ex’ part of ex-SOLDIER very clear, as well as his open contempt for Shinra. Vee apologizes for losing control, thanks them, and decides to stick around to help out – since they have a common enemy, and she wants to pay back Cloud for saving her life after she almost murdered him. Vee Joins The Party.

A few days later, we enter the leadup to Wall Market. Desperate for details and noticing a surge of Shinra activity in and around Sector 7, the gang decides to try and get info from the one man who might know anything: Don Corneo. Unfortunately, he’s an asshole, so they’re going to have to threaten him for it. While Barret and the rest of Avalanche stay behind to keep Shinra from trying anything, Aerith, Tifa, Cloud and Vee head to Wall Market. On the way there, Tifa and Vee get separated from the others when part of the collapsed highway collapses further, and they spend some time getting to know each other while Aerith takes Cloud on a more direct route.

Tifa and Vee smooch after roughly a day of romantic tension. No further relationship is established at this time.

In Wall Market, the gang splits up into two teams to try and pincer Corneo’s security. Vee and Aerith hit up the tournament under Madame M’s supervision, passing themselves off as a Shinra rep and her Turk bodyguard to get an invite through the front door, while Cloud and Tifa go through Andrea Rhodea to try and weasel their way into Corneo’s audition for his next wife.

Aerith and Vee smooch after kicking ass in the tourney. No further relationship is established at this time.

Corneo’s security is dispatched from two angles, and the gang rushes back towards Sector 7 after hearing the info about Shinra’s now ongoing plan to collapse the plate. They get there, and fight their way up to Barret and the other Avalanche crew, managing to minimize the damage from the plate’s fall by locking the center supports in place, but they cannot fully prevent the collapse. While the majority of Sector 7 remains livable, the outskirts are devastated. (Aerith is not approached by Tseng at this point. Jessie, Biggs and Wedge survive.)

There’s a terse, tense celebration in Seventh Heaven. A lot of lives were saved, but not all of them, and there’s still the financial cost to the already destitute slums – not to mention that Shinra will likely try to take credit for the collapse’s partial prevention, and pin the collapse itself on Avalanche. This isn’t even close to the end of hardship. Regardless, it is a victory.

Over the next few days, the gang recovers and focuses on helping Sector 7 rebuild. Tifa tries to push Aerith and Vee together, seeing herself as an obstacle between them. Aerith confronts Tifa about this, they discuss their feelings and reservations.

Aerith and Tifa smooch. At this time, we establish a relationship between Aerith, Tifa and Vee. Many more smoochings occur.

Saving Aerith

One morning, the gang wake up to find Aerith missing. Tifa, Vee, Cloud and Barret go to her house to look for her, and Elmyra tells them she visited late last night to say she wouldn’t be coming back home for a while. Elmyra realizes something is wrong, and tells the gang that Aerith is a descendant of the Ancients, and her birth mother was captured by Shinra. Vee and Cloud are especially tense when she says she suspects Shinra’s head scientist of being involved in Aerith’s disappearance. When the party returns to Sector 7, Wedge shares a message from Avalanche HQ: the Turks brought someone matching Aerith’s description into Shinra headquarters last night.

After tangoing with Corneo and Leslie in the sewers, the gang fights their way to the Shinra Building. On the elevator up, Vee and Barret have a bit of an ideological clash. Vee makes it clear she doesn’t care about the suffering of Shinra Employees, their paychecks are soaked through with the blood of Shinra’s victims, and their complicity is guilt enough. Barret fires back that while they’re taking the easy road out, there are fewer and fewer non-Shinra jobs out there every day, and some employees have more than their own mouth to feed. Not everyone can afford to make the sacrifices he did, and while they don’t have to be buddy-buddy with Shinra’s suckers, the company would fall apart without them. Draw them over to Avalanche’s side, and Shinra wouldn’t last a day.

Mayor Domino helps the gang get into Shinra R&D, and they’re forced to fight a whole floor full of mutant experiments to get to where Aerith is kept. When they reach her, she’s contained in a glass cylinder, overlooked by Hojo in an isolated observation room. Vee immediately lunges at the reinforced glass between her and the scientist. She asks if Hojo recognizes her, and he expresses delight that she managed to survive. Vee tries to break the glass but hesitates when more experiments attack Tifa, Barret and Cloud. She does issue one last threat to Hojo: she’s going to walk out of here with Aerith, and then she’s going to track him down, so he’d better start running. Next time they meet, she’ll make him hurt in every way he hurt her, and she’ll enjoy it. Vee punches the glass hard enough to crack it, and she gets one good look at Hojo’s surprised – maybe frightened – face before metal shutters close off the observation room completely.

After being freed and embracing both of her girlfriends, Aerith explains that she was captured voluntarily – half to keep Avalanche from being targeted by Shinra, and half to find out the truth. She takes them down a floor to a place she identifies as her mother’s room, and her own. Aerith spent most of her childhood here, and her mother managed to escape with her just long enough to hide her with Elmyra before being captured again. Aerith returned because she thought her mother might still be alive, but apparently the woman didn’t survive more than a year after being recaptured. Vee reminds Aerith that she’s still alive, and she has a life outside these walls now, with people who love her. Tifa simply asks her to promise not to leave like that again, and Aerith gladly does so. She doesn’t plan on chasing ghosts, not anymore. She knows where her home is.

The reforged quintet meets with Red XIII, who Vee immediately takes a one-sided liking to, trying to befriend the more tempermental catdog. They head farther into the labs to both chase Hojo and make it to the roof for extraction, and find Jenova. Sephiroth appears, sending Tifa into shock and Cloud into blind fury, and the latter charges at the specter – who severs the bridge and sends them plummenting into the depths of the labs. Cloud is seperated from the others for a time, and fights alone and half-berserk through a small horde of experiments, nearly attacking Barret when he runs into him. Barret and Red manage to calm him down, and they fight up the Drum to Tifa, Vee and Aerith, then back up to the elevator.

The gang follows Jenova-infected footsteps to President Shinra’s office to find the bigwig himself danging off the side of his big fancy tower. Vee immediately hops over the railing and extends a hand to pull him up, but digs her nails into his arm and keeps on holding him over the edge. It’s his fault. Everything that happened to Aerith, to Vee herself. Guilt travels upwards, and there’s no one higher than Shinra. Killing him won’t bring back Aerith’s mother, or the people killed by the plate, or Vee’s family. It won’t take away what happened to her. But it’ll make her feel a whole lot better. Vee is ready to drop him, but Barret talks her down, convinces her that Shinra is more use clearing their names and owning up to dropping the plate. With him as a hostage, they can bring the company to its knees. Vee relents, and pulls Shinra to safety, only for Sephiroth to stab him through the chest.

Cloud barely holds it together, and Sephiroth taunts him, trying to egg him on. Doesn’t Cloud want to hurt him? Doesn’t he want to take revenge, for his family, for his home? For his companion? Cloud is a breath away from trying to take his head off, but it’s Tifa who strikes first, forcing Sephiroth back with a roundhouse kick. She tells him to leave her friend alone, and the rest of the gang backs her up. That manages to shake Cloud out of his fury, and he stands by his friends as they take on the legendary SOLDIER hero.

And lose. They’re barely a match for him, their attacks don’t phase him in the slightest, and he seems impossibly fast. With one final mockery, Sephiroth takes Jenova’s body and dives off the side of the Shinra building, leaving Cloud almost numb, hollow. Tifa manages to pull him out of it, and he doesn’t understand how she’s still herself aftering seeing him. She shows that her hands are still shaking, and admits she’s not letting it catch up with her. Right now, she’s focused on trying to stay alive, and keep the people she cares about alive. Our six rebels fight their way back through Shinra security and, with one look back at the home they’re leaving behind, they steal a ride out of Midgar.

Once they make it to the inn in Kalm, Cloud finally fills everyone in on what he hasn’t told them. He’d only meant to tell Tifa, originally, but the others deserve the truth as well. With her permission, he recalls the Nibelheim Incident. After Sephiroth killed his hometown and injured Tifa, Cloud attacked the man, overpowering him and throwing him to his death – or he assumed, at least. Another Nibelhiem resident, Zangan, took Tifa to safety, promising to come back for Cloud. He didn’t make it, and Cloud was captured and experimented on by Hojo; toughing through thanks to the mako infusions he got as a SOLDIER. After five years, he managed to escape, and make it to Midgar. The others are horrified, but Cloud almost no-sells it. It’s in the past. It’s fine. He’s fine. And with that, and without taking any questions, he goes to his room and sleeps.

Tifa admits once he’s gone that there’s something odd about the story, about the way he told it. She can’t quite pick out what, but it feels as if he’s leaving out something big from the parts that she can’t corraberate. Barret and Red agree, they felt similarly, but Vee reminds them that traumatic events like that can fuck with a person’s head, muddle their memories. And she knows firsthand how traumatic Shinra’s labs can get. The five agree not to push him on it, and follow suit to get some sleep.

When she’s finally alone with Aerith and Vee, Tifa breaks down completely as the events of the day wash over her. The man who scarred her, who slaughtered her family, who burnt down her home, is alive. Her best friend has years of trauma he’s never told her about. And she almost lost her girlfriend. Vee and Aerith hold her, and the three fall asleep together. For now, they’re safe.

#ask to tag #red gaia au #vee #okay to reblog????#im very nervous haha #i want to share vee but also Aww Jeez What If My Oc Is Bad Actually

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cdarkheartzero · 4 years

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Today’s theme- “Too far”

I was skimming through some comments and such and came across @the-garbage-is-my-fandom ‘s comment of “more horror art” on my “Bathtime” piece. And I was inspired. I’m especially excited for @melodyofthevoid to tear into me like I do her when she abuses my son.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen” Dib chanted to himself choking on what little air his lungs could grasp. He had never known fear like this and his body just had no idea how to handle it.

Dib mind raced, playing the previous weeks in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. His master plan, a small gas bomb capable of temporarily paralyzing or knocking his enemy out, was finally complete. Many a sleepless night and wasted weekend on containment structure, chemical analysis and test runs. This was it. Finally, he could capture the alien menace and expose him. Finally, he would no longer be the crazy kid. Finally, the world would see the danger they were in all along. Finally.... he would be the hero.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.

[[More]]

Dib snuck in through the front door after Zim’s idiot sidekick carelessly left it open, making haste to the neighborhood taco truck’s sirens blaring in the distance. He cautiously entered, realizing the Invader was no where in sight and gently placed the bomb in the center of the floor of the “living room”. Carefully he made his way up to the wires completely covering the ceiling for shelter. Soon enough, Gir threw the door open, Damn near ripping it off its hinges, absolutely covered in grease and meat. It seemed the taco run was a success.

He wandered over to the “box” in the middle of the floor and started screaming for his master. “MASTAAAAA!!!! A PRESENT!!!!!!” He shrieked and screeched. How did Zim deal with this all the time?

Within a moment or two, an undisguised Zim angrily emerged from the toilet in the kitchen (which was a sight Dib never really got used to. How does a WHOLE BODY fit down the small opening of a TOILET?!)

“Gir! What nonsense are you going on about!?”

“I gots a present! I’m the birthday boy!”

Zim quickly snatched the “gift” from the metallic hands, studying it’s shotty craftsmanship briefly and returning his full attention to the wide eyed robot standing before him. “What have I told you about bringing junk into this house? First that street lamp-” “But I wanted a nightlight to keep the monkey away.” Gir quietly and somberly interrupted.

Zim sighed. Was this conversation going to go anywhere? No. No, it wasn’t. He might as well talk to the jar of mayo still sitting open on the kitchen table from 3 days ago.

He bent down, clutching the box to his abdomen and give the robot a small pat on the head. “Zim told you he took care of the monkey. It can’t hurt you anymore. But please, Gir, refrain from bringing more stuff home.” He said calmly with a defeated tone in his voice. Gir’s face lit up with a wide grin spanning from “ear to ear” (had he had them anyway). “OKAAAAAY!” He screeched and wrapped his arms around his master. Dib could swear he heard something pop and squish under the groans and painful sounds Zim was emitting.

Then there was a click.

It seemed like the blink of an eye it all happened. An explosion unlike anything Dib ever thought possible by his hands unfolding around him. Windows shattered as glass slashed through the air in every which way direction. Chunks of flooring and wall violently slammed into anything unfortunate enough to come into their path. The fogged air was tainted with this disgustingly potent smell blanketing the entire room. The resulting shock wave flung Dib from his hiding spot, colliding with the cold tiles beneath him.

He blacked out for just a moment, his body on fire and his ears ringing loudly, drowning out all other sound. His eyes slowly opened and he worked up the strength to push himself to his feet. He noticed the blood on his hands as he lifted himself. He wasn’t surprised he got cut. He just couldn’t determain how bad. He was so disoriented.

He tried his best to scan the room, eyes adjusting themselves from the bright blast that had just assaulted them. A shine in the corner grabbed his attention in the sea of rubble and destruction. The robot, Gir, was crushed into the wall by large slabs of concrete and tiles. His once blue glowing eyes dim and cracked. He remained motionless.

“Oh, no.” Dib thought, realizing the severity of his actions. “Zim!” He cried out of instinct. There was no response. There was no movement in the cloud of smoke as it slowly decepated. The clearing air revealed Zim’s limp frame sprawled out within the neon-green splattered crater the explosion created by the front door. A gigantic hole displayed the vacant interior of his chest and abdominal cavity. Every bit of his internal organs were laid on the ground. His ruby eyes open and dull with his face resting almost peaceful. Dib’s stomach dropped.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

Panic was setting in. He wanted to get close to the alien but it’s like his legs forbid such an action. So he goggled. “WHAT DO I DO?!” He blurted out to no one. He backed into the kitchen, never taking his eyes off the crater of debris and guts. His breathing jagged, his pulse racing and his throat overflowing, begging to release its contents on the oddly colored tiling. He felt sick.

“INITIATING SURVIVAL MODE”

He jumped. A sudden noise in this deafening silence. It was a voice he instantly recognized. Zim’s Computer. But it wasn’t echoing from the darkness of the house... it was coming from Zim.

The once limp body slowly started to adjust itself, trying to sit itself up. The more it moved, the more it’s contents leaked out of the organic frame. Dib just silently stared in awe....in relief.... in disgust as his fallen rival stood up. Swaying slightly as it tried to regain its balance. Their eyes locked. A shutter violently shook Dib. Zim was a lot of things. A pain in the ass. An idiot. Selfish. A narcissist. Incompetent. But this wasn’t Zim. This.... was TERRIFYING.

The creature’s thousand yard stare prickled Dib’s skin with the feeling of a million bugs crawling on his person. The paranormal investigator watched-even from several feet away- the speedy throbbing of the veins protruding around It’s eyes. The alien opened his mouth to speak and all that came out through the river of brightly colored blood was the sound of static. It was painful. SO PAINFUL to hear. Dib wanted to shield his ears from the sound but his body stood there still.

The creature’s attention tore away from Dib for a moment, eyeing the damaged robot. His PAK opened up, aggressively flinging his long, thin, robotic legs outwards. The legs came down one by one, echoing a small “clink” on the floor as the razor sharp ends touched the tile. His body lifted and made his way to the faithful metallic companion. Without saying a word, Dib watched as Zim’s body pried the heavy debris pinning the small robot. Gir’s body was released and the gloved hands gently caught him before he could fall on the floor.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

“Zim.... I swear.... I didn’t mean to...-“

He was caught off when the red eyes turned to his direction again. Even without pupils or Iris’, Dib could feel the daggers being thrown at him. The mouth opened to speak. “Gir.... why?”

Dib backed up one more step, further into the kitchen. Zim’s voice.... it was wrong. Metallic. Cold. Disoriented. Unlike anything he had ever heard before. Words caught in Dib’s throat but he mustered all his strength to release them. “It was an accident. It-it was just supposed to knock you out.” Dib continued to ramble. “I don’t know what happened!”

“Miserable”

Dib tensed up “W-what is?”

“Your existence brings misery. To your planet. To your family. To anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with you.”

Those words cut Dib’s soul deep. It’s like Zim could read his worst fears. Something he kept hidden- that black stain in his heart-all this time. Exposed. Just like that.

Before he could say anything, the alien continued “ You have always been an annoyance, you sickening human. We cannot escape you. Your voice. Your presence. Your smell. Forever a thorn in our side. The reason my tallest find me nothing more than entertainment. Why Zim can never succeed in his goals. Now this....the only good Zim had...” he said staring at Gir’s face.

“What is he talking about? What did I do with his leaders?” Dib pondered, eyes frantically shifting between Zim’s body and the door behind him.

His neck snapped in Dib’s direction. “But that’s not the worst part. Zim always heard it. For years. It was always following me.” The legs carried him one step closer to the kitchen. Dib silently took a step backwards. “There. Annoying me. Attacking his senses. A constant reminder of the misery you cause. Zim will rid himself of this....this sound...”

Dib needed to flee. But how? This creature was in front of the door!

Zim’s lips curled up. His smirk growing, stretching wider and wider, tearing the ends of his mouth apart. Blood leaking down the sides of his face as the smile grew to sizes ever more disturbing. It was like he was trying to separate the top and bottom of head. There was a silence. With a grin unseen by human eyes before, The creature chucked.

“OnCe I sILeNcE tHaT hEaRt Of YoUrS, wiLl ZiM FiNaLLy bE FrEe?

As the creature leapt towards the investigator, his body (FINALLY) responded by quickly dodging out of the way, slamming into the sink. The thin, metallic legs crashed into the dining room table decimating it instantly. Without so much as a thought, Dib crawled into the trash can and landed into the claustrophobic elevator to the lab. He panted and shook. It was a terrible idea to go down to the labs. A territory not his. He was out of his element and he wasn’t sure how he would escape. But it beat staying up there and getting ripped to shreds. The pink glow of the elevator made him even more on edge.

The doors opened, startling Dib who was frantically lost in thought. He ran from the elevator, peeking behind tables, tubes and anything else while keeping his senses sharp and alert. Zim was somewhere. Maybe he could just take the elevator back up and leave? But what if he was still in the kitchen?

There was a high-pitched screech pouring from the shaft he had just exited. The elevator lights flickered, sparks raining down and the glow of Zim’s upside down eyes peeked through its opening. His legs slowly pulled him out, adjusting he and Gir (whom was still being cradled) upright. “Diiiiiiiiib.... I kNoW YoU aRe In HeRe....” it gargled.

Dib patiently waited, holding back his sobs and screams, for the towering monster to pass. He needed to keep running. Find the elevator to the toilet! It was the only way! He hid. And ran. Hid. And ran. It was the most horrifying game of cat and mouse conceivable. The longer it went on, the worse it seemed to get for him. He couldn’t find the exit. And he couldn’t find Zim. Not that he WANTED to find him, but at least pass him to know he was still in this metallic labyrinth. That the kitchen was clear.

Finally, he stumbled upon what he assumed was the elevator on the other side of a large room. He was so close-! Within a single second, his joy faded to nothingness by the familiar sound of scraping. He watched the shadow on the floor as it shakily passed by the table Dib had temporarily chosen as shelter. It stopped and stood still like a statue momentarily: Then went about it’s way. “Finally-! To that door!”

He sprinted to the exit, knocking a few items from a table and catching the beast’s attention. Running with all the strength his body had to offer, he was finally within reach of the button left of the doorframe. His fist slammed into it and the sounds of the creature hurried closer, bellowing his name in a mortifying shriek.

The double doors opened. Dib threw his body into the room only to hit into something and get pelted with tools and cans tumbling from above. Realization slapped him in the face. This isn’t an elevator....

This is a closet.

With heavy dread, Dib turned his face to see that he and the creature were mere inches away from each other. There was no where to go. Never taking his eye’s off Zim’s, he felt two sharp knives glide over his ribcage, gently banging on each bone as they made their way to their target. It’s face had a permanent smile, gradually becoming more and more uncontrollable the harder and faster the thrashing in Dib’s chest became. As the blades slowly began digging in and red blood mixed with green, 5 words continuously haunted his thoughts.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

Thanks so much to anyone that read this! I hope you enjoyed!

#invader zim #iz #zim #zero’s art #sketch #invader zim gir #invader zim dib #horror #gore warning #iz fanart

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afinepricklypear · 3 years

Text

Confessions & Deleted Scenes

I get a lot of anxiety when it comes to comments on my writing. When a story of mine starts to garner a lot of attention, replying to readers and continuing the work, becomes increasingly difficult. Maybe it’s a touch of Imposter Syndrome, but I get stage fright. Yet, if I got no comments, or I saw no increase in comments, I couldn’t continue either. It’s this strange “damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t” struggle. I used to get around it by starting new fanfiction accounts and starting over, rebuilding an audience in a new fandom, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to run from my stories. But. I’m in that mental place right now, even looking at comments and trying to muster the werewithal to reply makes me sick to my stomach and want to break down. I can’t breathe and I start crying, the thoughts in my head: I’m not this person, I didn’t write this thing that you liked so much, it’s trash, it’s all trash, and if I did, it was a fluke, and I can’t recreate it. Then the paranoia sets in: the readers are leaving, they see that I can’t do this, they hate me, they hate my work, I knew all along it wasn’t good enough.

Ah. Well. I’m working on it. I want to move past this and feel confident and continue with the stories in my head without the fear that no one will like it or they’ll like it too much so that eventually I’ll disappoint them. The words are there, I just can’t get them on to paper right now in a way that is satisfactory. So I’ll try and I’ll fail and I’ll try and I’ll fail.

In the meantime, while I get my shit together, here’s the original chapter 1 from my first attempt at writing “Wake Up” for my BSD fanfiction series Release (posted here on AO3). I haven’t read it since I retconned it, so it’s not edited. I wonder if anyone will find this here.

*Chapter*

A cold gray frost coated the windows of every building along the dusky alleyway. Chuuya leaned back against a building’s brick wall, crouched low to the ground, head tipped to one side, and a heavy gray, linen coat draped over his shoulders. He tried not to think about the lingering scent of urine on the air, or the fact his thin shirt and jeans provided little protection from the severe drop in temperature that evening. The hair on his arms and back of neck prickled on end, his ability, For the Tainted Sorrow, was desperate to unleash and wreak havoc on the cityscape around them. But like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, he wouldn’t be using his ability that night.

A week had passed since Chuuya was forced to join the Armed Detective Agency after his violent departure from the Port Mafia. The injuries he sustained from leaving the organization he’d called home for seven years, and the incident leading up to it out in Hiratsuka, were little more than dull aches and scars, now, thanks in part to the Agency doctor and her healing ability, but the memories lingered like bad dreams. He kept waking in the middle of the night, lost and disoriented, in a vaguely familiar bedroll that his instincts rejected as ‘home’. It was only Dazai’s slumbering embrace, unconsciously blanketing Chuuya with No Longer Human that kept Chuuya from doing damage to his surroundings on instinct with For the Tainted Sorrow.

On top of that, he was still adjusting to his change in employment, still settling into his decision and the concept that it could be right for him, even beneficial, to work with the Agency of detectives he’d called enemy a month ago, and even tried to kill on more than one occasion. Those facts, of course, were the reasoning behind the strict conditions of his joining the Agency, which included a moratorium on his ability use without ‘permission’ from the Boss, Agency President Fukuzawa, and a zero-tolerance policy of No-Killing, No-Torturing. To say sticking to these conditions proved difficult was an understatement but Chuuya was nothing if not willing to rise to any challenge. Even despite Dazai’s constant efforts to rile him up at the office, or Kunikida breathing down his neck, eager for him slip up so they could oust him like the Port Mafia. Every day he felt like a caged tiger, gawked at by zoo patrons, while pacing his confines, flexing his claws and unable to do anything with them.

Luckily, and speaking of caged tigers, Chuuya’s week with the Agency had been spent shadowing his new “mentor” in the Agency, Atsushi. He worked alongside the boy and the boy’s partner, another newcomer to the Agency from the Port Mafia, Kyouka. They were the greenest detectives in the Agency, so while the rest of the detectives took on any higher priority cases that walked through the door, Atsushi and his mentees were tasked with handling all of the smaller, more tedious, and lower risk ones. That night they were following up on a serial burglary case in a prominent neighborhood following a lead given to them by the Agency’s resident smug bastard detective, Ranpo. After hitting multiple dead-ends on their case all week, Atsushi finally took their case file to the “best detective in the world” and appealed to him with a box of candy to use his “Ultimate Deduction”. He recommended they stake out a particular convenience store in the targeted neighborhood that night – odd, because all of the burglaries had been at residences – and he warned that they were dealing with an ability user.

“As if we hadn’t already figured out we were dealing with an ability user,” Chuuya muttered under his breath. He hadn’t been impressed with Ranpo’s display. There had been no signs of a break-in, no forced entry, just items missing. The only clue was uncovered at one of the victimized houses, the back portion of a shoeprint cut in half by the house’s exterior wall. Chuuya shuddered again from a wintery breeze nipping at any exposed bit of his skin. He knew he should’ve brought a scarf, but he’d been too preoccupied about ensuring Dazai was properly packed and prepared for an overnight in Hiratsuka. Chuuya couldn’t decide if the other man was really so terrible at taking care of himself, or if he just got a kick out of Chuuya doting over him. Years of ‘hating’ one another had taught Chuuya the latter was more likely.

For the most part, the Agency was in limbo regarding their most recent case out in Hiratsuka that had revealed there was a mysterious organization kidnapping ability users for experimentation and using them to manufacture replica abilities. It was the kind of discovery that, according to everyone at the Agency, despite Chuuya’s skepticism, needed to be handed up the ladder to government officials for them to determine the next plans of action. Meanwhile, Dazai and his partner, Kunikida, were tasked with gathering any and all evidence left behind in Hiratsuka, as well as, maintaining relations with the leader of Hiratsuka’s syndicate, Lady Murasaki, who had hired Dazai to investigate the disappaereance of one of her employees, Fujiawra Sadaei, before the conspiracy was exposed.

It was Dazai who uncovered the entire plot, only to go missing himself, but not before setting up a series of cryptic messages to be sent to Chuuya. Chuuya had been ordered to ignore the messages and delete them from his phone, but he couldn’t turn his back on his former partner, and onetime Port Mafia traitor, regardless of the fact they’d spent the months prior sneaking off to play house together at a small house out in crater city, Suribachi. The decision, and a stack of intimate photographs from that Suribachi house that had been delivered unbeknownst to Chuuya to his former Boss, Mori Oogai, were the toppled pai gow pieces that led to his own fall from grace in the Port Mafia. He still didn’t know where the photographs had come from, but he narrowly escaped their fallout with his life.

Chuuya spotted Kyouka across the street at a park, sitting in a swing and fiddling with the phone she constantly wore around her neck. For all intents and purposes, she looked like a young, middle school aged girl, that was enjoying her winter break. Atsushi, Chuuya knew, was on the other side of the building keeping watch towards the backside. They all wore headpieces to keep in contact with one another.

“Was it supposed to be this cold tonight?” Atsushi’s voice crackled through the headset.

Chuuya frowned, letting his breath out in a puff of steam. He heard a crackle and pop from the metal dumpster beside him and, glancing to it, realized with a start that he could see the frost crystals growing, “I don’t think it’s ever supposed to be this cold, kid. Looks like an ice ability, user’s got to be nearby.”

“There’s movement,” Kyouka’s voice was soft, almost inaudible as a whip of wind roared from nowhere, but firm, “Above you. Third floor window.”

“I can walk up there, no problem,” Chuuya offered, itching for the excuse to defy gravity.

“No,” Atsushi quickly and sharply replied. Chuuya could feel the boy wince at the severity of his own reply through the headset, “I mean…what I mean is…I’ll go, Mr. Nakahara. You and Kyouka stay put, continue watching, in case anyone else shows up.”

Chuuya bit back his frustration, he knew Atsushi was only worried about him, as he said between grit teeth, “Fine. You’re in charge, kid.”

On the other side of the building, Atsushi activated his ability, Beast Under the Moonlight, partially transforming into a mystical white tiger form. He climbed up the wall in a few short jumps, and rounded the corner to investigate the movement Kyouka had seen. Chuuya tucked his gloved hands under his arms, his fingertips aching from the growing chill in the air around him. He stalked towards the back of the building to take up Atsushi’s post. After a couple minutes, Chuuya tapped his foot impatiently.

“You see anything interesting, kid?” he asked.

Silence.

“Atsushi? What’s going on up there?”

Still silence.

“Kyouka, you got eyes on Atsushi?” Chuuya said, pulling away from the backside of the building and hurrying back towards the front, spotting the little girl in her position at the park, dull gaze now fixed skyward, cell phone dangling from its chain around her neck.

“Yes,” she answered, her typical monotone trembling slightly, “He’s at the window. He hasn’t moved for many seconds.”

The sound of several gunshots erupted through the night, and before the ring of their report could finish, Chuuya was sprinting up the fire escape. One quick, last glance to the park to note Kyouka was gone from her post, as well, and without thought to his agreement in joining the Agency, Chuuya used his ability to lift the third-floor window, diving through its entry and rolling to his feet in a light fighting stance, hands loose at his side and senses on high alert. The hallway he’d landed in was empty and somehow cooler than outside, it felt like an ice box. Somewhere inside was the sound of soft sobs. He started forward through the dark apartment and nearly slipped backwards to the ground, catching himself on the wall and a hallway table, the framed pictures atop it quacking and falling over. He winced, but the sobbing didn’t stop, his carelessness hadn’t been heard. Breathing a sigh, his eyes dropped downward to find the wood floorboards were coated in permafrost.

Delicately, Chuuya righted himself and took small, deliberate steps to slide with some semblance of control along the hall. He passed by dark, empty rooms towards a luminescent glow ahead in what, Chuuya assumed, would be the kitchen. He sidled up next to the entryway, listened for a moment. The sobbing, he surmised, was a woman. There were no other noises. He frowned, reached for the knife he kept strapped at his thigh and held it low against his side, out of sight but ready if he needed it. He stepped into the kitchen.

On the floor, there was a woman kneeling in a tattered gray bathrobe, a gun on the ground beside her. There was splintered wood around shallow bullet holes in the wall on the far side of the room where her gunshots had hit. Chuuya’s breath caught. Outside of the window was Atsushi, his skin pale and lips turning blue. His eyes were moving but the expression behind them was dull, as though staring through a fog, and, every so often, his breath steamed the window in wet puffs.

The floorboard creaked under Chuuya’s weight and the woman reached for her gun, spinning around to point the barrel at Chuuya. Her crisp green eyes were wide, her short, chestnut colored hair falling in greasy, uneven dregs around her tear-stained face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kyouka’s demon ability hovering beside Atsushi outside, its hand on the ethereal sword at its hip.

“Whoa, let’s be reasonable about this, lady,” Chuuya said, loud enough for Kyouka to hear from wherever she was hiding, undoubtedly nearby. He slipped the knife back into its sheath and put his hands up in as unthreatening a manner as he could, his mind turning possible outcomes from this encounter around in his mind. Every ounce of his body and heart was screaming to kill her swiftly, but then there was the niggling voice in the back of his head, that sounded not unlike Kunikida, whispering, when you slip up…

“I…I didn’t mean to…” the woman cried, whimpering, more, fresh tears forming, turning to droplets of ice on her cheeks, “It wasn’t my fault…I swear…it wasn’t…I had no idea what he was…I had no idea. Please…”

“It’s okay,” Chuuya told her, having no idea what she was ranting about, he assured her, “I know you had nothing to do with it. Not your fault, right? We all make mistakes, put our trust in people that turn around and betray us. You’re just a victim in all of this, huh? Why don’t you put the gun down, Lady Winter, and unfreeze my friend outside, and we can talk about this like civilized people, alright?”

The woman glanced over her shoulder at Atsushi outside, spotted the Demon before it could duck out of sight, and her eyes widened with panic. She yelped, half-crab walking towards the far wall, stumbling to her feet and dropping the pin of the gun, she pointed it back and forth between the window and Chuuya, her hands visibly shaking, unable to hold the gun straight. At that rate, she was more likely to miss than hit if she fired off a shot. Chuuya sighed, and placed his hands in his pockets. He was not cut out for this negotiation crap.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, “We would’ve done it already if we were.”

That made her hesitate. Her eyes flickered from him to the window.

“Why are you here, then?” she demanded.

“Still trying to figure that one out,” Chuuya admitted with a shrug, he glanced at the wall behind her, those bullet holes and furrowed his brow, darting a look back at Atsushi, “Maybe you could start by telling us who you were shooting at.”

“No-no way,” the woman whispered, jabbing the gun at Chuuya, “You tell me who you are first, I’m not just going to confess my life story to some stranger that broke into my home.”

Chuuya smirked, tilting his head to one side, “Fair enough. We’re detectives, investigating the burglaries from that nearby housing community. Someone told us this would be a good lead for solving the case. I’ve got an idea who you are too. You own the convenience store downstairs, nice set-up, only store like it in this city block. I bet you know everyone in this neighborhood. Which house they live in, where they work, what kind of money they make, how many people they’ve got living with them, and what everyone’s schedule is.”

Another trickle of tears that froze halfway down the woman’s face and peeled off like crystalline beads.

“You and a friend get the idea that you could make a little extra cash, on the side. So, you start putting that information to good use. It’s gone good for a while now, but one of you got greedy…or maybe cold-feet, thought the other was going to talk. My friend shows up peeking in the window and it looks like betrayal. Shots are fired and your friend took off,” Chuuya said, “How’d I do?”

“Burglaries…?” the woman faltered, shaking her head, a look of puzzlement crossing her features, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Chuuya scowled, “Everything made sense though…”

Admittedly, there were still missing pieces to the puzzle. There was no sign of break-in, so he assumed her partner had the ability that got them into the houses undetected. The question of where the stuff was could likely be answered by a thorough search downstairs. Still, where was the partner, why had she been firing off a gun, and what had she been blathering on about when he got there…something about not being her fault and some mysterious ‘he’ – likely the partner, but what didn’t she know about him? Was he working another angle behind her back? As if on cue, a flicker of movement caught Chuuya’s eye, a man stepping through the wall behind the woman, a glinting chef’s knife in hand, poised to stab the unsuspecting woman in the back.

“Hey, watch out,” Chuuya shouted, moving before the words had left his mouth.

The woman, stunned by his sudden lunge at her, fired off a couple shots that Chuuya deflected easily. The man with the knife grabbed the woman, she screamed, Chuuya’s hand brushed the man’s forearm as the blade began to bite into her backside, and Chuuya sent the man flying back towards the wall. He passed harmlessly through. Chuuya pulled the woman behind him, darted looks around the kitchen, jaw set and muscles tense, searching for movement.

“Oh god! He’s going to kill us. You can’t do anything against him. You can’t, he’s too powerful,” the woman blubbered.

“Lady, we just met. Seems too early for you to make that call, don’t you think?” Chuuya felt the ground give out beneath him, and he dropped his gaze to find his foot sinking through the floor, “What the hell?” He darted an anxious look to the woman, barking out commands rapid-fire, “Unfreeze my friend. Find the little girl. Get out of here with them.”

He felt a pinch at his calf, he was starting to solidify in the floor. He sent out a shudder of energy and the ground gave out under him in a hailstorm of plaster and wooden splinters. He picked himself up from the wreckage, coughing and dusting away the debris, finding the startled man standing across from him.

“Dammit, that’s twice now you’ve made me use my ability. I’m on parole,” Chuuya yelled, rushing at the momentarily stunned man and swinging a roundhouse to his head. Chuuya’s leg passed right through, but he didn’t let it slow him down, swinging and thrusting kicks and punches with deadly precision, all of which would have landed if the man wasn’t a fucking ghost. Chuuya fell back, trying to hide that he was a bit out of breath.

“My turn,” the man grinned and began his own assault. When Chuuya raised a block, the man’s strikes passed through unhindered only to solidify and land their hit. He cut across Chuuya’s cheek, jabbed into his side, and blasted him back with a kick to the chest that Chuuya caught himself on with For the Tainted Sorrow. He spit blood and fixed his stance.

“So, you’re the thief, huh? Why do you want the woman dead?” Chuuya said.

“What business is that of yours? You can die with her if you’d like, though,” the man threw a cross jab and, as predicted, his hand passed through Chuuya’s block, but the second it was close enough to Chuuya’s face, the man was dropped to the floor with an increased density. The man used his own ability, and passed through the floor. Chuuya stumbled around as the man reappeared behind him and shot out a fist into his stomach. Chuuya stared down in surprise, puzzled at what the point was, the man’s entire arm was sticking through Chuuya.

“Do you know what happens when an incorporeal object becomes corporeal inside of you?” the man taunted.

Chuuya’s eyes widened, using his ability to propel himself backwards at a breakneck pace, feeling a growing tug as he flew away from the man. He stumbled rather than landed gracefully back against the far wall, gasping in pain, and grasping at his stomach, fingers brushing along a hand sized hole in his shirt, underneath the flesh was damp and jagged. He dropped to his knees and coughed out a thick wad of blood. His eyes blurred, and he shuddered, feeling like he might vomit. There was a crunch of debris under foot as the man approached. Chuuya steeled himself, his thoughts tumbling towards a singular decision: if he was going down here, he’d take the man with him. When the man became solid, Chuuya would crush him to a bloody pulp.

On his way across the room the man swept up a broken pipe from the wreckage, whistling dramatically some off-key tune.

“Where should I put this, I wonder?” the man mused, tapping the pipe in his hand, then pointing it to Chuuya’s forehead, covered in a thin film of sweat, “Your brain?” He lowered it to point at Chuuya’s jugular, “Your throat?” The man’s lip curled up into a sinister grin, as he hovered the pipe in front of Chuuya’s chest, “Your heart.”

“Do it,” Chuuya bit out, “You die with me.”

The man’s pupils dilated with his murderous intent, and he drove the pipe towards Chuuya…only to find resistance. The man frowned, desperately pushing the pipe at Chuuya’s chest but the pipe remained solid, refusing to pass through. Chuuya perked a brow up at the man, and the man scowled, swatting distractedly at something brushing the back of his neck.

“Oy, careful now. I almost lost contact,” a familiar voice chirped in mock cheer, the finger that had been gingerly touching the man’s neck giving way to a bandaged palm wrapping firmly under the man’s chin. Dazai’s face appeared peeking over the man’s shoulder, his other hand pressing a gun into the man’s side, “Hi, Chuuya! This seems like a bad situation.”

“Idiot. I thought you were in Hiratsuka for the night,” Chuuya replied, partially choking on his own blood and the mix of emotions swelling through him at the welcome sight of the other man.

“What’s this? Did you miss me already?” Dazai mused, his lips pressed into a thin frown, his eyes wide with amusement, “I suppose that means I’ll have to give you extra attention tonight...”

The man took their conversation to mean Dazai was distracted, seizing his opportunity, he swung the pipe over his shoulder towards Dazai’s head, and Chuuya’s hand shot out to grab the man’s leg and send him flying, first to slam into the ceiling and then crashing back into the ground, which cratered under his body. He wheezed, blood pooling around him, seeping from his every orifice. Chuuya guessed all of the man’s bones were broken, ground into a fine powder from the impact not unlike falling from a thousand feet overhead, and the thought made Chuuya feel a tiny bit better about the gaping hole in his stomach. Dazai stared blankly at the dying man and blinked a few times.

“That was dramatic, Chuuya.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole,” Chuuya said, words trembling, and his face flushed white, “Where’s the doctor?”

“I sent Kunikida to retrieve her, he took Atsushi and Kyouka with Miss Gould back to the Agency, as well. They should be returning with Yosano shortly,” Dazai knelt in front of Chuuya and smiled, careful not to touch as it was Chuuya’s ability alone holding his guts inside, and Dazai’s No Longer Human would nullify his one lifeline, “It’s a good thing Ranpo called or, it seems, I’d be coming home to a tiny pincushion. Ranpo said ‘Chuuya will definitely do something stupid tonight’. He’s never wrong, you know, so I had no choice but to come here.”

“We only showed Ranpo the file an hour and a half ago. There’s no way he called you with enough time for you to get back here from Hiratsuka. You never made it there, did you?” Chuuya replied.

“Hmm…what’s this? That’s very clever, Chuuya, to figure out on your own…Atsushi must be training you well. I’ll have to reward you later,” Dazai grinned from ear to ear, “A good dog deserves a good treat.”

Chuuya flustered and fell forward, Dazai scrambling back to avoid him as he slumped towards the floor.

“Hey, hey, slug, what are you doing? Taking a nap? I can’t reward a dog that doesn’t greet its master with energy,” Dazai cried out, concern laced beneath his otherwise lighthearted words. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, plopping his elbows on his knees and cupping his face in his hands, he began to explain, “Don’t you want to know that you’re right? We returned early from Hiratsuka. The government contacted President Fukuzawa. We have a meeting with them in the morning.”

“We, huh? You’ll actually show up to it, then?” Chuuya murmured reply, trying desperately to keep his eyes open as black, inky splotches exploded along the edge of his vision.

“Wha-at? You make it sound like I skip out on important work all the time,” Dazai complained, “That’s not very nice, Chuuya. You’re worse than Kunikida, you know.”

“…crossing…the line…” Chuuya murmured.

“It’s not polite to fall asleep when someone is talking to you,” Dazai said, worry now heavy in his words, “I have no choice but to show up. President Fukuzawa personally requested I be there. Ah…but there are really so many other places I’d rather be, more exciting things I could be doing.”

“…oh yeah…like where?”

“Where…hm…anywhere, really. A small country village with a cottage, cobbled streets and cafes. Vineyards and sweet-smelling pastry shops…” he sighed, his voice faraway, “Somewhere where there is a quiet room with an ocean view.”

“…sounds nice…” Chuuya was struggling to draw his breath in, “…should go…sometime…”

“Mmm…maybe. I wonder if someone will be waiting for me there,” Dazai whispered, and Chuuya couldn’t muster a reply. He felt the other man lean over him, breath tickling his ear, “Rest now, Chuuya. Kunikida’s car is here. I’ll take care of you tonight; you take care of me in the morning.”

Like hell, Chuuya tried to reply, but his energy left him all at once, and he leaned unconscious on the ground. It was a few hours later when Chuuya woke in the Agency clinic. He pushed himself up to sitting, found the doctor, Yosano, rearranging the medical supplies in her cabinet nearby. She spared him a glance over her shoulder when his bed creaked protest of his movement. On a nearby bed was laid the ghost man.

“Starting to think we should set you up a permanent bed here. It’s only your first week, but I’m sensing a pattern,” the doctor said, there was an edge to her words that let Chuuya know she hated the thought of him spending more time than necessary in her clinic as much as he did, but the comment was an attempt to meet halfway. They were far from being friends but they were co-workers now. As much as she despised saving his life, she’d continue to do it as long as he worked at the Agency, it was her weird way of saying he could trust her on that, at least. Chuuya gave her a wary look.

“You know, I never had nearly as many near-death experiences working at the Port Mafia as I have working with your Agency. I’m starting to think forcing me to join here was part of a grand ploy to torture me the rest of my life,” Chuuya replied. His throat was dry and his words came out rasped. He gave a nod to the man in the other bed, “You managed to save this tool, too, I see.”

“Despite your best efforts. Quite the number you did on him. I’ve seen the dead bodies of people who fell from hundred story buildings that had less concussive injury than this guy when you were done with him,” Yosano crossed over to the man’s bedside to check on an IV drip attached to his arm. She spotted Chuuya’s questioning look and explained, “Drug induced coma. His ability would make it difficult to keep him locked up, and this seemed like the better solution than forcing Dazai to hold his hand until we could transfer him to government custody.”

“Would’ve been a better punishment to trap him with the waste of bandages,” Chuuya muttered, inspecting the bloody hole in his t-shirt with a click of his tongue.

“Speaking from experience?” Yosano pointed to a bag on the chair beside Chuuya’s bed, “He brought you some clothes from home.”

Home. Home, with Dazai. Their home that they shared. Chuuya smirked, picking himself off the bed and making his way to the chair on unsteady legs, “Fine. Maybe it would’ve just been more entertaining for me. Dazai ‘loves’ holding hands with strange men.” He frowned. “Where’re the kids?”

“Outside, in the office, I presume. Drafting the report for your case tonight.”

She hesitated, pressed her lips into a thin line, examining Chuuya in a way that sent a tiny, self-conscious shiver down his spine. He ignored her staring, picked out the garments in the bag and busied himself with changing. She averted her gaze when he removed his ruined t-shirt, revealing a bandage over his stomach where the ghost-man had stuck his arm. Yosano had the ability to heal him completely, but she never did, only enough that he would live, leaving the rest for him to heal naturally. She thought of it as her own way of getting a bit of justice for Chuuya’s ‘victims’ during his time with the mafia, but from what he understood of how her ability worked, he decided she was really letting him off easy.

“Atsushi is alright, if you were worried. The woman had entombed him in ice, but the tiger kept him safe while he was trapped. His recovery after she unfroze him took no time,” Yosano leaned back against the cabinets and folded her arms across her chest.

Chuuya pulled the fresh shirt over his head and bagged up the tattered one, tossing it in a waste bin. He swept his hat off the chair where it has been propped up next to the change of clothes and strode to the door, leaving without another word. As the doctor surmised, Atsushi and Kyouka were out in the Agency’s main office area, hovered together over Atsushi’s computer. Ranpo was also there, sitting with his feet propped up on his desk, some flashy cartoon that looked to feature robots streaming on his computer screen and a box of caramel coated popcorn in his lap, he laughed uproariously between mouthfuls of the saccharine snack. Chuuya wrinkled his nose in disgust at the childish man and joined the kids.

“Mr. Nakahara, you’re awake. I’m so relieved,” Atsushi perked in his chair, looking sheepish, “I’m sorry…about what happened today…it’s my fault that…”

“Don’t stress it, kid, we were all caught off guard,” Chuuya shot Ranpo a scalding glare, Ranpo continued to watch his cartoon and showed no outward sign that he noticed the look, “Not that we couldn’t have been better prepared if someone had given us more to go off, but that’s not your fault.”

“Right…though I don’t know if any amount of preparation could’ve really prepared us for that. It’s a good thing Dazai showed up,” Atsushi said, and Chuuya bit back the reflexive bitter retort, reminding himself they were on the same side now, but it did little to sway the competitiveness he still felt towards the other man. He was doing just fine on his own, dammit, he didn’t need Dazai to rescue him, “We still haven’t pieced together everything, but it seems the woman’s name is Hannah Gould. She came to Yokohama from America to live as a refugee after her father died in the war. According to Miss Gould, the man’s name is Marcel Aymé but she doesn’t know anything about why he was at her place or why he was trying to kill her.”

“That doesn’t make sense. She said something about…something not being her fault and she mentioned a ‘him’ before that guy showed up. I was sure she was talking about this Aymé guy. She’s got to be lying,” Chuuya said.

“That’s what Dazai thought, Ranpo agreed but he told us she’s not lying about not knowing anything of the burglaries and Marcel is our burglar. We’ll be transferring his custody over to the Special Abilities Department in the morning when they come for that meeting,” Atsushi explained. He paused, his features furrowed. His eyes flickered away; his expression mildly guilty. Chuuya glanced at Kyouka but her face was lowered and features naturally blank.

“There’s more,” Chuuya decided, folding his arms over his chest and tapping his foot, “But you don’t want to tell me.”

“It’s not that,” Atsushi said quickly, his eyes shooting up to Chuuya’s, wide with emotion, “It’s just…”

There was the sound of a door opening and closing down the corridor where the Agency President’s office was located. Kunikida and Dazai’s voices preceded their entry into the main office area, bickering about something nonsensical. It seemed Dazai was trying to convince Kunikida that lemon juice mixed with a bit of clay was restorative when worn on the face and feet at night, President Fukuzawa trailed behind them. When they reached the office, Kunikida’s eyes swept over the room, deliberately avoiding Chuuya. He made a comment to the other two men, said in a gruff voice, “Atsushi, I expect your report on my desk in the morning,” and left for the exit.

“Nakahara. A word,” the Agency President said. Chuuya frowned, meeting Dazai’s eyes momentarily, but the other man gave nothing away.

“Sure thing, ‘Boss’,” Chuuya muttered, moving to follow President Fukuzawa back to his office.

“I’ll help Atsushi with his paperwork,” Dazai declared, cheerfully making his way to Atsushi’s desk.

“Shouldn’t you do your own paperwork…?” Atsushi pointed out to Dazai’s laughter.

“You’re so silly, Atsushi, if I did my paperwork, then what would Kunikida do?”

Once they were in the president’s office, Chuuya plopped down in the available chair and waited for Fukuzawa to pour out two cups of tea. Chuuya had only been in the office once before, when he delivered his choice as to what his post-Port Mafia fate should be. The feeling of that day, and the weight of that decision, came back to him as he settled back in the chair and braced himself for the inevitable fallout of his earlier fight with the ‘ghost’, Marcel. He’d used his ability multiple times, albeit the situation was life or death, and then did his best to kill Marcel.

“We’ve reached the end of your first week,” Fukuzawa began in a tone that Chuuya hadn’t expected. Fukuzawa set one tea cup in front of Chuuya, took his own to his seat. Chuuya glanced at the cup but said nothing. Fukuzawa fixed him with a cool stare, “How are you settling in?”

“Fine,” Chuuya replied, narrowing his eyes on the older man, scrutinizing him for the meaning behind his words. Mori could never be taken at face value, there was a plan in motion, and a plan underneath the plan, and a plan under that plan. No question, no matter how innocuous it may seem, was ever without some unseen intent. Working for Mori meant staying on guard, and being successful in the organization required looking under the layers to see the layers beyond, but also, understanding your place in those layers and, all the while, not questioning the parts you didn’t understand even as you were intended to predict their subtle meanings.

“You’re comfortable working with Atsushi and Kyouka?”

“Sure,” Chuuya shrugged, picking at a loose thread on the upholstery of his chair.

“And the other’s in the Agency? I know some have expressed a distaste in working with…”

“Can we cut the crap?” Chuuya interjected, eyeing Fukuzawa dangerously, “I know I screwed up tonight. I used my ability without your permission and I did my damndest to kill that Aymé guy. I’m not even going to pretend I’m happy he’s still alive, I would’ve squashed him into mush like the roach he is if I’d known the doc was on her way, made sure he was good and dead before she got there.”

“Is that what you truly want right now? Aymé to be dead?” Fukuzawa mused, “In the moment, it could be construed as self-defense, but to still feel so strongly after the fact…to kill him now might be called vengeance.”

“He stuck his arm right through my stomach and out my back. Call me crazy, but I kind of hold it against people when they stick things in my body without my permission,” Chuuya grumbled, slumping down in the chair and tapping his foot on the ground, “So what now, huh? What’s my punishment, ‘Boss’? Am I out?”

“I wonder, if you were given the chance now, left alone with Aymé, would you kill him?”

“Huh?” Chuuya wrinkled his brow, eyed the Agency President suspiciously, “What are you getting at?”

“Merely curious. Is there harm in answering, if you’re already ‘out’, as you say?”

“No. I guess I can’t get in any more trouble, can I?” Chuuya leaned his head back and frowned at the ceiling, “We’d be better off if he was dead. His power was difficult enough for me to take on, hell, he almost killed me, and it’s no secret, I’ve got the most power and skill here in a fight. Not to mention, the man walks through walls, how do you keep someone like that locked up short of sticking them in a permanent sleep or gluing him to Dazai?”

“He has certainly proved himself to be a danger to society.”

“Same is said about me, though, right? Kill what you can’t control. But that’s the government’s style, not mine,” Chuuya smirked wryly at Fukuzawa, reaching forward to take a sip of his tea, and feeling a strange nostalgia from the scene, flashing to a meld of memories of being a younger man seated on a tatami mat across from an oddly serene woman in a kimono, katana sheathed and laid flat beside her. Their conversations then had the same energy and Chuuya felt an inexplicable tranquility cast over him, as he realized, there’s no Mori-level hidden schemes here, Fukuzawa just wants to understand, “Like you said, in the moment, I would’ve killed him because I want to live and, besides, he pissed me off. Same for him, I got in his way, so he wanted me dead. Self-defense, if that’s what you want to call it. But now, I don’t know the whole story and I’d really like to know what the hell is going on. It’d be better to wait for him to wake up so I can ask him, rather than kill him in his sleep and never know, right?”

“And when you have your answers? Would you kill him then?”

“Not my choice, is it?” Chuuya said.

“If it was,” Fukuzawa prompted patiently.

“No,” Chuuya met Fukuzawa’s stare evenly, “If he wants to come for my life or my organization again, I’ll accept the challenge and I’ll make sure there aren’t enough pieces left for the doc to save, but what’s the point in killing him otherwise?”

“I understand.”

“So,” Chuuya crossed his legs at the knee and leaned back in the chair, smiling at Fukuzawa, “You still haven’t told me my punishment for breaking my parole.”

“Even though it went against restrictions imposed on you by our Agency when you joined, you acted in the only way that you could to protect your team and our organization’s interests. I wonder, in this type of circumstance, would Dr. Mori have punished you?” Fukuzawa said, folding his hands in his lap and looking at Chuuya with a stern intent.

Chuuya cleared his throat, shifted in his seat, thought it over a moment before carefully answering, “Mori always said that it’s okay to bend or break the rules sometimes if it’s for the greater good of the organization.”

“A reasonable concept. Why then do you believe that I should act less reasonably than him?”

Chuuya ran his fingers over his palm where he could sense, more than feel, under the fabric that aching scar left behind by Mori’s scalpel driven through his palm. Fukuzawa caught the action, the corner of his lip twitching downward.

“I’m not Dr. Mori, I have no ulterior motives,” Fukuzawa said, in a tone as cold and firm as granite. Chuuya’s eyes flickered to his hard expression and then lowered to the ground, “If we’re to work together, you need to understand that. I’ve conferred with Kunikida and Dazai, we’ve concluded your actions were reasonable given the situation. There is no punishment. Rest tonight, your presence is expected in the meeting with the government’s representative tomorrow.”

“Oh good, and here I thought you said there was no punishment,” Chuuya muttered. He rose from his chair and started to the door.

“Nakahara,” Fukuzawa called him to a halt, “Thank you for protecting Atsushi and Kyouka tonight.”

Chuuya nodded, feeling stiff and a thousand times more exhausted than after using Corruption as he exited the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He found Dazai seated atop Atsushi’s desk, his legs folded and his body entirely blocking the flabbergasted tiger boy and his bemused partner from the computer screen and, what Chuuya could only presume, was their unfinished report. Dazai was speaking excitedly about something or the other, his voice trailed off when Chuuya entered the room and he bounced to his feet.

“Excellent! It’s decided,” Dazai declared.

“Decided? What’s decided?” Chuuya furrowed his brow, certain he was going to regret asking that question. Atsushi and Kyouka looked just as puzzled, and Dazai puffed up, looking rather proud of himself.

“Atsushi and Kyouka will come over for dinner tonight and Chuuya will make us all a wonderful dinner.”

“Who the hell decided that?” Chuuya shouted, his cheeks flustering with the heat of his emotions, and his stomach flopped knowing the futility of his protest.

Dazai’s smile, of course, never faltered, “It is, after all, Chuuya’s fault that we’re all still here.”

“What? No, no, Mr. Nakahara, that’s not…” Atsushi quickly attempted to amend. Kyouka covered a smile, and Chuuya softened his expression on the two young detectives.

“Fine, but we’ll have to stop by the store for ingredients on the way home. I’m not feeding them canned crabmeat,” Chuuya said, leading the way out the door. It only took Dazai a few long strides with his long legs to catch up, resting his hand between Chuuya’s shoulder blades. Kyouka and Atsushi had to scramble to follow after.

At Atsushi’s request, and despite a bit of prodding, because that can’t be all you want, Chuuya prepped some chazuke for dinner that night, topping Dazai’s with crabmeat and Kyouka’s with some fresh tofu cubes, and seared salmon on his and Atsushi’s. He used dashi instead of the traditional green tea, and let Dazai serve the bowls while he plated up some dinner for the kitten winding circles around his ankles. Dazai was regaling the youngsters with a story from their mafia days, with an embarrassing amount of embellishments that Kyouka looked to be taking with a grain of salt and Atsushi devoured wide-eyed and overflowing with naïveté.

“…at that point, my part was done and once they had me chained up in the backroom, all I needed to do was wait for Chuuya to come ‘rescue’ me,” Dazai was saying, Chuuya poured himself a glass of wine, “Of course, Chuuya was late as always. He cleared out the enemy, we returned the hard-drive to Mori, and still had plenty of time for Chuuya to lose ten bets with me before the arcade closed!”

“Amazing! And he really figured out where you were and what you needed him to do just by your turning one book on his shelf backwards?” Atsushi beamed before his features crumpled a little, “I wonder…is it wrong to say that you two made a really impressive team…since the work was for the Mafia?”

“No way, don’t fill his head with that kind of praise, kid. Dazai doesn’t need any more of an ego,” Chuuya complained, making his way to the futon.

“Ah, just who has an ego, glorified hat rack?” Dazai replied haughtily.

“Unlike you, my superiority is real and earned,” Chuuya shot back, scowling down at Dazai with a hand on his hip.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand though,” Atsushi interjected before the two could become fully embroiled in their bickering, “Once you were inside of the enemy’s headquarters, Dazai, it seems like you could have cleared the guards and secured the drive on your own. I’ve seen you fight and if you’d had a gun…I guess I can’t help wondering why…”

“Why he called me into all of it? That’s easy to understand. It was more fun for him to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night and make me do all the hard work,” Chuuya sipped his wine and took the seat next to Dazai on the futon, “Also, back in those days, I never let Dazai have a gun when we worked together.”

“Really? Why is that? I’ve seen Dazai shoot a gun before, he’s a very good shot,” Atsushi furrowed his brow in confusion.

“That was the problem exactly. He is a good shooter and…a suicidal prick,” Chuuya cupped Dazai’s chin, pulling the bandaged man’s face down to press a kiss to his jaw, and Dazai smiled sweetly at him in return, “I couldn’t trust him not to shoot me or himself.”

“Oh, I guess that does make sense,” Atsushi murmured, happily spooning some chazuke into his mouth.

“Hmm…always taking care of me. Such a good dog,” Dazai grinned, slinking his arm about Chuuya.

They ate over light conversation and then Dazai saw the two young detectives to the door as Chuuya cleaned their dishes. He smiled when Dazai crossed the room into the kitchen, slipping his arms around Chuuya’s waist from behind and burying his face in Chuuya’s shoulder. Chuuya relaxed back into Dazai’s embrace, continuing to scrub clean the pot he used to cook their rice that night.

“Mmm…Chuuya…be my lover,” Dazai murmured against Chuuya’s neck, his words vibrating warmly against the skin there, soliciting several shivers of pleasure.

“No,” Chuuya replied softly, rinsing the soap from the pot and his hands, setting the pot on the drying rack beside the sink. He squirmed out of Dazai’s grasp, reaching for a towel and drying his hands. Dazai remained by the sink, head hanging and arms limp, empty and cold, by his sides. Chuuya went to stand in front of Dazai, reaching up to push the shaggy hair from Dazai’s face, curling the tendrils around his fingers and pulling Dazai to his eye level, “I know what you want to do with your lovers, sicko, and I’m not interested.”

“Ah…is that right. So, what are you interested in doing with me then?” Dazai said, grinning into the kiss Chuuya leaned up to his lips, his arms slunk around Chuuya’s body, squeezing out the space between them and deepening their connection. Chuuya ended it first, pressing his forehead to Dazai’s, heat of their kiss coloring his cheeks and smile breathless. He slid his hands down along Dazai’s arms to find Dazai’s wrists, untangling the hold Dazai had on Chuuya’s waist. Chuuya entwined their fingers and led the eager Dazai to their bedroom.

#bungou stray dogs #fanfiction #random thoughts #bsd fanfiction #soukoku #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #dazai x chuuya #deleted scenes #bsd release series #bsd fanfiction wake up

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