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even-after-a-millennia · 3 years

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Falling into a New Life

For @nilefreemanweek2021 and the alternative prompt Canon Divergent AU! Andy doesn’t get to the base in time, and Nile is on the plane to Germany and tests. When she dreams Andy calling Booker, what happens when Nile calls the same number? You can read it below or over on my ao3 account here. Gen | Rated T | ~2.1k

“Corporal Freeman,” the soldier’s voice cut through her music and brief moment of peace. “Been looking for you. Wheels up on your ride.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

She felt a tightening in her gut, one that got worse as she flew away from base towards Germany. Towards more tests. Something was rubbing her the wrong way about all of this.

She hadn’t slept well since waking up in that hospital bed, so despite her nerves, she began to doze as the hours ticked by.

“She’s just a baby,” she heard a woman say, looking down at a sketch of Nile’s own face.

“Damn it!” A fist crashing into the side of a Humvee as a plane, the plane Nile was on right now, took off into the sky.

Numbers were being punched into the phone, then dialing. “Book, I didn’t get here in time. Word is she is being sent for more testing and you know what they will find. You have to cut them off. Get to her before they find out.”

The man closed his flip phone, turning to the other two men on the train.

“We need to get to Germany,” he said.

The plane rattled side to side and Nile woke, looking around frantically.

What was that? A dream? A vision?

She scrambled through her pockets, grabbing her notepad and writing down the numbers before she could forget them. Pulling out her phone, she looked furtively around the vast open area, but aside from her, the only other people on the plane were the two soldiers who had escorted her to the plane, sitting near the cockpit, and the pilots.

If she called this number and someone picked up, she would know she wasn’t crazy. And if no one did… then maybe it was a good thing that she was being carted off for testing.

Nile hit dial before she could stop herself.

It rang twice before a slightly accented voice answered, “Hello? Who is this?”

“What the fuck…” she whispered, pulling the phone away to stare at it. The call had connected, the seconds ticking by. She pressed it back against her ear, shaking her head slowly.

“Is this the Marine?” the man continued.

“Yeah,” she answered, her voice rough.

There was a rustle, then a different voice was speaking, “Can you tell us your name?”

A voice in the back of her mind was yelling about strangers and danger, but she didn’t think that the talks adults gave her as a child ever could have anticipated this.

“Nile,” she forced herself to say. “Corporal Nile Freeman. Who are you?”

“We’re like you, Nile,” a heavier accented voice said. “We want to help you, but first, you have to help yourself. You cannot get tested by those men. It will lead to something much worse.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, keeping her voice low to avoid the other soldiers hearing.

“You have to get off that plane, Nile,” the second voice said. “We will come and find you, we swear.”

“That’s insane,” she hissed.

“Welcome to the world of coming back from the dead,” the first voice said sardonically.

Holy shit.

That’s what had happened, wasn’t it? She had felt herself die. Dizzy had seen it. Everyone thought she was gone. They had even taken her dog tags to send to her family.

But then she had come back.

“Shit,” she whispered.

She looked around the plane and spotted the jump door and parachutes.

“No, this isn’t happening. This is some bullshit. Is this hazing or something? Is this fun for you?” Nile demanded.

“Nile, please,” the heavily accented voice said. There was so much emotion in his tone she stopped. “Please, you are not safe. I know you are scared and alone. But they will do horrible things if they discover you can regenerate. A jump off a plane is much better than an eternity in a cage.”

“I can’t go AWOL,” Nile said. “My family- I can’t do that to them.”

“Corporal Freeman!” One of the men who had brought her to the plane said, approaching. “I need to take your phone.”

She lowered it without hanging up, alarms ringing in her head. “What, why?”

“Protocol for testing. Could interfere with the machines.”

And he could be telling the truth, but the voices on the other end of the phone were getting desperate even though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Are we that close?” she asked, buying time.

He shrugged. “Somewhere over Ukraine.”

“I’d like to give it to you closer to Germany, sir,” she said, trying to toe the line of defiance and deference.

“Orders are orders,” he said, reaching for it and this didn’t feel right, something was so wrong about this whole thing.

“NILE!” the voices on the phone shouted all at once, loud enough it reached her ear.

She ducked his grab and undid her seatbelt, sliding away from him.

He looked at her, considering. “C’mon, kid. Don’t make me break out the restraints.”

She stared at him. “What the fuck?!” she finally said, putting her phone in her back pocket. “Nah, nope. Come and get it.”

He swung at her and she ducked it and hit him in the ribs. He let out a grunt and bent over. She grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into her knee, hearing a crack as he groaned in pain. He stayed down, clutching his nose.

“Hey!” The other guard had gotten up from his seat at the struggle and she turned to face him, trying to keep one eye on the other man.

The man took out his gun and pointed it at her. “You are under arrest for assaulting a superior officer.”

She raised her hands slowly. “In fairness, he started it,” she felt compelled to say.

He didn’t think she was funny.

“Stay still,” he said, taking a pair of cuffs out of his tac belt.

Nile looked at them apprehensively, because those were not standard to have for soldiers in her division, and so why the hell did he have them?!

She stood still, weighing her options. He holstered his gun, holding the cuffs in his other hand. She watched him until he was close enough to strike. She knocked the cuffs out of his hand and they flew down the plane. He tried to punch her but she parried it and went to dislocate his shoulder, but he kicked out and caught her in the knee. There was a crack and a searing pain, and she cried out, but kept fighting.

He drew his gun again and they grappled over it. She knew that she was losing the battle with one leg out of the game and pain fogging her mind.

His finger reached the trigger.

She felt the bullet go through her side and her whole body went momentarily numb as it was overloaded with pain. Nile fell to the ground, clutching her side.

The guard holstered his weapon and went to check on his buddy and get the cuffs. Nile breathed through the pain and then paused.

Something was going on with her leg.

She looked down as much as she could without using her stomach muscles that were still screaming and watched as her knee popped back into place, no longer inverted.

Her side started to hurt less, and she lifted her shirt to see the skin that the bullet had torn through slowly knit back together.

Regenerate. That’s what the man on the phone had called it.

Shit.

She pulled out her phone and spoke over the voices on the other side, “I’m jumping. We’re somewhere over Ukraine. I have your number.”

Then she hung up and put her phone in her zippered pocket, got up and ran at the parachutes and hit the button that opened the jump door.

“Corporal! Don’t do it!”

She looked back as she shouldered the parachute and clamped it into place. The soldiers were reaching out to her, trying to get to her in time.

Nile jumped.

She fell, waiting until she was well away from the plane to pull the pin to activate the parachute.

Nothing happened.

“Shit!” she said, trying to pull the backup, but it didn’t budge.

Had they purposefully put dud parachutes in the plane? Was this some kind of test? Or had this been a terrible coincidence?

She kept falling, spreading her arms and legs to slow her descent as much as possible. She forced herself to look down, scope out the area below her. There was a lake in the middle of a field, and she angled herself towards it, gritting her teeth. Neither option was good, but with no trees in sight to cushion her fall, she would splat either way. At least the water would eventually mask her blood.

Nile really hoped that she could actually come back from the dead, cause it didn’t look like she was going to survive this.

The water got closer and she forced her feet below her so at least she wouldn’t meet it head first. She tucked her arms close to her sides and felt herself shoot downwards faster than before.

She concluded, just before she hit the water, that any fall where she could think about how long she had been falling was too damn long.

Then everything was black.

The three men hopped off the train.

“She’s off the plane, haven’t heard anything since,” the blond said over the phone. “Said she was somewhere over Ukraine.”

The woman sighed on the other end. “Fine. We’ll meet in the middle and find her. Deal?”

“See you soon, boss,” the man said, hanging up.

“At least we will be able to keep Copley off our tail,” the man with a head of curls said.

“We will still need to go after him eventually,” the blond said. “He knows about us.”

“Nile first,” the man with the heavy accent and kind eyes said.

Nile gasped awake and immediately coughed up water. She was floating on top of the lake now, the waters around her red. She groaned as her body slowly knitted itself back together again, bones and organs recovering from hitting water so fast it felt like concrete.

“Ow,” she concluded once the last shift was done.

She turned her head, looking for the closest bit of shore, and starting off towards it.

It took a lot of effort to drag her waterlogged body onto the sand. She lay on her back, staring up at the sky for a moment.

Then she reached for her phone, only to find it cracked and even more waterlogged than she was.

“Shit!”

She pocketed it anyway, because she might still be able to recover the memory chip, even if the rest of it was worthless now.

Okay. Priorities.

Nile was still wearing her uniform, as wet and bloodstained as it was. She shucked off the long sleeve shirt of her uniform and surveyed the damage to the short sleeve brown shirt beneath. The cold water of the lake had washed away much of the blood that had been saturated in it, but she took it off and scrubbed a bit more, just to get as much as she could out.

There was still a hole where she had been shot, but she would deal with that if it came to it.

She found a large rock and tied her shirt around it.

Then paused. Rested her head against the rock and the uniform she was about to toss away.

She had been a Marine, like her dad before her. It hadn’t been an easy decision to join, not with how it had ended for her dad, the imperialism that was steeped into the US military, or the fact that she was a black woman and that would affect her entire experience. But it had been her life, her brothers and sisters in arms had been her family, and she felt like once she heaved this rock into the water, she would be irreversibly throwing that part of her life away too.

She breathed. Then she lifted the rock and with a grunt, sent it flying through the air. There was a large splash and it sank, taking her uniform with it.

Nile watched it go, her throat burning with emotions she couldn’t even name.

Then she turned to find the others who could regenerate like her.

#nile freeman #nileweek2021 #the old guard #canon divergent au #fanfic #my fic

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

This is a request for anon, who asked:

i don’t know if your requests are open, but if they are, could you do one where the reader has tattoos that dean doesn’t know about and then he sees them when he has to stitch them up after a hunt? (maybe like season 1 or 2 dean) thank you!!!

And then wrote to me privately that they have a dragon tattoo on one shoulder.

It was a lot of fun to write; tons of opportunities to slip in some good classic rock references! I miss in the super early seasons when Sam and Dean seemed to rag on each other pretty much constantly. I hope this is what you were thinking of!

Title: The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2589

Summary: Dean is surprised to discover the reader has tattoos.

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence/mention of blood, swearing, fluff!!

Sam moves to the middle of the front bench to shuck off his coat as Dean is getting out of the car, and gives it to you with a long arm over the leather. “Can you hand me that blue jacket?”

You have to over-rotate to use your other hand to grab it, keeping your grip tight on your own shirt in the most bastardized version of a sling. Sam, of course, notices.

“You think it’s broken or dislocated?”

A hard chuckle blows out of your nose. “Really hope it’s just dislocated, I’ll tell you that.”

He gives you a sympathetic smile as he throws on the blue jacket and zips it all the way up to his neck. It looks like he’s covering something up and naturally, he is, thin hoodie and t shirt underneath drenched with enough werewolf blood that it’s clinging to his chest almost pornographically. But his face is untouched and he has use of both his arms which is more than can be said for you or Werewolf Shiner Winchester, making him the only reasonable choice to send for gauze and ACE bandages at the closest pharmacy.

Dean stops his grimace-covered stretching just outside the car and opens your door with an outstretched hand as Sam slides into the driver’s seat. “You coming?”

Taking his hand with your good one, you let Dean close the door behind you without any of the normal grumbling about treating you like you’re made of porcelain, in an effort to keep your face neutral around the jolts of pain through your shoulder. Sam pulls out of the motel parking lot ultra-gently like it’s his first day with a learner’s permit the way he does when he knows Dean is watching. It makes you smile to yourself as exhaust dissipates across the cracked blacktop.

Crossing the asphalt with tired strides Dean opens the motel door for you too, and you walk in before him. “Is that yours?” he asks, dropping his coat on the cheap couch and wincing through the removal of his flannel. In the light of the room you’re better able to see his black eye and realize it’s going to take weeks for that to go away, not relishing another inevitable conversation about makeup to sell a G-man cover story. It makes it so much easier for the families of victims to believe you’re legit when none of you look like you’ve been in a bar fight, but getting Dean to believe cover-up is in the name of the greater good is an uphill battle on the best of days.

“Is what mine?”

“The blood you’re covered in like nacho cheese. Dude, if that’s all over the car—”

He deserves credit for trying not to smile as you try to look over your shoulder like a puppy chasing its tail, but he does guide you over to the mirror on the wall to see. He’s right, blood has seeped all down your coat, sticky and shiny like syrup. It’s far too wet to be from near 30 minutes ago when you got in the car. “Fuck, I really like this jacket.”

“You have like 5 just like it taking up space in my trunk; you’ll live. Here, take that off, I’ll stitch you up.” Dean starts rifling through his bag for supplies, rolling some kinks out of his neck.

“It doesn’t even hurt, I just need you to pop my shoulder back in so I can take a shower.”

“I don’t give a shit what hurts, slugger. You’re going to pass out in the tub if you keep up the stuck pig act.”

You roll your eyes and reluctantly try to slide your arms out of the jacket, wincing when you jostle the dislocated arm. Dean takes the sopping coat from you and tosses it into the kitchenette sink from where he stands, the concern coloring his face when you look back at him not reassuring you at all. He puts the floss-threaded needle he’d had in his hand between his teeth and starts pulling on your collar.

“Shoulder first,” you insist, done wiggling and writhing out of clothes before your shoulder is where it belongs.

Dean’s mouth tightens into a firm line but he backs up to give himself enough room to shove, an exasperated hand beckoning you. “Okay, you ready?” he says around the needle, looking like a farmer field medic with a piece of hay.

“Yeah just let me—FUCK,” you grunt when he catches you off guard without any preamble, clutching at the shoulder for a moment until you could take a deep breath. You do a test rotation and are happy at the relative lack of pain, trying not to be frustrated that Dean didn’t warn you so you wouldn’t tense up.

“Shirt off.” Dean’s tone is firm and precise, no room for discussion, as he gets out a lighter and watches intently to heat up the needle.

“Wow, you sure know how to make someone feel special,” you hum, feeling much looser without the shooting pain from your shoulder. The buttons of the flannel come undone relatively easy, but the fabric makes a sickly wet thwack as you snap it down to rest around your elbows.

From his spot at your side, you see Dean’s face contort in surprise and watch as he reflexively reaches out a thumb to rub the skin of your shoulder.

“Ow, what the hell?” you flinch.

“Has this always been here?” he asks, partly amazed but mostly incredulous as his eyes trace the inky lines of the dragons where they wind around your skin.

“I wasn’t born with them if that’s what you mean.” You can tell he’s truly shocked because he doesn’t even react to the jab, just hovers a gentle fingertip over the tattoo. “Earth to Dean? I thought you were all scared about me bleeding out.”

He gulps and clears his throat before covering with a smile that’s a combination of cheeky and shy. “Right, yeah, sorry. Just didn’t realize I was in the presence of The Tattooed Wonder.”

“Hardly, I only have a few. Now start stitching before I change my mind and wait for Sam; his are way neater than yours anyway.”

“Few? Where are the other ones? Girls on the back of your leg that hula when you walk?”

“Nice try.”

He bites his lip before shifting the strap of your tank top off and sponging the back of your shoulder with a wet towel. When he unceremoniously pours a slug of whiskey over the wound you feel it for the first time and hiss, adrenaline and distraction of the joint pain worn off.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, already dragging floss tight on a stitch with his teeth and moving on to the next as quickly as he can, half-humming that old Queen song, “gonna get me on the track, got a dragon on my back.”

You weren’t lying earlier when you’d said that Sam’s stitches were usually cleaner, but Dean is being very careful in a way he usually isn’t—Chicks dig scars, Sammy! Stopped the bleeding, didn’t it?—and you tip your head back to check his work. The extra time he’s taking is to match up the back of one of the dragons, ripped open by a werewolf claw and currently held together by the delicate pinch of Dean’s index and thumb.

It’s tough, but you manage to grab the reins on a smirk. Dean doesn’t notice, too focused on trying to keep the damage to your tattoo at a minimum. The gesture and the concentration are impossibly sweet, even though you’d long accepted that ink injury was inevitable with your lifestyle.

When he’s done, callused fingertips tugging the last knot in place, Dean grabs the whiskey again. “Hold still,” he breathes, close enough you can feel it dance across the skin of your neck, and you hope he can’t see the goosebumps trailing down your arms like ivy. “That should do it. You can grab the first shower, but it’s big enough that some gauze on top for a few days wouldn’t hurt.”

“Thanks,” you answer, startled and annoyed at your own voice when it creaks a touch. The flannel feels gross and heavy with blood, so you pull your arms out entirely and reach to drop it in the wastebasket.

“I can deal with that if you want,” he offers, ruffling the velvet-short hair at the back of his neck. “The coat too. Not the first time getting blood out of clothes.”

“Oh, okay. Uh, thanks. That would be really nice.”

Dean only meets your eyes for the most fleeting moment when he takes it before biting his lip again and nodding to himself. You get to your feet and gingerly slip the displaced straps back over your shoulder, feeling the shift in energy in the room and not knowing what to do with it. Settling for a jocular little punch to Dean’s bicep, you grin at him. “Thanks for putting me back together, doc.”

Sam comes back a couple minutes after you’ve closed the bathroom door with a translucent plastic bag full of first aid supplies. “In the shower?”

Dean looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch and hands Sam the beer he’d already gotten out of the fridge in anticipation, his leg bouncing rapidly. “Yeah. They have everything?”

His younger brother nods and accepts the bottle, taking a sip before laying out his haul on the coffee table and tossing the bag. “You okay?”

He glances up with a quirked eyebrow. “Just tired, man.”

Sam waits a silent beat, giving Dean a chance to spill whatever it is.

“Did you, ah—did you know Y/N’s all inked up like a friggin’ sailor?”

Sam chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “A sailor? Y/N’s only got a few tattoos, dude.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew, some people like to learn things about their friends. That’s why you’re acting weird?”

Dean scowls over the glass lip of his beer before taking a long pull. “Not acting weird, sue me for being surprised we’re working with the goddamn Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo.” His voice is low and surly like a kid on the edge of a tantrum even he knows isn’t worth it.

“Y/N can do whatever they want, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you like the tattoos, you’re not their dad.” Sam’s barely keeping the giggle out of his voice, enjoying Dean’s frustration the way only a little brother could.

“No, I don’t—it’s not that I don’t like them,” Dean stammers, the end of the statement fading off as a flush starts rising in his cheeks. He knows he’s said too much and Sam jumps on it.

“Wait—you do like them, don’t you?” He crashes onto the couch, long limbs just enough in Dean’s space to be irritating. “I bet you loooooove knowing about those tattoos—I bet you’re dying to see them.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls, kicking Sam in the thigh with a socked foot. Sam blocks him and starts laughing hard enough it makes him rattle all over like he’s on a rickety rollercoaster. When he finally catches his breath Dean is still pouting to whatever syndicated sitcom he’d thrown on. Over the tinny TV speakers they hear the shower turn off.

“You know, if you’re feeling shy I could say something for you.” Sam’s grin is ten steps past cheeky, firmly planted in devilish, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively over top of dimples perfectly sliced into his cheeks.

Dean’s eyes widen like a cartoon and his voice is a gravelly hiss as he grabs a tight handful of Sam’s t-shirt, now crisp with dried blood. “Sam, I fucking swear to God—” but the threat is ineffectual, sheepish panic clear as anything on his face. The glint in Sam’s eye brightens and he twists out of his brother’s grip before he can react, crossing the room in a few huge steps so he’s nearly face to face with you when you open the bathroom door, Dean leaping off of the couch to chase him and slamming into Sam’s back when he stops short.

“Whoa, Jesus—you scared the shit out of me,” you breathe, one hand on top of your fresh t-shirt to still your racing heartbeat, fistful of dirty laundry in the other.

“Just need that second shower, didn’t mean to freak you out!” Sam smiles, warm and light and genuine. “Thanks! Gauze is on the table if you want it.” he says as he slips past you with a friendly and familiar kiss on the cheek, wink that you can’t see to Dean over your shoulder as he closes the bathroom door fast enough that the mirror next to the frame barely even steams.

“Hey, could you—” you start.

“Hey, do you—” Dean says at the exact same time. You both chuckle, and you can’t tell if you’re annoyed or not that the little charge in the room didn’t dissolve while the dried blood on you had rinsed down the shower drain. Dean holds up an open palm to indicate that you should go first.

“Could you cover those stitches for me? The skin is kind of catching on my shirt.”

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

Shaking your hair loose and hanging the towel it was in on the back of a kitchenette chair, you sit on the edge of the bed to tug the collar of your t-shirt as far onto your shoulder as you can. Dean snatches some medical tape and a couple 4x4s from the table and sits down next to you, the heat coming off of him soothing the chill of the few remaining drops of water cooling on your skin. “I’m gonna need more slack than that,” he says, trying to be matter-of-fact but not quite covering the gooey softness around the edges that are making his voice more sultry than gruff. You try to pull harder on the collar but it’s already digging into your neck. The hand holding the gauze floats down to Dean’s lap while he rubs his jaw with the other. “Do you—could you just take it off?”

You roll your eyes at him.

“Or live with it, see if I care.” He holds your gaze, and that stubbornness you recognize.

Reluctantly, you move your arm inside the shirt and slip it out from under the bottom hem, squirming in a way that covers your chest while exposing your shoulder. When he sweeps the shirt back you reflexively jolt away from him like you’ve been shocked. “Not being fresh, just don’t want to tape it in,” he murmurs.

“I noticed you put the lines together really straight; thanks for that.”

“Only took an extra second.” He rips another piece of tape off a roll with his teeth and is being so deliberate that now you’re sure he’s stalling for another few seconds to keep touching you but you don’t care; the feeling of his fingertips on your skin is tender and delicious.

“If I knew you were going to be that careful, I would’ve been letting you do my stitches this whole time.”

“Guess I’m just a regular damn seamstress,” he smiles, finally smoothing the last tape and only surreptitiously glancing out of the corner of his eye as you tuck your arm back into its sleeve. “So seriously, what’re the other tattoos?”

“I’m sure you’ll see them soon enough,” you whisper as you stand up, committing to memory the way it makes Dean’s pupils flare as you ease under the scratchy motel sheets on the opposite bed.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass @vxnderlindes @deanwinchesterswitch @akshi8278 @itsjensenanddean @flannellover67 @weepingwillowphoenix @tj-drinks-tea @whatareyousearchingfordean @winchestergirl2 @winchest09 @samwisethegr8 @fawnxng @nurse-sarahrn @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @thewinchesterandreidwhore @deanwanddamons @stressedoutkitten @winchestershiresauce @tatted-trina6 @percico-heronstairs @downanddirtydean @moosewinchester-deactivated2021 @queenoftheunderdark @lyarr24 @wonder-cole @sergeantsea

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

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chenziee · 3 years

Note

Cool your back.

I have a very cute LawLu prompt

Where Law is still a pirate some how becomes (little doses he know)the Fiance of the Goda kingdom's Cat God of freedom named Luffy(much to the world nobles dismay) and all of the high jinx that come along with it. And Luffy keeps popping up whenever Law doesn't/needs him. Good thing he's cute.

Thank youuu! Glad to be back :D though still super slow I’m sorry

I might have taken some liberties there with Luffy but I hope you like it! :)

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A Divine ball of fluff

[Read on AO3 | Request info | Ko-fi]

Law startled awake at the sound of gunfire and cannons somewhere above his head. Stepping over the lamp on the floor, he only briefly wondered just how it had managed to fall from his nightstand before he forced himself to focus. He only grabbed Kikoku, then ran out of his room to join his crew on deck, ready to murder whoever had come to disturb his sorely needed nap.

“Hand over Luffy and I might just let you go alive, Trafalgar Law!”

With the angry shout being the first thing Law had heard upon opening the door leading to the Tang’s deck, Law could only groan. Not again. “I keep telling you, old man—” Law slammed the door shut behind himself maybe more aggressively than strictly necessary before quickly striding over to the side of the ship to glare at Vice Admiral Garp— “none of this was my choice! And your stupid grandson isn’t even here!”

“Uhm, about that, Captain…” Bepo trailed off, quiet and apologetic.

Law took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes momentarily and praying for patience. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sorry,” Bepo mumbled, dropping his head as if it was somehow his fault their regular ‘guest’ had invited himself over without any warning again.

Shaking his head, Law slowly looked at Garp again. The old man was fuming and not for the first time, Law marveled at the stubbornness of this entire family. No matter how many times he said ‘no’ to either one of them, they just kept coming back like a bad rash. Sometimes, Law couldn’t believe neither of the three brothers or their grandfather were related by blood. Hell, one of them wasn’t even human. But well… when it came down to it, Law couldn’t say he cared.

“Fine, take him,” he said finally, smirking at the loud crash from behind him that immediately followed.

“Torao~” someone whined before arms wrapped around Law’s waist

On reflex, one of Law’s legs shot forward as he braced for the impact of the entire body crashing into him a split second later. Why, just why did this man insist on lunging at people constantly? Law would never understand. He was lucky Law had managed to train his reactions well enough by now to not face plant into the railing anymore. “What?” he asked, smirk still shamelessly in place as he turned to look at the person who was hanging off of him.

The person—or rather, the god—in question was staring back at him with an unhappy frown and a pout on his lips. Law hated to admit he looked outright adorable then, and not just because of the cat ears sitting proudly on top of his head, alert and facing forward in agitation. Ears which were also covered in black, incredibly soft fur that Law would never get tired of petting.

Giving Law something that was probably supposed to be a glare, Luffy finally huffed before continuing, voice sounding incredibly sulky, “How could you just sell me out to gramps like this?”

“Because he could absolute keep you on his ship even if he did take you. Sure,” Law replied in a tone dripping in sacrasm while he rolled his eyes at the dramatic complaints of the literal embodiement of freedom, the person who could and absolutely did materialize out of nowhere on the Polar Tang whenever he fucking felt like it, without any warning, for the sole purpose of driving Law absolutely crazy with his ideas, only to then disappear into thin air again once he got bored. While on the open sea, with the nearest land two days of sailing away.

“That’s not the point!” Luffy cried, his grip on Law’s waist tightening.

Before Law could say anything back, a canon ball landed a bit too close to the ship, causing a wave of seawater to wash over the both of them. Law cursed loudly at the unexpected and fully unwelcome shower, just as Luffy also hissed loudly; if he was in his full monster cat form, Law could just imagine his fur raising until he looked like a huge, black ball of pure fluff.

…Now Law wanted to see it. He made a mental note to find an opportunity to scare the shit out of him at some point later, when he was in his true form.

“What was that for?!” Luffy demanded when he recovered from the shock.

“A warning shot!” Garp retorted, sounding just as angry as Luffy did. “You get off that pirate ship before I drag you off myself!”

“I’m not going back to Goa! It’s stuffy and tiny and they keep burning down my shrines, I hate it there!”

Garp growled as he grabbed another cannon ball. “As if I care about the idiot king’s orders, I’m not going to give you to those scumbags and I don’t care where you go—” he paused to aim his cannon ball at them threateningly before he continued— “but you’re not becoming a pirate on my watch, you brat!”

Law heard Luffy taking a deep breath behind him, no doubt in preparation to go off on his adoptive grandfather, and he sighed. Before either of these idiots could say anything, Law snapped, “If you’re just going to keep screaming at each other, can I go?”

“No,” Luffy said immediately, digging his claws into Law’s stomach painfully.

At the same time, Garp said, “You stay right where you are, I’m not done with you either!”

Law sighed. Every goddamn time.

“Prepare to submerge,” Law said to Bepo tiredly before raising his hand. “Room. Shambles.”

Appearing back in his room a split second later, Law took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to appreciate the blessed silence—or the alternative of, which meant only muffled rage instead of people screaming right in his ear. Not ideal but he would take it anyway. Honestly, why couldn’t these two ever do anything quietly? This whole thing could be so easily resolved if they had just sat down and talked but no, they just had to go yelling at each other while throwing cannon balls and scratching the other’s face off. And Law never had a say in getting caught in the middle of it every damn time either.

Sometimes, he cursed the day the Tang landed on Dawn Island, the place where all his problems started. But really, he couldn’t with clear conscience say that if he were to relive that day, that he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing; that he wouldn’t stop at the tiny, ancient looking shrine to talk to the young man sitting in front of it. That he wouldn’t answer every question Luffy had about the world beyond his small domain, that he wouldn’t look into those large, excited eyes and invite him to leave with him.

But, as stupid as it was regardless, if he could do it over, at the very least, would now actually know he was accidentally proposing to a literal god; one that was incredibly stuborn, selfish, and bright enough to be the actual sun. A god who also came in a package with a crazy grandfather, two over protective brothers, and the softest, warmest fur Law had ever had the pleasure of touching.

“Thanks for getting me away,” Luffy said after he made himself comfortable on Law’s bed, the anger and raw power that had been radiating off of him only moments ago replaced by his usual happy and carefree attitude.

Law clicked his tongue. “I was getting myself away. Not my fault you were clinging to me like a child.”

“Same thing.” Luffy waved him off.

Law didn’t have the energy to argue. Simply shaking his head at him, he instead bent down to put the lamp he had ignored earlier back on his nightstand.

“Weird how this was on the floor. I distinctly remember it was screwed on tight just yesterday,” Law noted, giving Luffy a pointed stare. Now that he knew this giant, ridiculously strong cat was on the ship, Law had no doubt just how the lamp got knocked off. Briefly, Law wondered whether there was even a point putting it back until Luffy left; he was probably going to knock it off again while staring at it with morbid fascination as it crashed to the floor again and again.

Law watched as Luffy’s eyes veered off to the side, his lips pursing as he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s super weird.”

Huffing out a small laugh, Law crossed the short distance between them, reaching out to ruffle Luffy’s hair. It was almost as soft as his fur was. “I know. A complete mystery,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down, pressing his lips to Luffy’s briefly.

The kiss was easily returned, a wide grin spreading on Luffy’s lips as soon as they separated, and despite himself, Law felt himself smile back. That damn smile would be the death of him. No matter how maddening this man could be, how loud and selfish, the moment he smiled like that, it was like all Law’s problems and frustrations were melting away. Luffy was simply beautiful; adorable and bright, yet absolutely terrifying and Law loved every little bit of it.

It was funny, actually. If someone had told him he would ever say ‘Luffy’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence just half a year ago, Law would have laughed in their face. Back then, Luffy was only some incredibly annoying giant cat who just wouldn’t leave him alone, someone who popped up on the Tang or wherever Law currently was just to ruin any and all of his painstakingly created plans. But now…

Now Law couldn’t remember what life was before him. He had learned to build his plans around Luffy recklessly charging forward, didn’t even bother trying to explain anything to him. He had long since stopped fighting the pull, the warm aura of power and charisma that drew people in and didn’t let go. It took a while but Law had finally accepted that he was not any different from all the other people Luffy had managed to charm without even realizing he was doing it ever since Law had gotten him out of the Goa Kingdom.

There was just something in the stupid divine cat that made people want to join and support him. Maybe it was the sense of absolute freedom that followed him everywhere; be it his own freedom, or the one of whoever Luffy thought deserved it.

“What’s wrong?” Luffy asked after a long while of them just looking at each other.

Law smiled, shaking his head at the cute, worried frown on his face. “Just hoping your grandfather won’t hit us before we sink far enough.”

“He’d never actually hit the ship, he’s a big softie,” Luffy announced, that grin back on his face.

“Good to know.” Law chuckled, finally sitting down on the bed with Luffy. “You know, I was sleeping before you two started fighting,” Law said offhandedly, glancing at Luffy and nearly snorting at the way his ears perked up in excitement.

“Wanna?” the other asked immediately, nearly vibrating in place.

Raising an eyebrow, Law gave Luffy a look. “I was going to say yes but seeing how excited you are, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Luffy decided, nodding to himself as he hopped off the bed, walking two steps towards the door to Law’s cabin before shifting into his monster cat form, then lied down slowly, watchful as to not break anything while he tried to fit his huge body into the tiny room.

Once Luffy looked back at him expectantly and Law was sure he was fully settled, Law went to join his boyfriend on the floor, careful not to step on any of his limbs or either of his two tails on the way. As he leaned back against the giant cat’s chest, he let his eyes slide shut, already feeling the exhaustion from earlier in the day settling back in. It was just so warm and soft and fluffy and Law would sooner die than admit out loud how much he loved it. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know by then anyway. What could he say, Luffy’s fur was impossible to resist. It was worse than Bepo’s in this aspect.

“No licking,” Law reminded, cracking one eye open to shoot Luffy a half-hearted glare when he felt his face come close to his body.

“You’re no fun,” Luffy whined.

Law could only sigh. “I’d just like to keep my skin where it is, thanks.”

“Fine.” Luffy huffed, thankfully keeping his sand-paper tongue where it should be, before he simply nudged Law with his forehead.

A smile pulled on Law’s lips, his hand raising to rest against the side of his little monster’s head. To anyone else, this position would seem incredibly dangerous, yet to Law, it was so very comforting. He had never felt safer than when he lay snuggled into into this god’s side, with the jaw which could fit his entire head inside twice over and then some positioned just inches away from his face.

Right here, Law knew he was home.

And while he gently stroked Luffy’s fur, Law’s eyelids slowly slid shut again.

~ Meanwhile ~

“What do we do?!” Shachi cried in panic, staring with wide eyes at the neptunian who looked like it was about to eat the Tang for an afternoon snack.

“We have to call the captain and Luffy, we can’t do this,” Ikkaku shouted back, trying to shoo away another two of these giant sea kings away together with Jean Bart.

A frustrated groan came from Clione in response, “I tried but they won’t answer and the door won’t open!”

“Why do they always have to sleep with Luffy’s giant furry ass blocking the stupid door! How are we supposed to get them out here?!” Shachi whined, mind slowly slipping into despair. Honestly, these lovesick idiots. What use was having a literal god around when he was never there to actually help when they actually needed him to?

This was why Shachi preferred dogs over cats.

----------

Dedicated to my cat who has the softest fur and also forces me to keep everything on the fucking floor.

[Request info | Ko-fi]

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embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb!

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

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caesthetix · 3 years

Text

A LITTLE FEAR — Ep. Prime Real Estate

↪Jean Kirstein mini-series

↪content; canon universe, description of violence, season 4 spoiler, forbidden love, marleyan!reader, scouts!jean, chapter 139 spoiler

You stopped whatever you were doing in an instant, both hands freezing midair as a flock of birds suddenly landed beside you. That was strange, you never saw this type of bird flying around your house before. Those birds had silky white feathers and beady black eyes, some had their gaze fixated on you.

But then again, perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised that you never saw them before.

It was not like you have been living here for years, no. For the last three years, you were here as a new citizen in a world where the fear of titans finally gone. Everything was at peace for years as this newborn country strengthened its military — under the command of the Queen.

Yes, the Queen, Historia Reiss. Never once you ever thought you would be living here of all places in the world, tending flower beds and watering plants. A Marleyan like you, the mortal enemy of those Eldians somehow slipped inside the society and even lived inside the innermost part of the country.

You lived in prime real estate located in the countryside; a medium-sized house with huge land, different compared to those gigantic and majestic buildings in the downtown area. The atmosphere was unique and you preferred this kind of house instead of the luxurious, blinding one. For you, this is home, and you couldn't wait to share it with your lover.

"(Y/n)! Don't stay too long in the garden!"

A familiar shout rang through the open area, making you turn your head to face them. She stood there with her comfortable white dress, maroon-coloured apron draped in front of her figure to make sure that any specks of dirt didn't smear her dress while her brown hair sticking out from her tight ponytail.

"I will be there in a few minutes, Ma!"

You shouted back at the top of your lungs, knowing full well that her hearing was not as sharp as yours. She just shook her head in amusement at your answer since she could predict already that your few minutes could turn to an hour or even more. Just a habit of yours, though she wouldn't force you to stop since it took your mind off things.

Just as she did by cooking some omelette and comfort foods as she too — waiting for someone to come back.

She had a separate house near the Queen's residence, assigned there by her majesty herself. But ever since you knocked on her front door and introduced yourself to her, she decided that it would be better if she lived with you for a while, at least until her son came back. Until your love came back to your arms once again.

There were letters after letters being shared despite how out of reach he was from you. You lived every day in hope that his mission to make peace with the outside world resulted in success. Lots of prayers have been sung to whatever deity existed in this world, never once stopped for every day you woke up.

And today was just like any other day as you waited for him by occupying yourself with daily chores and a new hobby. You used to wake up to strategize the next move and train in the military, being a normal citizen was still a little bit bizarre for you.

Though you already told the Queen that if in case she needed assistance regarding the air force, you would be ready to be called.

Yet three years had passed ever since your arrival, and never once she called you to the military. You had a gut feeling that your lover might have something to do with it, so you could only hope he didn't try to pull any strings behind your back and become the reason why you were never once interrupted.

Well, it was not like you didn't want this. When you finally wake up without fear, without being afraid that you had to see another bloodshed, without being afraid to love whoever you wanted to love. This was the world that you have been dreaming of, so maybe, it's fine to just enjoy it as long as you can.

Your fingers used to be covered with blood, now only covered with dirt and soil. Sometimes you couldn't believe it yourself as you were afraid to go to sleep, not wanting to wake up and realise all of this was just a dream.

But it was not a dream.

It was all real — ever since that day.

Your whole body felt so numb as you stared into the distance, back leaning to the old building behind you, not understanding what actually unfurled in front of your eyes right now.

Everything was still replayed so vividly in your mind. His ash-brown strands dishevelled from the war he had been partaking of, chocolate orbs that filled with love and regret as he took another look at you, his voice — oh his deep, comforting voice that sung like a lullaby every time he spoke.

And then bright yellow light blinded your vision.

The impact of the explosion threw you off, back arching as your body hit a concrete wall. Your vision blurred, your head pounding from the impact. But you could still see the gigantic feet right in front of you — gigantic feet that belong to a titan, replacing where your lover once stood.

You saw it, the long, familiar strands of hair that you loved to caress, those eyes that now turned into the darkest shade of brown stared at you with an emotion that you couldn't fathom. Then he jerked his head to the other side, jumping off the cliff with the other titans like a puppet whose strings were pulled.

There goes your love, that is what you already believe. Everyone knew about how once someone turned into a mindless titan, there was no way for them to change back as a human except if they ate the nine titan inheritor. And you didn't put any hope over that, just slumping your body and surrendering yourself to the situation.

You didn't know since when you drifted off somewhere as black filled your vision. But in your mind, you see him standing in front of you as he reaches out his hand for you to take. In your dream, you saw him playing around the backyard with a little kid that looked so familiar with him. In perhaps a distant future, you welcomed him home after a day full of hard work.

Then you opened up your eyes, disappointed as it was the same as what you saw before. The blistering heat attacked whoever was unfortunate enough to be outside right now, dealing with the monstrous creature as the fate of the world was in their hands.

But it was silent now, the roar of those mindless titans, booming footsteps that rumbling the ground, two enormous titans who fought each other before — it all stopped and gone as the only thing that welcomed you was a quiet, somewhat peaceful atmosphere.

With your legs still wobbling from the impact before, you looked around as you wondered what happened now. Finding no one in sight, not even from the Marleyan Military made you raise your eyebrows in confusion. Was it all done? The war between Eren Yeager and the alliance of Paradis and Marley? What happened now and where are they?

There were so many questions popping in your head as you forced yourself to check out the land near Fort Salta, finding some of your troops pointing all of their guns to the Eldians that somehow — turned back into a human.

That was the only thing you needed before you ran to where they were, ignoring the pain that surged your body for every movement that you made. You were fine, this couldn't stop you from knowing the truth, this would never stop you from reaching out to the Eldian, to someone that introduced you to what it felt like to love someone.

Surely the Marleyan was just bluffing, you knew that all of the guns were already shot towards the sky before. But there was a possibility that they had another, and you couldn't bear to see another bloodshed, not when you felt like there was no need to continue this war if the main enemy was already gone.

"If we did still have the power of the titans, wouldn't we be using it to resist you?" Ah, was it true? That titan power was already gone for good from this world? "But the fact that we continue to be powerless even as you point your guns at us is the greatest possible proof of our humanity."

He made sense, even as you stopped a few steps behind the Marleyan Military, you could hear the sincerity from his words. Yet somehow, your race still couldn't accept the fact, not daring to lower their gun just yet. You couldn't really blame them for doing so, knowing how much terror that they have seen just for the last couple of hours.

So you stood forward, dragging your feet as you ignored the surprised gasp from your troops.

"Everyone, drop your guns to the ground." You still couldn't hear any movement as you said so, and you clicked your tongue over that. "Now!"

Then one by one, you heard how the metal weapon fell to the ground like a symbol of peace. There were around twenty troops behind you, the survivors of the explosion before, the only people who lived from Marleyan Military after such a horrendous event. And they obeyed your command, believing in you that you would make the right choice.

You turned to look at your troops, giving them a reassuring gaze one by one that from now on, everything would be alright. Some of them were crying, some of them fell to the ground as they screamed out, out of frustration or relief for being alive, you couldn't differentiate it anymore, maybe a bit of both.

Your job was done, for now, so you had to know what happened. You needed to know who was the man who stood in front of you now as his ocean blue eyes gazing at you with respect and gratitude. He gave you a firm nod, and you followed after as you straightened your posture.

"Then, who are you?"

"I am Armin Arlert, an Eldian from the island of Paradis. The man who killed Eren Yeager, the attack titan."

The way he said it was absolute. Certainty was there and somehow you wanted to just let your sore body fall to the ground as relief started to fill your heart. But not yet, you had to be the commander of the air force unit, probably the only higher-ups left in the military here.

"Greetings then, Armin Arlert." You started, giving him a Marleyan salute as he answered it by balling his right hand into a fist, resting it right in front of his heart after that. "I am the commander of the air force unit of Marleyan Military, my troops and I would do anything we could do to assist everyone here."

For the next few hours, everyone who was healthy enough was assigned to take care of those who had injuries or any other casualties. You as the commander, trying to call and inform the military base in the capital. Solace flooded over you once again when you received the news that more than a half part of Marley was still intact.

You immediately called for backup, informing them to tell the whole world what happened in Fort Salta. This needed to be distributed now, that they didn't have to worry anymore, that the world was finally free from titans. You told them all the little details about those who fought in the battle, you told them that it was thanks to the Eldians themselves that the rumbling stopped.

"It's..." You trailed off as the chief on the other line asked you the name of the war that shook the world just now. "It's the battle of heaven and earth."

Today marked the three years of the world's victory against titans. Eldians finally freed from the curse and lived a normal life like humanity in the rest of the world. Though, of course, doubt and fear still lingered in the heart of the people. That was why those soldiers who directly fought with the attack titan became the ambassador of peace, travelling around the world to tell their stories.

They were the ones who lived, the heroes who chose to fight humanity who always treated their race like an insect. They were those who chose humanity over their own life, the ones who cast their feelings aside and killed their best friend because that was the right thing to do.

And your lover was one of them, he was an Eldian, a soldier who was ready to sacrifice his life in war.

Jean Kirstein, the man that you met in a bar back then in Marley, the only person who could make you feel so bare as he painted you with affection.

The person who you would wait a thousand years if you had to, so long so you could be together.

You subconsciously touched your left fingers, tracing your coarse skin as you absentmindedly remembered the reunion that you had with him. Not the one where he shouted at you to stay back, not the one where it filled with painful tears as you saw him transformed into a titan in front of your eyes.

But it was the one that made you feel so full. After calling the capital and making sure the Eldian would be treated fairly, you finally could take a breather and sit just outside the tower in Fort Salta. The sun slowly turned into an orange hue that time, your body was all aching as the adrenaline from before started to wear off.

You didn't turn your face away from the horizon as you felt someone sat beside you on the ground, not saying anything for the next couple of minutes as you and the mysterious figure just basked yourself on the peaceful atmosphere, something that was never there with how war and violence always filled the ground.

The orange hue slowly reddened as the sun hid behind the mountain, letting the moon take over with thousands of stars adorned the night sky.

There were no words being spoken as two bodies decided to scoot closer to each other as if there were strings that bound them together. You dropped your head on his shoulder, letting out a long sigh as the realisation finally sank in.

"I am back, (Y/n)." His voice was still filled with disbelief. "Just like what I promised you." But it sounds the same as how it used to, lingering with something that you knew as love.

You lifted your head a little, wanting to take a look at him and scrutinizing his face. He was here, Jean Kirstein in a flesh. He was not a titan anymore, he was just an Eldian from the island of Paradis, a normal human, just like you.

There was a dingling sound as he fetched something from his pocket, your eyes never left his as you felt a warm metal slipped on your palm. He closed your hand after that, wanting you to know that he was real, that he finally could give back the silver key that he brought with him ever since in Marley.

You felt like you wanted to burst at the moment. You wanted to cry, screaming at him for fighting the attack titan despite being a mere soldier who didn't even inherit the nine titans, you wanted to ask how he felt right now and what actually happened, there was so much that you wanted to say, so many words that you wanted to tell him.

But there would be a time for that, you were certain that you would have a lot of time after all of these were done.

So you just curled your lips into a smile, orbs glistening with tears as it shone with adoration, palm gripping the key a little tighter with his hand on top of yours.

"Welcome back, Jean."

You patted the excess of the dirt in your hand on your black apron, finally done repotting some of the plants. When your eyes fleeted to the side, you tilted your head in confusion as the bird from before was still there, so loyal as it accompanied you for the last hour.

This one was different compared to the others. The birds that you saw before only had one solid colour, but this one that stayed with you had brown feathers on some of their features.

The bird just looked at you with wonder, tilting their head to the side as they jumped from the flower bed and landed beside you. Your lips immediately shaped into a smile, wondering why the bird decided to stay with you when the others left already.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

You cooed at the bird, careful not to move your body too abruptly, afraid that they would fly again. Of course, you didn't expect them to chirp, but maybe you could talk to them a little. And you could write it down in the letter that you sent for Jean later on.

"I don't know why you are here, but don't you think you should go back though?"

Those beady black orbs fell upon your face as if they understood your words. "You must have a family, right? Perhaps maybe a lover?" So you decided to keep on talking, throwing some random questions, conversing with them like an old friend. "Bet your lover is so beautiful like you, and they must be waiting for you, you know?"

"Like you wait for me?"

Silence. On the first second, the bird was in front of you. But now, they flapped their wings and flew, leaving you there with both pupils widened as a familiar voice rang through your ear. You didn't understand why they suddenly left, but maybe, maybe it was because of the fact that you were not alone anymore.

That maybe because they knew your lover came back.

And so they would do the same and flew to where their lover was.

"Jean?"

No, he was not supposed to be here. From the letters that you got last week, he was supposed to be in Marley right now with the others. He told you that through the words that he scribbled down on the old paper, and you remembered how he would come back next month.

But of course, your eyes wouldn't deceive you, of course, your ear could never catch the exact voice that belonged to him if he was not really here.

He stood around five feet apart from you with a cheeky smile that made you want to just slap it away from his beautiful face. His ash-brown locks slightly got longer, looking neat despite the wind that swayed some strands of his hair, and you wondered how many times he combed his hair to make it look like that.

Though you didn't care about it, you didn't care about how he was here right now when you were certain he should have been somewhere else. You didn't care that you stumbled on some of the gardening tools as you ran towards him. You didn't care if your apron could leave some dirt on his expensive suit.

What you cared right now as your feet brought you closer to him — was to feel his embrace once more.

You jumped right into his arms, chin resting on his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck, not wanting to let go. Right now, you just wanted to shout and announce to the world that you wanted him for yourself, at least for just a few minutes, at least for a moment.

Everyone could call you selfish at this point you didn't care anymore. For all your life you never wanted anything but a world without fear. And now as you achieved it, the only matter that could complete it was to spend it all with the one that somehow had half of your heart anywhere he goes.

You have waited for him for far too long. You always waited for him afraid that he wouldn't come back to your apartment, you always waited for him with distress lingering at the back of your mind that he was not alive anymore when he was there on the other side of the sea.

But now as you felt the warmth within his touch, now as you felt his smile as his lips planted on the side of your face, you finally knew how it feels to live in a world without fear since from now on, you were free to love him.

He was too — free to love you as his real self, an Eldian, a war hero, Jean Kirstein from the island of Paradis.

"I am home."

And as the two bodies basked in the warmth of a loved one, hand intertwined that clashed a silver metal band next to each other, they both knew that from now on — they were going to wake up every single morning and live their dream.

In a world where there was no fear, spending it in prime real estate with a significant other.

Earning the right to live a happy life for hopefully, a long time.

"Welcome home, Jean."

↪Back to Wall Maria

↪Citizen; @yumaryko @may-machin @cuteissei

↪Send an ask if you want to be a citizen of Paradis (taglist)!

#Jean Kirschstein #jean kirschtien #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirschtein fanfiction #aot imagines #aot x reader #AoT #snk #snk x reader #snk imagines

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ghost1643 · 3 years

Text

Saiki K corpse bride au

So before we start let me tell you this is a non ship fic for Saiki. It's more like a revival short story about friendship more than romantic relationship.

It is also based off an old AU idea I had of necromancer Shun.

It also works with trans Saiki, which is canon.

~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~

Our story starts when Shun is 8 and the family dog runs out into the road. He doesn't know how when he stops to think about it. He just remembers his baby brother and dog going out to play, then popping his head out to seeing the car hit it.

His brother screams running to their mother leaving Shun to go pick up the poor thing. He slowly takes them into his arms sniffling as he wraps their tiny body up with his own coat to keep his brother from being scared for life.

Shun then sits on the lawn sniffling cradling the dog in his arms. Yet, as he mourns he finds he cut himself on something. Maybe it was the dog's claw. Maybe it was on the road. All he knows it's that his blood dropped on the dogs nose...and suddenly he could feel it's body shifting.

The dogs body shifted back to the way it was before and it wide awake. Just like that he preforms his only revival as his mother comes rushing out. Thankfully when the dog is brought back, sure with a broken leg, but he brought him back. He brought back their dog.

A dog that lived for another 5 years until turning 15 and dying peacefully in its sleep.

He's also revived bugs before. Right after this he found a smushed butterfly and got curious if maybe his dog wasn't really dead...maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

So he pricks his finger and drops some of his blood on the smushed butterfly. The butterfly pops back into its lively form, flying off. He's resurrected a butterfly.

And from there he starts to convince himself that he's the jet black wing, just like in the manga. He's determined to prove that he's got this power for a reason. He has to have them for a reason.

....which comes back to bite him in the butt one day in high school.

~~~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~

So to put it simply ...shun messed up. Let's just say that.

To be honest he should have thought this through more. All he knew was that his friends asked him to come to a Halloween party, and he was determined to prove he was the jet black wing once there. They had been joking about the powers he had told them he had.

"No Shin I can get most of it. Like the magic hand thing I could see how that pops into your head." Aren sighs looking at him. Shun blushed looking down at the campfire as his few friends talked around him about him.

"Yeah, and we can see how you got the whole magic bought thing.." Chisato says leaning back holding a drink in her hand.

"Look I can do the stu-

"We're not saying you can't we just go a big question.Like how did you get necromancy out of it?" Nedō asks looking genuinely curious.

"What do you mean? I've done it before."

"Suuuuureee you have." Aren sighs.

"No I mean it! My brothers dog go hit by a car and I brought him back! And I brought bugs back before! I mean it!" Shun says determined, mainly cause this is on the one thing he knows he can do. He has done it before. It's the one thing that's made him determined to prove he's special.

"We know it's just kinda hard to believe."

"Oh and Reita talking to ghost is easier to believe!" Shun blurts out glaring at the purple haired boy.

"Yeah well I don't claim to be able to bring them back!"

By now other students are seeing the argument and have stopped to watch.

"Look we aren't-"

"NO, NO I am sick of being to butt of the joke! I will prove it to you! I will revive something for you guys! Name anything! Name a single dead thing and I will revive it!" He yells determined to prove himself. He's done with this all. He's gonna prove he's special and not a liar.

"Shun you don't have to. We just wanna know where the idea came from." Aren sighs holding his hand trying to be supportive. To him this is just his friend trying to find a way to explain why he was so ignored as a child.

"No I'll do it! Name one thing! One thing an I will bring it back!"

"Oh we could send him the the corpse forest!" Saiko suggested from the watching crowd. Everyone just looks seeming pale.

You see the corpse forest is an old forest where people have said to been buried after being murdered for years. So they are told not to go there under any circumstance. Like at all.

So yeah, Shun goes with his friends to the forest to prove he cane revive a body. From here things are gonna spiral.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~~~~

Once in the forest the classmates keep looking for a dead thing. And for once they find nothing but a creepy forest.

After a while they go to give up when they find a branch that Nendo is certain is a hand. Yet, to everyone else it looks like an old withered branch. It looks like it has been through hell and is ready to give out. Not to mention Reita hasn't seen a single ghost here so this isn't a dead person.

Regardless of this they have Shun probe his powers. They have him prick his finger on a rock and have a drop of his blood fall onto the corpse. Fro there they wait...some classmates to tell jokes and his friends to be there for emotional support when it doesn't work again.

So they wait

And wait

And wait.

Nothing happens so the jokes dusty coming from the classmates. Ones about the powerful jet black and his skills. Ones that make him tear up a bit, quickly rubbing his eyes getting a tear wiped off his face which also lands on his hand...

And that’s when it happens.

The branch traces up grabbing the person slides to it, which happens to be Saiko. Everyone screams running off except for Shin and his buds. At first some start to try and pry the hands off of him in a blind panic. Then suddenly Shun drops to his knees and starts digging the hand up. No one clues into why until the digging brings up another hand that’s been trying to free itself.

That’s when those who stuck around realize Shun brought back a person. He brought back a dead person who was currently suffocating in the ground.

Needless to say they dig with him just as the hand lets go of Shun. That is except for Nendo. He seems to just be holding the hand that’s above ground now which he explains had been shaking in fear seconds ago.

As they dig they soon unbury a pink haired corpse who is gasping for breath while their body reforms, while shaking for a second. Once they catch their breath they all just sit around for a second wondering what the hell just happened when Nendo speaks up, still seeming to hold the hand, (that is now clinging to him since the corpse is still scared crap less of what they just experienced no matter how much he denies it) speaks up.

“So we’re all buddies with a necromancy..pretty cool...”

~~~~~~~💍~~~~~

The body Shun brought back belonged to Saiki, a young Psyche from the 1800’s, who was killed by a supposed suitor for identify different from his birth gender. A suitor who may or may not have stole Saikis money when he was killed, and may have buried him alive without telling any one of their families. And by bringing him back, Shun has effectively given him a second chance at life..a life with enhanced powers.

Turns out once when a Psychic is revived their powers just jump up and get better. Shun doesn’t know how gut all he knows for sure is when Saiki first described his power to read minds and float an object in the air, he definitely didn’t mention being able to teleport.

Of course they learn this together when Shun moves Saiki into his father’s old abandoned work room which hasn’t been used for year since his dad left. And it takes so readjusting for the both of them. Shun, to have a person in his life who was picked on for being special too and having someone who acts more like a father than his ever did in his life. Saiki, for living in a more accepting time and with new powers seeming to pop up every other day now.

Thankful Shun’s friends are there to help keep the peace and keep everyone happy...and in Nendō’s case get some new people to try new restaurants with.

Either way they’re happy he’s around, and happy to have a new friend.

(This idea may be built upon more later down the line lol)

#saiki kusuo no psi nan #Saiki k #saiki k one shot #Oneshot #fanfic #shun #saiki kusuo #fanfcition #fanfiction #Fanfic #corpse bride au #au #Nendō #nendo riki #ideas

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thatfanficstuff · 3 years

Text

Impossible-13

Pairing: Eric Northman x reader

Warnings: Canon typical. Feelings.

A/N: A friendly reminder that I have changed Canon. Amy and Jason weren’t a thing. Therefore they didn’t take Eddie. Which means Lafeyette is not in Eric’s basement. Amongst other things.

***

Sam had already started to come around by the time Sookie knelt over him. He returned with her to check on you and you quickly averted your gaze. There were some things you were perfectly happy not knowing. “Clothes, Sam. Then go to Sook’s and call the cops. See if you can find my phone while you’re there. It should be in the living room somewhere.

He hesitated only a moment before nodding and hurrying off to do as you asked without argument. That was a nice change.

Sookie settled onto the ground beside you and took your hand in hers. “You saved me. Thank you.”

You hummed in acknowledgment not willing to expend the energy it would take to say anything else. Suddenly, you coughed and groaned at the pain that rolled through you with the action. You may be more resilient than the average human, but a bullet in the chest was a bullet in the chest. You could only be thankful that it had apparently missed anything vital. You assumed so anyway since you were still breathing. You kept your breaths shallow to keep your chest from moving too much. God, you hurt.

Sam returned with your phone about the time you heard sirens in the distance. “Thanks,” you said as he slipped it into your hand. You almost immediately dropped it. “Fuck.” There was nothing more frustrating than a body that didn’t work the way it was supposed to. You stretched your fingers and rubbed your hand against your leg trying to wake it up.

When you fumbled with it again, Sookie gently pulled it away from you. “What are you trying to do?”

You cleared your throat and winced. “Missed calls.”

Her eyes went wide as she looked at the screen and you chuckled. You figured. “27. They all say Eric or Pop.”

Before you could tell her to call Eric, your phone rang again. “Answer it. Put it on speaker.”

“Yeah,” you greeted when Sookie had done as you asked. Your voice was tight, pained.

“Y/N?” Eric’s frantic voice washed over you. “Are you all right? What the hell is going on?”

“We’re still a couple of hours from sundown. Someone needs to drive me to you.” You managed to get the words out through the pain. You weren’t certain how long you could keep doing so. It had been a long time since you hurt this bad. Fucking Rene. Drew. Whatever the fuck his name was. Asshole.

“What is her condition, Sookie?” His voice had taken on that hard edge it got when he was worried. Or angry. Probably both at the moment.

“How’d you know I was here?” she asked.

“I can hear you breathing. Answer the question.”

“I-I’m not sure. There’s a lot of blood.” Her voice trembled and Sam wrapped an arm around her.

“And the person responsible?” If this were a different situation, you would have been turned on by that dark, protective note in his voice. No one ever said you didn’t have your issues.

Sookie swallowed and grimaced as she glanced at the asshole’s body. “Dead.”

“You are certain?”

You huffed a laugh at the disappointment that colored his words then groaned in pain. “Fuck you,” you managed to get out and Eric chuckled in response.

Two police cars and an ambulance wailed to a stop on the road in front of the cemetery. “The ambulance is here. Maybe she should just go to the hospital,” Sam piped up.

“No,” you and Eric said in unison.

The corner of your mouth twitched. At least the two of you agreed on something.

“Company?” he asked.

The other two looked confused so you answered him. “Ballentine.”

“Give me a moment.”

The EMTs knelt beside you as the cops shouted questions. You ignored them all, the edges of your vision going fuzzy. That’s no good. Hurry up, Eric.

You no sooner had the thought then he returned. “I’ll see you soon. And I’ll call your father.” Damn, he must be really worried if he was volunteering to call Roman.

He hung up and one of the EMT’s phones started to ring. After a quick conversation, he knelt down and looked you in the eye. “You’re all taken care of. Let’s get you out of here.”

An excruciating wave of pain swamped you as they lifted you onto the gurney and everything went black.

***

Awareness came slowly. Fingers sweeping strands of hair from your face. A low voice making promises and declarations, though you only understood about half of them. Arms holding you against the chest you leaned on.

“Awaken, mitt allt. You must drink.” Eric’s voice was a comforting buzz in your ear even if you didn’t care for the pleading note it carried.

You grasped onto one of his arms as you shifted to make yourself more comfortable. A hiss accompanied the pain motion brought with it. Eric sighed in relief and some of the tension flowed from his body. He wouldn’t completely relax until you were healed.

He bit into his wrist before holding it to your mouth. You pressed your lips to his skin and sucked the healing liquid into your mouth. At first you were timid, tender but as your body began to stitch back together you held his wrist against your lips. You drank deeply then, eager to rid yourself of the agony you’d been living in since the cemetery. Eric shifted beneath you with a moan and you smirked as you pulled away.

You maintained the grip on his arm and held it against your chest as you nestled your head further into his. The fingers of his free hand ran through your hair as the two of you just relished being in each other’s presence. “Better?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Better,” you agreed.

His hand shifted so his fingers trailed down your spine and back up. “No more helping the riffraff unless I accompany you.”

You sighed but didn’t say anything not really caring to get into an argument at the moment.

“Do you have any idea how close you were to death? How much blood you lost? I could feel you growing weaker with every passing second and there was nothing I could do.” He took a deep breath. “I realize that you may be willing to sacrifice yourself to do what you think is right, but are you willing to sacrifice me? Because if you die, I will as well. My fate has been tied to yours from the moment I met you. As much as I tried to deny it, that is the truth.”

“Fine,” you said after a moment’s thought. “But the same goes for you. No secrets, Eric. Let me help you. What good is having Roman for my father if I can’t use it to our advantage?”

He laughed as you’d wanted him to when you said it. You tilted your head back so you could see his face. His gaze met yours for a brief moment, then he leaned forward and kissed you. You ran your fingers through his hair and held him to you. When you finally separated, he leaned his forehead against yours. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.” You tugged on his hair a bit and his brow furrowed. “Can I cut your hair?”

He grinned. “Pam will have my hide, but you may do as you wish.”

***

After you called your father to check in, you and Eric showered together in silence as you washed your blood from one another. Even though his blood had healed you, Eric was still taking care of you as though you needed it. He dried you off with one of the fluffy towels from his warmer before helping you dress in a pair of your sweats and one of his t-shirts. While he poured you a drink and ordered dinner, you changed the sheets on his bed so it would be ready in the morning.

“I could have done that,” he said and you looked up to find him leaning in the doorway.

You shrugged. “I’m just as capable. Get me what I need and I’ll cut your hair while we talk.”

Once the two of you were ready, you started on his hair. It was a few minutes before you started to tell the story of what happened that day. You only paused when the doorbell rang signaling the food was there. You sat it on the counter and went to finish up Eric’s hair. It was pretty good all things considered. And he hated going to a salon.

“And what did our little telepath think about you decapitating your assailant?” It was the first thing he’d said since you’d started talking.

“Pretty sure she was just glad she wasn’t dead at that point, Eric.” You ran your fingers through his hair to make sure everything was even, touching up as needed.

“Don’t be surprised if she distances herself. Humans often have difficulty accepting the necessity of our actions.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? You’re going to talk to me about people distancing themselves?” You took the towel from his neck and dropped it onto the one at your feet. You could clean it up later. You were starving.

He stood and wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you to him. His lips trailed up the line of your neck. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it should happen.”

You shrugged. You learned long ago that friendships were fickle things, even if you did save them from psychotic serial killers. “I’ll be fine.” You patted his chest. “Now, let’s eat. I’m so hungry.”

He laughed as he released his hold and followed you to the kitchen. The two of you sat at the table with your plates and you immediately dug in. “There is something we should discuss,” he said once you’d gotten some food into your belly.

You arched a brow and motioned for him to keep talking.

“Sophie-Anne contacted me yesterday to inform me that I would be assisting her in a new money-making endeavor.” He tapped his silverware on the table but didn’t continue.

Your brow furrowed as you realized he was bothered by whatever he had discussed with his queen. What the hell was Sophie-Anne up to now? It was no secret that she was in some serious trouble with the IRS after not paying taxes for years. Even death wasn’t an escape from taxes anymore. “What is it, Eric?”

His eyes darted up from the table to meet your gaze. “I fear what I tell you may be a death sentence for her. Sophie-Anne and I have had our differences, but she’s a decent queen, all things considered.”

“If it’s that serious, you shouldn’t be involved. She’ll hide behind her title and her denials while you pay the price for her scheming.” Vampire politics were messy at the best times and deadly at the worst. If it wasn’t for you, it would be Eric’s word against Sophie’s should something happen. And odds were, they’d accuse Eric of treason for speaking against her and he’d be killed while she got off scot free. It was one of the things you and your father argued about the most.

Eric nodded in acknowledgement of your words and took a deep breath. “She wants me to find someone to deal V for her.”

Holy shit. Eric was right. Sophie-Anne was dead. And it wouldn’t be the Magister delivering the sentence. No, your father would be visiting much sooner than he’d intended.

#Eric Northman x reader #true blood fanfiction #eric northman x you #series #impossible

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

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can you write jangobi - they have to team up together to save their dumbass kids??? and maybe their weapons get switched around so obi ends up shooting people with jango's westars and jango ends up stabbign people with the glowy murderstick???

(such a cute concept!! more mandalorian weapons flirting, more obi being a chronic ‘saber-dropper, more boba absolutely whooping anakin’s ass at hand to hand — obi really needs to step up the training there. i put this in the jar’kai canon divergence (first part here) because this prompt had interesting parallels. you get a whopping 2,000 words!! still not over lightsabers being called “glowy murder sticks” fandom peaked like five years ago and also I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG i was going to write this on friday and then fiori and i got into it about dha kar’ta and i’m ruined. anyways have some competence kink.)

"We really must stop meeting like this."

Jango growls and slams a new charge into his blaster, like it will prevent him having to turn around and acknowledge his newest headache. "I don't need your help, Kenobi," he grits, as he dodges a piece of the falling ceiling and ducks behind the barricade block Kenobi is crouching against, hands as loose as the smile on his face.

“Oh, no, I’m sure you have it well under control.”

An explosion rocks the warehouse, clouds of duracrete dust whipped into their faces by the evening wind; Jango is thankful for his helmet’s respirator, but Kenobi doesn’t even seem bothered. They’re in the middle of karking nowhere in the industrial district of the planetoid Odos, where no one in their right mind is outside after midday for the wind storms, and Kenobi’s appearance confirms Jango’s suspicions that this mess is jetiise related osik.

“Where’s that foundling of yours?” Jango demands, popping up over the barricade to take a shot at the scaffolding where a human bounty hunter had managed to get the drop on him.

Kenobi hums and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the barricade like the building isn’t currently threatening to come down on them. “I imagine he’s about where yours is. I’m sorry to say that it seems Boba has been caught up in my padawan’s first mission as a knight.”

Dropping back down next to him, Jango has to resist putting his westar-34 to Kenobi’s head. “That seems to be going well.”

“Yes, well, you know Anakin,” Kenobi says easily, smiling wider as he opens his eyes. He raises a brow at Jango’s blaster aimed suspiciously in his direction, but there is no fear in his expression, and Jango wishes he had the time to show him just why there should be. And then out of left field Kenobi asks, “You have two of those, yes?”

And Jango doesn’t know what the kriff to say to that. Are jetiise even allowed to use blasters?

He glances down and notices that Kenobi doesn’t have his jetii’kad on his belt or in his hand, not a visible weapon on him, and suddenly the hiding behind a barricade makes a lot more sense.

“Where’s your ‘kad, jare jetii?”

Kenobi sniffs in offense, tugging Jango to the side to avoid a blaster bolt fired from above. “Well, that’s hardly fair, I did have it, before your friends upstairs blew up the wall.” Jango just growls and takes out the ‘friend upstairs’, watching with satisfaction as they drop three stories to land in a heap on the duracrete.

Kenobi looks impressed, stirring something warm in Jango’s chest, like his stupid heart wants to do anything to keep that expression on his face. So of course Jango burns the thought and tells his heart to shut the kriff up.

“Only until I get Boba back,” his mouth says without his permission, yanking his second westar out of its holster and holding it out to Kenobi grip-first. He’d be concerned about the jetii using mind tricks on him if he didn’t still have his beskar helmet, but he’s tempted to still shoot him anyways.

Every year under Jaster’s tutelage screams at him as Kenobi takes the blaster, oh Force he hadn’t even let Sheeka touch his westars—

“Only until we get Boba back,” Kenobi agrees, a strange pinch between his brows as he looks down at the blaster for a long moment. Then he switches off the safety and it’s like nothing had ever crossed his face as he smiles cockily sideways at Jango. “Well, shall we?”

Jango comes to learn that Jedi aren’t forbidden from using blasters, but he sees why they shouldn’t.

Kenobi cleans the scaffolding of four Odos weapons dealers in a single burst, ducking in a fluid motion to dodge the counter attack before popping back up, firing Jango’s westar exactly as it’s meant to be: in ferocious volleys that would melt other blasters. And the implication that Kenobi has had experience with multiple kinds of blasters makes his throat go dry.

Crouching back down, Kenobi clicks out the charge pack and slips a new one in, that Jango hadn’t even seen him take from his belt. And then the jare karking Jedi jumps over the barricade and sprints for the humans knocking their way into the warehouse.

Jango finally gets his head out of his ass and says kriff it, following Kenobi over the barricade and kicking his jetpack into flight, covering the crazy Jedi from above. Not that Kenobi seems to need it, easily alternating between the westar and hand to hand, moving almost too fast for Jango to be sure he doesn’t accidentally shoot him.

An absolute hulk of a Weequay manages to clock Kenobi in the face, sending him skidding back a few feet before Jango can put a blaster bolt through his head. Kenobi wipes his face on his sleeve, smearing blood on the white of his armour, and it’s as if every Mandalorian that’s ever marched away* is screaming “this one!” in Jango’s brain; he nearly flies into a column and decides it’s safer to be on the ground until he can somehow get the image of an angry, bloody Kenobi out of his head.

No sooner are his boots on duracrete that a human yells and throws himself at Jango, and they must be smuggling spice as well as weapons if they think trying to use their fists against full beskar’gam is a good idea. The human goes down in three hits, just in time for Jango to see the Weequay get another lucky blow, shooting Kenobi’s shoulder to make him drop the blaster.

Jango!” Kenobi shouts, dodging the Weequay’s fist, and oh, they’re on a first name basis now?

But Jango tosses him his blaster like sharing weapons on the battlefield isn’t frowned upon for being too intimate, and watches Obi-Wan fire from his left hand with the same ease as his right, before Jango has his own Weequay to worry about.

It’s only when both he and Obi-Wan manage to push their assailants back enough that they all spill out into the freighter depot that Jango realises he now only has his vibroblade and flame thrower, the latter of which he can’t use without having to worry about Obi-Wan.

“Wait,” Jango says, kicking a human in the chest and sending them flying. “Where’s that commander of yours.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan winces, somehow having the presence of mind to both shoot and look guilty. “I should technically not be helping my former padawan on his mission.”

Another dumbass father, then. Jango snorts, using his jetpack to hop across the depot and stop a human from running away, sticking them through the throat with his vibroblade. “Then why the kriff are you here?” he taunts, and then immediately almost gets shot, because Obi-Wan laughs and shouts,

“Boba called me!”

Jango curses every Kyr’tsad commando and Jedi he can remember the name of, because it’s their fault his life has played out in a sequence of events that has somehow landed him here, noticing Obi-Wan’s ‘kad on the ground and picking it up. It’s a little charred and could use a wash, but doesn’t appear to be broken.

He doesn’t have time to decide if he plans on hurling it back to Obi-Wan before a vibroblade is shoved in his face, barely missing scratching his visor, and Jango doesn’t think as he flips the jetii’kad on, relieving the human of their entire arm.

Oh, he likes this weapon.

The beskad is not Jango’s favourite weapon by a long shot, he’ll take distance weapons over up close and personal any day, but he can’t deny the effectiveness in such situations where he’s stupidly given and/or thrown his blasters to a kriffing Jedi. Fair’s fair, he supposes he gets to use Obi-Wan’s weapon until they find Boba, equal exchange and all that.

He’s just thankful there aren’t any other Mando’ade around to witness it.

When the ground is littered with bodies and every muscle in Jango’s body screams for rest, Obi-Wan is staring at him.

He still has the westar, held loosely enough that the Odus winds buffet it to match the hair that Obi-Wan had cut since their last meeting. He watches Jango with a complicated expression from several yards away, dried blood on his upper lip and Jango’s blaster in his hand, and those taab'echaaj'la Mando’ade* are yelling at him again,

Jango powers down the ‘kad and breaks them from their reverie, Obi-Wan blinking back to himself and offering Jango an unsure smile.

“Is it safe now?”

Jango startles at Boba’s voice and quickly searches for the source, only letting out his breath when he finds his boy peeking down from the hatch of the fighter closest to them. Obi-Wan’s foundling pops his head out of the same hatch, and Jango shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin says cheerfully, swinging down from the fighter to trot over to his former master, his new knight hair looking rather unfortunate all stuck up with blaster smoke like that.

Boba follows easily, not looking even a little bothered by the day’s events and comes to stand next to Jango while Obi-Wan frowns at Anakin’s fresh black eye.

“And what’s this?” he questions, reaching up to Anakin’s face before the foundling shrugs him off.

“‘Ran into Boba. He didn’t recognise me.”

“He was wearing a mask!” Boba protests, making an aborted gesture to the bodies of the weapons dealers and scowling. “He needs to learn more hand to hand combat.”

Obi-Wan laughs at that, then seems to realise he’s still holding the westar and abruptly stops. He clears his throat and quickly brushes the dirt from the blaster with his robe, then spins it around to face Jango grip-first. As if he hadn’t just cleaned Jango’s blaster in front of both their younglings.

Boba looks between them quickly, lips parted in surprise, and Jango really doesn’t know what to tell him. So he does the only thing he can think of and wipes the soot off Obi-Wan’s ‘kad with his cloak, closing the space between them to hold it out to him pommel-first.

Obi-Wan blinks, looking from his ‘kad to Jango’s face, and, well, that certainly answers the question of him being aware of weapons courting. Jango takes his westar back and holsters it, still holding the ‘saber expectantly as Anakin stares insead at Obi-Wan’s limp right arm.

“Master, are you bleeding?”

Something icy lodges in Jango’s throat, but doesn’t get the chance to repeat the question as Obi-Wan looks down at himself and promptly tips forward into Jango’s chest with a muttered,

“Oh, goodness.”

Anakin yelps and leaps forward to help Jango catch him, and Jango really wishes just about any other Jedi had saved him from the Bando Gora, because they wouldn’t give him heart attacks.

Mando’a: jetiise — Jedi pl., sing. jetii jetii’kad — lightsaber, lit. “jedi saber” jare — someone taking a life-threatening risk, not a compliment; similar to kamikaze but not a direct comparison. beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy. Kyr’tsad — Death Watch, lit. “Death Society” beskad — traditional curved Mandalorian saber Mando’ade — Mandalorian, lit. “Child of Mandalore”

*based on the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”. the idea of Mandalorian ancestors gets sketchy when lineages aren’t like. a thing. but yeah, every Mando that’s walked the path is telling Jango to climb Obi like a tree.

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notthatiwilleverwriteit · 3 years

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Hi! Love your takes on 19 days especially tianshan!! They are very insightful and a fun read! Idk if you already wrote about this, but I was wondering what your take would be if he tian came to save Mo instead of She li. I wonder how their dynamic would be in the present. Would they be more like zhanyi?

Hello, dear anon!

Waah, thank you for such praises! I’m glad you have enjoyed reading my mullings!

As a heads-up, this turned much longer than I anticipated, so better find a comfortable seat.

“what your take would be if he tian came to save Mo instead of She li”

I haven’t actually thought about this before, so thank you for this interesting avenue that had never even crossed my mind. The more I thought about this, the more question popped up. I feel like this would be a pretty significant change, especially for MGS’s character. To try and keep this scenario somewhat in control, I scrolled through the comic with your question in mind and let my nose sniff out where the “new” story would take me. So, this might not be exactly a “realistic” take on it but more like where the story and characters would go in my head if things had been different.

The question of timeline

First, I feel like we need to figure out the correct timeline for all this, so it’s easier to gauge HT and MGS’s characters more accurately. According to my calculations, SL saved MGS sometime during their first year of middle school (ch. 282, 319):

In the current canon storyline, they are in their last year (3rd year) of middle school, so two years off that would put the piercing incident somewhere on their first year. (Look at my mad math skills.) I’m assuming the first school year had already begun since SL had transferred and already gained some reputation at school. Other than rumors, he hadn't crossed MGS’s path.

So, let’s figure out 1st year MGS and HT. With MGS, we have seen glimpses of what kind of character he was (ch. 319, 283):

He had many of the characteristics that are familiar to us in the current timeline, too. He was caring and compassionate. His first instinct was to help, and he dint want to see people hurt. I believe he still has those qualities these days, but he’s learned to hide and suppress those instincts the hard way. I feel like compared to the current MGS, the 1st-year MGS was more pure, innocent, and trusting in many ways. He seemed to believe in a world where doing good to others surely was the way to go.

1st-year HT, on the other hand, is pretty much a mystery to us. Apart from some flashbacks from his childhood prior to middle school, we haven't seen more of his past. Even his first introduction in the comic was a bit awkward the way he just suddenly popped up and it wasn’t really clear what his relationship with JY and ZZX was exactly.

What was the mindset of 1st-year HT? Had he already made up his mind that he wouldn't become like his brother and father? Was he already living alone or still with his family? Was Mr. He already abroad or still in China?

I think HT’s living situation is probably what would give us the most hints about whatever mindset he might have. But the only thing we really have to go on is when MGS came to visit him for the first time (ch. 144):

Again, this doesn't give us much. It’s impossible to say for sure if HT was already living by himself as a 1st-year student, but somehow I doubt that. Despite everything, 12-13 is still mighty young to be living by himself. And I have a feeling based on the way HC and Mr. He seem to put importance on family sticking together, they probably didn't let HT go live alone without a long fight and debate. So, I think it’s very likely HT was still living at home as a 1st-year. Most probably at his brother’s place that seems like their primary home before Mr. He went abroad?

Based on that, I think HT might have not made up his mind on becoming a savior/hero of sorts yet. At least not in so many words. Home was probably an unpleasant and stressful place for him, and he would rather spend time elsewhere. When at home, he probably spent a lot of time in his room or roaming the nature surrounding them. Home was somewhere where he had to keep his guard up and be constantly prepared for whatever. He was exposed to and (in)directly involved in things that he disapproved of and most probably scared him. At school, he excelled in all the subjects. In some ways, studying was an out for him even though getting good grades was also expected of him. He was always surrounded by a lot of people at school and was very popular, but no one really knew him outside of school. He didn’t open up about himself.

So, that’s how I see the characters set up for the new scenario.

Mo Guan Shan in distress

Now, finally to the beginning of it all. To help us all get in the right mood, I hope you will excuse my very serious 3AM edits (ch. 319):

A crazy homeless man was attacking an innocent, pure MGS. His young life was flashing before his eyes. The man on top of him is too heavy. The grip around his throat too strong. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, and black spots are dancing at the edge of his vision.

Just as MGS is about to pass out, something flashes at the corner of his eyes but it’s hard to tell in the dimness of the alleyway. There is a loud, heavy thud, and the grip around MGS’s throat slacks. The man is being flung off him and slumps on the wet pavement. MGS scrambles to his knees, coughing and gasping for breath. The cool rainy air tastes sweet rushing down his burning throat.

A bit out of it, he glances up and sees a dark-haired boy - about his age - who’s holding a heavy liquor bottle. The sharp edges of the bottle’s bottom are smeared with crimson. The sight of blood dripping to the ground makes MGS’s stomach turn a little. He makes the mistake of looking at the limp homeless man lying in a puddle and almost throws up at the spreading blotch of dark red on the back of the man’s head. He starts to tremble when he realizes how close to being killed he had just come.

I would picture that HT is shaken by what he had done, too. Picking up the bottle had been like an instinct to him. He had swung it as hard as he could, not really thinking the consequences. Now, though, a small panic monster in his head whispers that he had probably killed someone.

But the panic monster doesn't get very far in its fear-mongering until HT’s training kicks in. Still squeezing the neck of the heavy bottle, he creeps to the crazy man, ready to bounce if he decides to go for a second round. Even in the heavy rain, he can smell the thick odor of homelessness and alcoholism. He doesn't really want to touch the man but reaches to check for a pulse. It’s there, but otherwise the man is out cold.

Only then he really pays attention to the scrawny red-haired boy still on his knees. He looks at HT wide-eyed, shaking, and obviously in shock. There are red prints already forming around his throat where the man had strangled him.

“Is - ,” the redhead says shakily, his voice a bit hoarse, “is he de - did he - “

“He’s still breathing.”

“Am-ambulance,” the boy says, now more anxiously and looking around, “we need an ambulance. Police! Someone!”

HT doesn't reply but flips out his phone. The boy keeps glancing at him as he gets a hold of HC on the other end and explains the situation. He frowns when it doesn't sound like a 911 call to him.

“Who was that?”

“My brother. He knows what to do.”

Well, HT knew what to do, too, but he wasn’t in the position to make those things happen. Not yet, at least. But he knew.

HT asks where MGS lives and offers to walk him the rest of the way. MGS seems confused about should they just leave the man and not wait for his brother. HT assures him that his brother will come any minute now. It’s all under control. The words kind of come out of his mouth without him even realizing what he’s saying. He would like to think it’s the shock but knows it’s his training. It’s the protocol. When you follow certain steps, there is no need to panic.

And yet his hands are trembling when he finally puts the bottle down. Oh, well. He would fake till he made it.

On their way to MGS’s home, MGS is quiet and just clutches his backpack against his front. HT tilts the umbrella to cover MGS more, seeing how he is shaking from cold and shock.

HT tries to make idle conversation. He asks MGS’s name, where he goes to school, what was he doing out in the rain, is there anyone at home, and maybe mentions that he’s seen MGS around the school. Little by little the atmosphere starts to loosen and the tightness in MGS’s voice eases up. Talking also relaxes HT.

At MGS’s house, MGS looks at HT and asks if he wants to come inside to dry up. He’s frowning a little and seems worried. HT looks at him a bit dumbfounded and then bursts out a laugh.

“You really are quite something,” he says at MGS’s confused face. “You just survived all that and you’re already inviting a stranger to your home. Are you an idiot?”

MGS’s face darkens, and he says that if HT would rather walk back in soaked clothes, then it’s his business. He looks hurt and embarrassed. The attitude makes HT smile a little, though, and he tousles the wet red hair.

“I’ll see you around,” he says and leaves with a little wave over his shoulder.

He makes a mental note to keep an eye out for a certain red hair at school from now on.

Having a friend in each other

They start running into each other at school more. (Well, HT started rotating towards MGS.) Turns out MGS has seen him around school, too. He says that HT seems popular and the girls often talk about him in class. He seems a bit confused as to why HT is seeking out his company when he has so many other friends.

MGS is a bit awkward around him, but HT finds it endearing. He’s quick to rise to teasing baits and shows his emotions quite a lot if you knew where to look. To HT, he seemed like a pure-hearted kid. Probably too pure-hearted for his own good. He was a bit stiff at first, but with some coaxing, you could get him to talk. HT liked listening to him talk the most.

The more they got to know each other, the more HT found himself hanging onto MGS’s company. When school days ended, he lingered at the crossroads where their paths parted. He made up excuses to walk MGS home or to his part-time jobs. (He thought MGS was amazing for working already, but MGS just shrugged.) Finally, walking MGS home continued to get himself invited inside for homework, snacks, some games, dinner, staying the night on Fridays.

HT soaked in all the sense of home he could get at MGS’s place. The messy pile of shoes in the entryway. The scribbled notes on the fridge door. The home-cooking. The older models of video games MGS had. The smell of cheap detergent on the sheets when he was sleeping on the floor of MGS’s small room.

Mrs. Mo was a bit surprised by his son’s unexpected friend at first but quickly adopted HT as a natural part of the household. She was more at peace knowing that MGS had some company after school when she had to work late. Sometimes she listened to the boys talk (read: HT teasing and MGS bickering) in MGS’s room. It felt like this new friend had bought some of MGS’s lost childhood back to her son’s voice.

The tighter they became, the more they naturally learned about each other. The topic of family was sore for both of them and something they didn't talk about often. MGS often got heated when the talk circulated to his father. Heated in a way that HT didn't find cute. He got angry and bitter. Usually, HT let him vent through it quietly. But MGS didn't hide things as such even though he didn't really like to talk about some of them. Instead, he was convinced and would stand his ground vehemently.

HT, on the other hand, was more evasive. He didn't want to put MGS in a position where he would know too much. MGS seemed impressed by HT’s brother. He sounded a bit jealous. HT also avoided saying much because he was ashamed. Here he was sitting in this home of good, decent people and enjoying their hospitality while he really was part of the bad guys in the world. His people were the ones who MGS hated so much when he talked about his father’s imprisonment.

But then something happened within HT’s world. Something that shocked him and scared him and gave him a traumatic experience. One day at school, he was visibly on edge and distracted. He looked increasingly tired. He snapped at MGS which he very rarely did. When at the end of the day, MGS asked if he wanted to come over (it was Friday), he was a bit relieved but also worried when HT said no. HT never said no to that.

That night Mrs. Mo had the late-night shift, so MGS was alone when HT suddenly showed up with a duffel bag. He looked horrible. There was an angry red mark on his cheek and a trickle/smear of dried up blood on the corner of his mouth. His eyes were red-rimmed. He hung his head low, asking MGS if he could stay the night after all.

MGS told him to take a bath. He heated up the leftover rice-noodle soup he had had for dinner. HT looked a bit lost coming out of the bath. MGS told him to take a seat and served the food. Quietly and slowly, being careful of his cut lip, HT slurped the soup. He wouldn’t meet MGS’s eyes.

MGS wanted to ask what the hell was going on but decided against it every time the questions danced on his tongue. He was curious but he had never seen HT like this. He looked darker. At some points of the night, MGS felt like he couldn't really recognize him at all.

MGS made HT a bed on the floor the usual way. HT just turned his back to him and hummed in return when MGS said good night. After a while, MGS drifted off but woke up to strange noises. It sounded like heavy breathing. Not panting exactly but more like...gasping for breath. He snapped the lights on and found HT sitting on his makeshift bed. His eyes were wide, and it looked like he was breathing hard but couldn't breathe at the same time.

Luckily MGS had been around enough hyperventilation to know what it looked like. He hurried to find a paper bag from the kitchen, cursing that the damn things were everywhere but seemed to vanish when you really needed them. He helped HT press the opening of the bag tightly against his gaping mouth. At first, it looked like HT got more panicked, but MGS kept pressing the bag firmly.

Little by little, HT’s breathing calmed down and the wild look in his eyes faded. Finally, he pushed MGS’s hands away and tried to go for a grin and joke how this was pretty lame of him but he couldn't quite work his charm. A bit lost, MGS wondered what to do. Then he asked if HT wanted to read some comics till they got sleepy again. HT didn't want to read but asked if MGS would read. And keep the lights on. And like that - while MGS was glancing at panels of high-school-level humor - HT told him about having a fight with his father, talking back to him, knowing when he had pushed over the limit, and the next thing his head had been ringing.

MGS didn't know which freaked him out more: the story, the flatness of HT’s voice, or when his voice started to get thick and he pressed his face tight against the pillow. MGS hesitated if he should comfort HT somehow but it all felt too awkward. So, he just listened and hummed whenever there was s suitable pause. Eventually, HT fell silent and after a while, MGS noticed he had fallen asleep. He fixed the blanket over HT’s shoulders, climbed to his own bed, and left the lights on.

HT stayed the weekend, but they didn't really talk about that night afterwards. The next morning, HT seemed more to himself, smirking and teasing, gobbling the breakfast MGS made them. Mrs. Mo looked at HT a bit funny when she came home from her shift but didn't say anything. She just gave the boys a free night from doing the dishes.

Overall, they got to know each other better than anyone else at school. HT knew about MGS’s excitable, softer, and adorable side. He was a good kid who worked hard and around whom HT felt at ease, though silently guilty. MGS knew the HT that wasn’t the kind of charmer everyone at school saw him as. Despite being so popular, he seemed strangely lonely to MGS. He guessed HT had some kind of darker side that he didn't want to talk about and tried to hide. MGS doubted anyone had seen HT like that other night. It seemed his family was mixed up in some shady business, and MGS didn't quite know how to feel about that.

The angst of unrequited love?

You mentioned if this version of Tianshan would be closer to Zhanyi, and I think that could be possible. I doubt they would be that kind of softer, lovey-dovey dynamic, but my nose kind of sniffed a possibility for a similar unrequited love as JY had.

HT could start gaining romantic feelings for MGS somewhere along the way. But in my head, he would hide his feelings much the same way he does/did in the canon version, just take it to a more obvious level. Mask his feelings with jokes and double meanings. Make him kind of push but then pull back as if unsure.

His feelings for MGS would be laced with believing he doesn’t deserve to be loved by someone like MGS. He’s one of the bad guys. MGS is one of the good ones, and his family has been hurt by people like HT enough. And yet HT craves for what he has with MGS and nurses his unrequited love. It gives him both pain and comfort.

But he didn't want to confess. For one, he wasn’t sure where MGS stood on things like love. He seemed awkward around girls and often ended up scaring them off by his glare and harsh tone. The topic of romance hadn't really come up, or if it had, MGS usually remained silent. One time HT had decided to roll the dice and brought up jerking off. MGS had gone beet-red and stammered that what the hell was HT talking about. For a moment, HT had toyed with the idea of pushing for more but decided against it and brushed the topic off as a joke. MGS had looked damn cute, though.

Secondly, and more importantly, HT didn't think he was worthy of MGS the way he was now. He needed to do better, he wanted to do better. He needed to make decisions instead of slinking around like a kicked puppy. He needed a vision for himself and then pursue it. So, he decided to become someone better for MGS. Someone strong and good and reliable. His own man. The first step was him making HC talk their father into letting HT live by himself. The school was a good enough excuse.

At the same time, they grew a bit apart. MGS got older and took on more part-time jobs. HT concentrated on working on himself. He lost sight of MGS for a while, and it turned out things had gone worse for him. As HT was busy becoming a better man, MGS had grown more bitter and angry. It wasn’t until HT learned that MGS had agreed to get expelled from school that he woke up to what direction MGS had drifted to. On HT’s watch, too.

They had a big argument about the deal. They had often bickered in the past but never really had a serious fight. HT was angry MGS was knowingly mixing up with people SL even though they were obviously taking advantage of him and basically making him write them a blank check. MGS fired back that how could HT understand anything since HT was people like SL. That cut deep for HT, and it was the first time he wanted to slap MGS. Instead, they got their separate ways, brooding and glaring.

The next time HT saw MGS’s face, he knew something had gone horribly wrong. He heard that MGS was accused of assaulting some girl. Furious, he went to confront MGS about how stupid he had been, but all the anger died when he saw how shaken MGS was. He looked completely lost and horrified. All he seemed able to worry about was “they are going to tell my mother”. HT hugged him tight and said that everything was going to be fine. He will sort this out, don’t worry.

He fought with SL and got HC involved, too. HC took care of the deal, but HT never told MGS how exactly it had happened. In the same way he had never told him that the homeless man had been dead by the time HC’s crew had gotten to the alleyway. Instead, HT shoved the guilt deeper where it fueled his drive to become a better man.

But HT decided one thing after that fiasco. He wouldn’t let MGS drift away anymore. He wouldn’t get so wrapped up in his own vision that he lost sight of what mattered the most.

That is I guess where this AU version kind of leaves off and connects to the canon story? This version of Tianshan would have their friendship established first, and HT’s romantic feelings would come later. They would be more unrequited in a similar angsty way as JY’s. The trust between would have also been established through their growing friendship. I feel like there would be tons of things that could be added to this, especially ending-wise, but...yeah, something like this maybe?

Thank you for your wonderfully interesting question, dear anon! How do you vision their relationship would have developed?

#19 days #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #answered ask

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after-avenging-hours · 4 years

Text

Virtue & Valor [4]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

You and your husband have the perfect life. Jobs that you love, a happy marriage, an amazing sex life… You couldn’t ask for anything more. But when something unexpected shows up on your front doorstep that completely turns your world upside down, can your relationship survive the fallout? Or will you have to let your feelings go in favor of the greater good? Letting go of the past can be difficult, especially when the future looks so bleak, but maybe you can figure out how to move forward together. You may just make it out to see the other side.

Word Count: 5814

Warnings: Canon typical violence, strong language, Hydra!Cap is kind of an asshole, this part contains smut (18+), rough sex (still consensual), foreplay of the violent variety, knife play, gun play(kind of?), blood, biting, sass dialed up to 11

“What is the status of our patients?” the disembodied voice fills the space of the lab.

“The memory data transfer has been completed in both patients. Subject Alpha-18 was quicker to respond to the package, but Alpha-19 soon followed suit,” one of the scientists speaks while looking over their computer monitor.

“Excellent. Any change to the subcortical activity?” the voice asks.

“None, yet,” a different scientist responds. “But Doctor, are you sure allowing the Avengers access to the mainframe to give the patients their memories back was a good idea? What if they try to turn on us?”

“Both patients had retreated into the safety of their subconscious. The best way to draw them out is to give them the false hope that there is an escape. The Avengers are mere insects in this world; insignificant at best and a minor annoyance at worst. We still hold all of the control. Run them both through simulation 764-1. Let’s see if there are any changes.”

“Yes, Dr. Zola,” the scientists respond.

It’s fucking cold here. God, do you hate it. Nothing but a barren, frozen wasteland. The stone walls of the facility do nothing to keep out the chill. Your lungs feel like you’re breathing in shards of ice and the cold settles deep into your bones. It’s miserable. But it’s all that you know.

Agonizing screams of pain echo throughout the compound, making many of the soldiers and agents shift uneasily on their feet as you walk past. You don’t pay them any attention and continue to make your way toward the sound. They are just finishing up with the asset as you enter the main space. He’s still strapped into the machine, but it’s beginning to power down.

“Welcome back, Captain.” An older man stands before the asset, looking down at the compliant soldier.

“Ready to serve, Secretary Pierce,” the Captain responds without emotion through panting breaths.

“We have a mission for you. Intel extraction. Agent Valor will accompany you.”

The asset’s gaze briefly flickers to you, “I work better alone, sir.”

Your eyes narrow as you glare back, and your jaw clenches to bite back a retort.

Pierce chuckles without humor. “I’m sure you can make an exception here, Captain. Please, remind me again… when you fell from the train in 1945, who saved your life?”

The asset swallows thickly before responding. “Hydra.”

“That’s correct.” The director begins to pace in front of him. “You were left in the snow to die a long, cold, lonely death. We rescued you. We took you in. We gave you everything. You owe us for that, don’t you?” He pauses his footing and looks expectantly at the asset.

“Yes, sir,” his response is automatic.

The director resumes his pacing. “You owe us your life, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We gave you a purpose. We gave your life meaning. Didn’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pierce comes to a stop once more, directly in front of the asset, looking down at him with authority. “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You’ve shaped the future. We need you to do it again. Will working with Agent Valor be a problem?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” He steps back and addresses the rest of the room. “Prep him. They leave in 20 minutes.”

You’re already waiting at the back ramp of the jet as the asset walks up, decked out in his black and red uniform. He wears a helmet that covers the top half of his face but keeps that sharp jaw and those plump lips in full view. “Soldat,” you greet, pushing off the wall you’re leaning against to stand straight.

He comes to a stop in front of you and looks into your eyes with cool indifference. “It’s Captain,” he corrects. “I am in command of this mission. You will do exactly as I say, no questions asked. Am I making perfectly clear, Agent?”

You raise a single brow in defiance. “Yes, Captain.”

“Good,” he turns away and moves further into the jet, settling in place at the pilot’s seat.

You slam your fist against the red button on the wall to close up the ramp before moving toward the co-pilot’s chair. You frown at the slight hesitation you feel as you approach the chair. You’ve never been scared of flight travel, so you’re unsure where this apprehension is coming from. You try to push it aside as you take your seat and buckle in.

“This is Captain Hydra, initiating take off,” the asset’s rough voice cuts through the communication system of the jet.

You glance at him from your periphery, feeling a strange tug in the back of your mind because that name sounds so strange coming out of him.

“All clear,” the transmission comes back.

The jet begins its vertical ascent before taking off. The asset remains silent during the entire flight to your destination, leaving you to stew in your thoughts. You can’t seem to understand why the words Captain and Hydra just sound so wrong together.

“We should divide and conquer,” he finally speaks when you’re just a few minutes out. “I’ll drop you on the roof and work my own way in from the ground up.”

You blink in confusion, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “You want to split up? Why?”

He gives you a flat look, “That sounded an awful lot like a question, Agent.”

You grit your teeth and look away, recalling his earlier order. You will do exactly as I say, no questions asked. “Apologies, Captain.”

You unclip the seat straps and stand as he pulls the jet into position over the building. He keeps the jet in stealth mode, although the cover of night also helps to keep you hidden as you press the button to lower the back ramp. You hook a descent line into your utility belt before jumping out the back of the jet and allow the line to safely lower you onto the roof of the building. Once your boots have hit the cement, you unclip the line and watch it zip up into the open back of the jet. Once the ramp is closed back up, the jet is impossible to see. All you can do now is trust that he hasn’t just straight up abandoned you.

You head for the rooftop access door. It’s locked, but that certainly isn’t enough to keep you out. Just a few seconds with a lockpick kit and you’re in. Your steps are completely silent as you walk down the stairs and onto the top floor. You press your back against the wall and peek around the corner to make sure the coast is clear.

It sure as hell is not.

You hold in a gasp and pull your head back. You close your eyes tight and lift a hand to activate the commlink in your ear. “Captain,” you whisper quietly, so as not to be detected by the agents on the other side of the wall. “Captain, do you copy?”

“What?” his annoyed response cuts through the feed.

You’re pretty sure you’ve just felt a vein pop in your forehead as annoyance surges within you. “Rooftop access is a bust, requesting immediate evac.”

“No.”

You clench your fists, wishing you could release a groan of frustration. “Sir, I don’t think you understand. The top floor is crawling with agents. I won’t be able to get through undetected.”

“It’s not a stealth mission. Make it work.”

“Sir, there’s at least thirty of them!”

He’s quiet for a short moment and you think he might be reconsidering for you. “Sounds like the odds are in your favor,” he responds before the line goes dead.

Your jaw drops, “Captain… Cap-” Your release the smallest possible groan you can, the sound vibrating through your body. You’re gonna fucking kill him.

Rolling back your shoulders and releasing a long breath, you mentally psych yourself up for the fight that’s about to breakout.

Darting out from your hiding space, you make quick work of three agents before the rest catch on to what’s happening. Your main goal is to incapacitate, not kill, but they certainly don’t make it easy on you. You dodge flying fists and return them with swift kicks and jabs of your own. You use their numbers against them, by shoving one body back into another two or three.

You manage to get through at least half of them before the remaining agents can get you pinned down. You thrash under their hold like a wild animal, but they don’t give. “Take her to interrogation,” one of the agents commands the rest.

You fight and resist the whole way, but it’s no use. You’ve been captured and now you’re trapped. You’re beginning to wonder if this was the Captain’s plan all along. Just to get you out of his hair so you’re no longer his problem. You’re relieved of your weapons before getting forced into a chair with your hands cuffed behind your back. Once the agents have made sure that you’re secure, they leave the room and lock the door behind them.

You sit there brooding in silence as you attempt to plan your escape. It’s only a few minutes that pass before the lights above you blackout. The red back up power lights begin to flash a second later. The power outage is soon followed by the door opening and a dark figure stepping into the room.

“You smug bastard. You knew there’d be a swarm of them on the top floor!” you seethe as the asset approaches you.

He rips the handcuffs apart with his bare hands, releasing you from the chair. “I needed a distraction,” he tells you casually like that’s all the answer that you require.

You stand and pin him with a glare, stepping close until your chests touch. “If Pierce finds out I was captured, he’ll kill me. You know the fucking rules!”

“Relax,” he scoffs. “They had you for all of 5 minutes and you were alone the whole time.”

Your hand darts forward, fingers curling around the grip of the gun strapped to his thigh before you yank it out of the holster. He remains completely unmoved as you raise the gun and fire. The bullet hits its intended mark; lodged into the shoulder of the agent that was about to enter the room.

“You’re welcome,” you comment, twirling the gun in your hand and slide it back into his holster.

The corner of his mouth twitches; the only hint of emotion on his otherwise blank face. “I heard them coming.”

“Sure you did.” You step around him to head for the door, finishing off the agent with a quick slam of their head into the doorframe, knocking them out. You grab your weapons from the table outside the door and stash them back in their respective places. “Did you get the intel?” you ask the asset.

He gives you a cold stare back.

“Just checking,” you snark with a shrug.

“Let’s go.”

You attempt to reign in your emotions knowing that they certainly won’t be of any use to get you out of here. The Captain takes the lead, traveling down the various halls of the facility as the lights above slowly shift between red and black. You’re both about to turn a corner when the asset stops suddenly and you crash into him. It’s literally like slamming into a wall.

Before you get a chance to go off on him, he’s turning and shoving you backward. One of his hands cup over your mouth to keep you silent. The leather from his fingerless gloves is hot against your lips. He tucks you both into a dark alcove, your back firmly pressed to the wall while he boxes you in with his muscular frame. You feel his thick thigh slipping between yours, his hips pinning you to the wall.

The flashing red lights don’t reach this small corner of space, so you can barely make out the intensity of his eyes as he looks down at you. It’s more of a feeling rather than anything visual, but it sends an unexpected and unexplainable thrill through you. You’re pretty sure he can feel the change in your breathing where his fingers are pressed just below your nose. His response is the barest shift in his stance, but it’s unmistakable when his thigh flexes, pushing forward into your spread legs and against your core.

You curse the clench you feel from your traitorous body giving in to her arousal. It takes everything in you not to fall into temptation and grind against him. You’re pretty sure that it’s not a pistol you feel pressed so intimately against you. Luckily, a distraction comes in the sound of pounding boots headed your way.

You begin to understand what the asset is doing as a group of agents runs passed without even noticing your presence. The two of you hold still until well after the sounds of the agents have faded away. Once the coast is clear, the Captain steps back, his hand slipping from your mouth. You can’t help the small dart of your tongue against your lower lip, the remnant of leather still clinging to the flesh.

“One minute before power and cameras are restored,” the asset’s voice is gruff, but not in the same manner it usually is.

You nod silently, unsure how your own voice will sound after that little episode.

The both of you manage to make it out of the facility without further incident and the asset leads you to where he’d stashed the jet. It uncloaks upon your approach and the back ramp soon lowers. You take your respective seats and the adrenaline high from the mission begins to fade once you’re airborne. You lean your head back against the chair and release a long breath. Now that the danger has passed, you feel some of that anger and frustration seeping back in. You still can’t believe that his plan had been to wave you around as bait.

“There’s a safe house not too far from this location. It’s late. We can bunk there and return to base in the morning,” he tells you, plugging in the coordinates.

You make a non-committal sound from the back of your throat.

You’re out of your seat as soon as the jet has landed, uncaring as the Captain still needs to run through the landing procedure to power down the jet. You’re out the back of the jet as soon as the ramp is down and head straight for the safe house. It’s a quaint little rural cottage out in the middle of nowhere. There’s a hidden panel in the wall which reveals a lockbox with a digital keypad on it. You type in the code to open the box which disables the alarm system and reveals the key for the front door. The asset is beginning to make his way toward the house as you open the door and step inside.

“I don’t know why you’re pouting,” he speaks upon following you inside. “The mission was a success.”

“I’m not pouting,” you glare at him over your shoulder. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

His eyes narrow dangerously, “I know the real reason Pierce made me bring you. I don’t need a fucking baby sitter.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You don’t know a Goddamn thing, Captain! I’m not your baby sitter. I was supposed to be your partner and instead, you thought it best to throw me to the wolves! World’s greatest soldier, my ass.”

You turn on your heel with the intention of walking away but barley make it a single step before a grip on your arm forces you to turn back around. The sharp whistle of a knife slicing through the air can be heard before your blade settles at the base of his throat. He doesn’t even flinch, keeping his grip on your other arm, his eyes blank.

“Choose your next words wisely, Captain,” you warn through gritted teeth.

His features don’t change, but the intensity behind his eyes increases as he looks deeply into yours. It feels like he can read your very soul within them. “You’re just as trapped as I am,” he finally speaks with vague realization.

“Yeah, no shit,” you respond sarcastically. “Every single person in that facility is one mistake away from a body bag.”

“Then why stay?” he questions.

“You’re kidding me, right?” you shoot him an incredulous look. “There is nowhere you can run that Hydra won’t find you. And with my damn luck, you’d be the one that they send after me. No offense, but your pretty-boy face isn’t exactly the last thing I want to see before I die.”

His eyes flash with an indescribable emotion before he leans forward into your knife. The blade is sharp enough that it begins to pierce the sensitive flesh of his neck. You pull it back immediately, looking up at him curiously. His large, calloused fingers glide over yours to pull the blade from your hands. He tosses it carelessly to the side, not even watching as it imbeds itself into the wall.

Your eyes dart down to the flash of red that’s beginning to bead up just below his Adam’s apple. One drop is able to build enough mass that it begins to glide down the column of his throat. You’re not entirely sure what possesses you to do it, but before the drop can reach the collar of his suit, you dart forward and catch it on your tongue.

His blood sends a burst of flavor across your taste buds. It’s not the normal metallic tang of sanguine blood. His is almost sweet. It’s electric. You follow the droplet’s trail back to its source and lap over the shallow cut. Your tongue is hot and wet against his skin. You only get one more taste before his accelerated healing closes the minor wound.

When you pull back, you’re not expecting the heated look in his eyes. With just a few quick steps, he has you pinned against the wall for the second time tonight. This time, though, you don’t quite mind it as much. “I don’t think you understand what exactly you’re about to unleash here,” his words come with an edge of danger that excites you.

Your lips curl at the corners and you’re sure that your pupils are blown wide. “Care to enlighten me, Captain?”

His jaw ticks as his eyes flicker between yours. “I don’t do long and slow.”

The tilt of your mouth turns into a full-on smirk. “Well, I don’t submit easily.” You duck under his arm and slide out from where he has you pinned to the wall.

He turns quickly to give chase, only to come face to face with the barrel of a gun. His muscles tense as he pauses. He looks down, noting the empty holster on his thigh before meeting your gaze once again. “You’ve sure got a thing for pulling guns out of holsters that don’t belong to you.”

Your smirk turns into a teasing grin. You slide your thumb across the latch to release the magazine from the pistol. You toss the loaded mag in one direction and check the chamber of the gun before tossing it in another. “That’s not the only weapon I plan on unholstering. But you’ve got to earn it first. Think you can handle that, Captain?”

He shifts on his feet and squares his shoulders. His hands come up slowly to unclip the chin strap of his helmet. Once it’s loose, he hooks his thumbs under the front edge just above his cheekbones before he lifts the helmet up and off his face. He tosses it carelessly to the side, still holding your gaze. His short blonde locks stick up in every direction and the corner of his mouth tilts deviously. “On va voir.”

He makes the first move, jolting forward to try to grab you. You dance just out of his reach with a twinkling laugh. The game of cat and mouse has begun. You kick your leg up when he tries to move in again. He catches your foot and pins your ankle against his side. He continues to keep your leg trapped with one hand while the other slips into the top of your boot to pull out the small knife you keep there. It clatters to the floor and slides across the polished wood until it hits the far wall. He then unties the laces of your boot next. When you feel the tension give against the front of your calf, a swift yank back on your leg is enough to free you from his grasp, leaving only an empty boot in his hands. He tosses that to the floor as well.

Taking a few steps back, you pull off your second boot, so the weight difference won’t throw you off. Both of your socks go next to prevent slipping on the hardwood flooring. The two of you surge forth at the same time, meeting in the center of the room in a flurry of movement. It’s a spontaneous and sporadic sparring session that’s been fuel-injected with carnal sensuality. Every single jab, punch, or kick is swiftly followed by a weapon dropping to the floor. Guns, knives, and grenades are efficiently stripped and carelessly tossed aside. Your utility belts and his shoulder harness are also removed with striking precision.

You hit him across the cheek with your elbow, stunning him temporarily to then hoist yourself across the length of his torso and up onto his shoulders. His eyes flash like a bolt of lightning as he looks up at you, his cheeks framed on either side by your thighs. “Comfortable?” you ask with a teasing grin.

“I’m sure this is something I could get used to.” His hands settle on your lower back. “Though I think we would both be enjoying ourselves better if you had taken your pants off first.”

Your grin turns into a smirk. You lock your ankles around the back of his neck before letting your torso fall back and swing to the side. The momentum of your movement causes the Captain to tip forward and twist until he’s crashing to the floor on his back. In the middle of the move, you uncross your ankles and disconnect from him to land on your feet like a cat.

He makes a nearly imperceptible sound upon impact with the floor and then releases a short grunt when you drop onto his chest. His jaw ticks as he looks up at you once again. “I let you do that,” he responds gruffly.

You hum in amusement, “I’m sure you did.” You sit back on your bent knees and run your hands down the front of his uniform. The thick material and armored plating prevent you from getting a good feel at what lies beneath, but you know it’s certainly a body worth protecting. You shake your head slowly and release a soft tsk as your fingers brush against the red stitching at the center of his chest. “God, this logo is fucking hideous. You would think they’d eventually grow the balls to change it after all these years.”

He chuckles darkly. “You could try sending an email to marketing.”

You keep your gaze locked with his as you reach for one of his hands. You lift it up and unlatch the strap at his wrist to loosen his fingerless glove. Your fingers brush against the tips of his before you’re peeling the leather away. You toss it over your shoulder, tearing your gaze from his to watch your fingers glide over the lines on his palm. Your head tilts slightly as you lean down. Your tongue makes another appearance, licking up the length of his index finger. You nip teasingly at the pad before the tip disappears entirely inside your mouth. Your tongue strokes against the sensitive skin. The asset swears he can feel that same sensation where his cock is still confined inside his tactical pants.

His breathing changes as you slip a second finger into the hot cavern of your mouth. You suck on his digits like a fucking pro. He can even feel the vibration of your moans through your tongue. You’d think he had dipped his fingers into a pot of honey with the way your tongue glides over every single inch of them. Your grip on his wrist tightens as you pull his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop.

It only takes him half a second to roll you both to the side until you’re the one flat on your back. The arousal burning through him lights a fire in his eyes as he looks down at you with a feral look. Lifting his other hand to his face, he uses his teeth to unlatch and pull off the leather material. Bare hands grip the top of your thighs, keeping them spread wide as he ruts his hips into yours.

Your back arches and your eyes fall shut at the barest hint of friction against your clit. The Captain sits up and makes quick work of the top half of his uniform. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your eyes feast upon the newly bared plains of finely corded muscle. He’s certainly a sight to look at. With a body that appears to have been hand-carved out of marble and eyes as intense as a hurricane, it’s enough to make just about anyone want to drop their panties.

You reach for the zipper on the front of your uniform and drag it down your torso. His eyes zero in on the movement, pupils widening with every inch of your revealed skin. Your thighs clench around his hips and your abs tighten as you sit up until your chest is nearly brushing his. You shrug out of your suit, allowing it to fall off your shoulders and down to your hips. You wear a simple black sports bra underneath.

The Captain watches you with a hooded gaze. “Are you finally ready to submit?”

You push your chest forward, molding your body against his. Your hands settle upon his broad shoulders, gliding over the thick muscles toward his neck. One hand stops right at the dip where his neck meets his shoulder, but the other continues its course up the side of his neck and sinks into the hair at his nape. Your nails scratch at his scalp, causing an unmistakable shiver to run through him. His eyes are drawn to your mouth as you lean in closer. Your nose has just barely brushed against his when your hand tightens into a fist in his hair and you yank his head to the side. “Not quite,” you finally respond to his question.

His breath hisses through his teeth at the sharp jolt of pain against his sensitive scalp, but that soon turns into a loud curse when your teeth sink into the exposed flesh of his neck. “Fuck!” The sting of your bite shoots straight to his cock. It twitches and strains against the confining material of his pants, begging to plunge into the sanctuary of your wet heat. “Did that taste of my blood turn you into a fucking vampire?” he asks with a grimace as you retract your teeth from his skin.

Your tongue laps at the fresh mark. You didn’t even break the skin. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave anything behind that can’t be healed by the time we make it back to base.” You meet his darkened gaze with a sultry smirk.

The air between you two is positively electric. It crackles and sparks like a livewire. It’s hot and intense, and at the same time seems to charge you up until every single molecule that makes up your entire being is vibrating with energy.

With the next heartbeat, you’re flat on your back once more. His mouth is everywhere, nipping at your neck, your shoulders, and your chest. You hear the distinct sound of tearing fabric before the binding feel of your sports bra disappears entirely. You are far too aroused to care. Large hands come up to mold and squeeze your breasts while his lips and teeth mark up your skin.

You’re absolutely shameless in the way your hips rock and grind against his erection. You can feel your arousal soaking into your underwear where the thick ridge of his cock presses against you. Your body is thrumming with pent up sexual need. You are quickly becoming desperate for any sort of friction on your aching core.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving behind angry red streaks across pale skin. Again, the pain surges through his neurons and sends another jolt to his cock. Drops of precum have begun to collect on the front of his boxer briefs. He pushes himself back up, ignoring your whine of protest when his hands leave your breasts. He drags them down your chest and passed the curve of your waist. They then sink beneath the top edge of where your uniform clings to your hips. In one fell swoop, your uniform and panties are stripped from your legs and tossed to the side.

“Hands and knees. Ass up,” the Captain orders in a gruff tone.

You are quick to comply, willing and ready to submit to him. You roll onto your stomach before bringing in your knees and lifting your ass into the air. The hardwood beneath you isn’t exactly comfortable and you know your knees will be bruised by the end of this, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. Your pussy is in complete control now and she’s willing to do just about anything to get her fill on some thick Super Soldier cock.

You resist the urge to look back at him to see what he’s doing. It doesn’t take long before you hear the sound of shuffling clothing as the Captain shoves his tactical pants and boxers halfway down his thighs. If he were trying to go for a little more intimacy, he might’ve taken the time to completely remove the last few pieces of his uniform, but the slick scent of your arousal has hit him like a slap to the face and it is entirely too easy to give in to carnal instinct and take you now.

He spits into his palm and gives himself a few lengthy strokes. The sound is absolutely filthy and conjures all sorts of images in your mind. You arch your back and spread your knees a little wider as you feel him move in close. You don’t care if it makes you seem needy and desperate, because honestly, that’s exactly what you are.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his head lined up with your entrance. That’s the only warning you get before a quick snap of his hips pushes his entire length into you. The impact of his thrust feels like the recoil of a firearm. It's harsh and fast but also sends a thrill up your spine.

He fucks you without mercy like he’s lost complete control over himself. The thwack of his balls fills your ears as they slap against your clit. His hands grip your waist, keeping you in place as your body is left unable to do anything but accept his punishing pace. You’re pretty sure this should hurt, the way he takes you like an animal in heat, but it doesn’t.

Your cunt is so fucking wet with arousal, that you begin to hear a squelch with every thrust. If you weren’t in the middle of having your brains fucked out of you, you might have been a little embarrassed. The asset takes this as a sign to up the pace even more.

One of his hands slides away from your hip and down over your stomach. He hooks his arm around your torso and hoists your body up until your back is pressed to his chest. His unrelenting thrusts never cease. In fact, it appears that he’s able to hit you even deeper from this new position.

“Look at you,” his breath fans across the side of your neck when he speaks directly into your ear. “Such a good, submissive little Agent, taking your Captain’s cock so well.”

The pitiful whimper that escapes your throat would piss you off if you were in your right mind. He angles his hips just right to hit you in that one spot that makes your mind go blank.

“Are you gonna cum for me, Agent?” he asks with a nip of his teeth against your ear.

“Yes, Captain,” you respond through panting breaths.

“Good girl,” he praises in a deep tone that makes your body shiver. “Touch your clit,” he orders next, feeling his impending release starting to build up.

His arms tighten around you, keeping your body pinned to his as your hand slips between your thighs. You gather some of the excess slick right where your bodies are joined onto your fingertips before dragging them over your aching bundle. You flick and swirl over the small bud, vocalizing your pleasure with stunted gasps and tiny mewls.

The Captain releases soft grunts and heavy breaths directly into your ear. They’re the type of sounds that would make you weak in the knees if you were standing. They’re deep and guttural, pouring out of him like secrets slipping out from the cracks of a broken soul.

Your hand reaches up and back, fingers finding their way back into his messy hair. Your touch is gentle this time as you guide his face closer. Your lips brush against his in a slow caress. His pace falters briefly. In the next second, one of his hands has come up to cradle the back of your neck and he resumes his savage pace, kissing you just as fiercely.

He steals your breath and swallows your moans, taking you with a ferocity you’ve never known before. He claims your body as his own and brings you to heights you didn’t know you could reach. Your moans grow higher in pitch and come with greater frequency as the pleasure builds in your body.

Just a few more quick thrusts and one last flick of your finger, then suddenly your vision whites out. You barely feel the strength of his arms tightening around you before you lose all physical sensation.

In the next moment, you’re bolting up in bed, drenched in sweat with the sheets clinging to your damp body. You’re panting for breath like you’ve just run a marathon, and lift a shaking hand to your forehead. “What the fuck was that…?” you ask to the empty room.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #captain america x reader #captain hydra x reader #brain washed!steve x reader #smut is consensual tho

255 notes · View notes

ghostly-cabbage · 3 years

Text

Frigid (Chapter 5)

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends (to maybe more??? ohoho)

Chapter Rating: T (Language, Canon Typical Violence, Brief Mention of Underage Drug Use)

Word Count: 6,554

AO3 FFN

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The black and white dashed pavement was all Wes saw. It moved underneath his clumsy feet in slow motion.

Someone was holding his hand; he could feel the heat of their palm enveloping his. His hand was small in theirs. His shoulders were heavy, weighed down by a backpack.

He wrung the padded red strap with his free hand. The person leading him tugged him along after them, insistent, but not unkind. When he looked up, he couldn’t see who it was. The sun was too bright, glinting in his eyes and allowing nothing but the dark impression of a silhouette.

He had to get home, Wes remembered faintly. They had to get home or they’d be in trouble. An odd feeling crept up his legs, and he stumbled over an untied shoelace. The person with him made sure he didn’t fall, pulling up on his arm.

“Silly Wesley, I thought you said you knew how to tie your shoes?” The person said. Their voice sounded muffled, like he was underwater. It sounded… familiar. Somehow. Like Wes should recognize it.

They kept walking across the street, the far side growing no closer.

Wes swallowed, his throat dry.

“Something’s wrong,” he said. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. He tried to look up at the person guiding him. They weren’t looking at him, and the sun drove his gaze away again. He looked back at the road, then over his shoulder where the blurry shape of school became more distant with every step.

“Please listen to me this time, something isn’t right,” he tried again. His voice was small in his throat. His chaperone ignored him, or maybe they just couldn’t hear him.

Cold panic seeped into him and he tried to resist against the person guiding him. He dug his heels into the rough hot pavement. He twisted and pulled at his hand, gripping the person's wrist in hopes he could slow them down.

“It’s okay, Wessie! Your friends will be there when you come back,” came the voice, happy and completely oblivious. “I know it’s sad, but you’ll see your friends again, you’ll see.”

“No,” he protested, the fear condensing into a lump in his throat. “No, we can’t keep going.” He didn’t know why. He just knew they had to stop.

They had to stop before it happened.

It ached deep in his bones, the dread and the sirens. His vision swirled and he blinked furiously against the tears.

“Please,” he pleaded. “Please, stop, you have to.” He yanked on them, but they showed no sign of being inconvenienced. A wail rose in his throat.

Why were they not listening?

“Maybe your Mom will let us have some fruit snacks when we get there, how’s that sound?”

And then it was too late.

His guardian gasped, and yanked him back. It sent a painful jolt through his arm. He stumbled backwards and hit the ground so hard it rattled his brain.

The sound he could never push from his memories filled the world. The squeal of tires and a wet crunch. A squeal: high pitched and girlish. The solid thunk and crack of a body hitting the pavement, skidding and rolling and breaking and—

Wes sat bolt upright, strangling back a scream.

Panic tingled over his skin and he clutched at his chest, fingers curling into the cotton of his nightshirt. His breath came in rapid gulps and his eyes darted around his room. Like he was expecting to see—

He screwed his eyes shut and bit into his bottom lip until he tasted blood. God… He hadn’t had one that bad— that vivid in a long time. He focused on the beat of his heart for several long seconds, forcing his breathing to slow.

God. He hated nightmares.

He opened his eyes, taking in the dimly illuminated shapes of his dresser, desk and footboard. His curtains were drawn, and the weak light of morning tried in vain to worm it’s way into the room from behind the fabric.

Wes reached for his phone on his bedside table. He unplugged it from the charger and winced against the light of the screen, 6:31 a.m. Friday.

They’d had the last two days off from school due to damages to the plumbing system, but apparently it was all fixed up because school hadn’t been cancelled today.

After that, going back to sleep was a lost cause.

He shook his head and peeled his covers back. Might as well get an early start on getting ready for school. With a yawn he opened his door and glanced down the hall.

Kyle’s door wasn’t open yet, which wasn’t surprising. Kyle was late most mornings; he liked sleeping in about as much as he liked weed… he slept in so much because of the weed more specifically.

The house was chilly and quiet.

That was until Wes heard footsteps and the sounds of drawers opening and closing in the kitchen.

His right hand slid along the guide rail, the polished wood still smelling of lemon. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he poked his head around the corner of the wall and into the kitchen. He blinked.

It was his dad. He was standing at the toaster, a butter knife held in his hand. Neatly ironed suit already on.

Wes walked in without announcing himself and went to the cupboard. His dad jumped, catching a glimpse of him over his shoulder.

“Oh, Wesley.” He cleared his throat and shifted towards him. “You’re up early.”

“Yep.”

He got a box of cereal and closed the cupboard. He turned his back to his father to get a clean bowl.

“Right. Uhm. Did you… want toast?”

Wes nudged the cupboard door closed with an elbow.

“No, I don’t want toast.” He put his bowl on the dining table and filled it with cereal. His dad watched him.

“There’s eggs in the fridge too if you—”

“Dad, it’s fine.” Wes didn’t look at him, and put the cereal box away. He got the jug of milk from the fridge and poured it over the sugary monstrosity that had the audacity to call itself a balanced breakfast. Other than the sound of the milk glugging, the kitchen was tense and silent. Wes screwed the cap back on the milk and put it back in the fridge, getting a spoon next from the silverware drawer.

The toaster popped, and his Dad startled.

Under different circumstances Wes might have laughed.

He pulled out a seat at the table, its legs scraping over the hardwood floor. He sank down into the cold chair and started eating. He pulled his phone out from his sweatpant pocket and scrolled without really paying attention to the images and text that slid past.

“Aren’t you late for work or something?” he said. His dad stopped scraping the butter on his toast.

“Now that I’m finally settled into the office a bit more I don’t have to be in till seven.”

Wes clicked his tongue. “Oh. Joy.” He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His dad sighed, and he could see his shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye.

“Your uh, tryouts are today, right?”

“Why’s it matter? Not like you ever have time to come to my games anyway.” He said it hoping it would hurt. It was childish, Wes knew it was, but he just wanted his dad to get it for once.

“Wesley, kiddo... I know this has been hard on you and your brother—” Wes snorted. His Dad pressed on. “But this job was an amazing opportunity, I really think it could do a lot of good for us.”

“We were fine with the job you had.”

“I thought a change of environment would help after everything that happened. I’m only doing what’s best for the two of you. For all of us, as a family.”

Wes laughed. It was empty and brittle.

“Well, that’s news to me. We’re hardly even a family anymore.”

“Wesley,” his dad’s voice took on a stern edge.

“You didn’t care about us, if you did you would have asked what we wanted.”

“And this is exactly why I didn’t.” His Dad gestured jerkily towards him with the butter knife.

“What’s that mean?” Wes slapped his phone down and glared up at his dad.

“It’s clear that you’re still too immature to deal with this like an adult. I’m doing this with your futures in mind, Wesley.”

“By ripping us away from home? From all our friends? From Grandma and Grandpa? Uncle Ronnie?” Wes’ heart was thumping in his ears and he wanted to scream, flip the table over, something to make the pressure in his chest go away.

His dad scoffed.

“Don’t raise your voice at me. I told you when we moved that we would visit for the holidays.”

“That just makes it all better. Doesn’t it?” he pushed through grit teeth. He squeezed the handle of his spoon in his fist, the cool metal pressing indentions into his skin.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you and what you want. It’s no one's fault but your own that you’re choosing to learn it the hard way.”

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

“Wesley!” his dad snapped. “One thing you won’t do is speak to me like that under my roof, you understand me?”

Wes held his dad’s gaze, not backing down.

“After tryouts you come right home and stay here for the weekend.”

“What? Seriously?!”

“Yes, seriously.”

Rage whirled in his throat and he bit down on his tongue. He stood up, his chair skidding backwards. Fucking bullshit. It was fucking bullshit.

He threw his spoon down onto the table. It clattered and bounced off the side of his bowl. He snatched his phone and stormed away from the table and back up to his room. He slammed his door behind him and stood there seething, his hands balled into fists.

He stood there as the seconds ticked by, eyes roaming over his room for something he wouldn’t mind breaking. The buzz of his phone distracted him, and he looked down, turning on the screen.

If it was from Dad he was gonna—

Alien Fucker: ?

Oh. Right.

It made sense that he’d probably woken up Kyle. He typed a message back into their chat.

Basketball Freak: Nothing

Alien Fucker: Didn’t sound like nothing

Basketball Freak: Dad grounded me again

...

it’s whatever at this point

Alien Fucker: F in the chat

…

want me to talk to him?

Basketball Freak: no, its fine

Alien Fucker: K just lemme know

Kyle always felt like he had to be the mediator. In the year leading up to the divorce he was the middle man between Mom and Dad, despite Wes telling him that it was ridiculous. Their parents were grown-ass adults. They shouldn’t have fucking needed their seventeen-year-old-son to deliver messages back and forth because they couldn’t stand to talk to each other. And Dad called him immature.

Kyle hated the tension, he took on the peacekeeper role like a job, trying to hold them all together in vain as the family crumbled around him. Wes probably hadn’t helped any, looking back.

He picked fights with Dad like it was his job.

And Mom… He still didn’t talk to Mom.

He tried to get where Kyle was coming from, he really did. But pretending that shit wasn't fucked wasn’t going to unfuck it.

Their parents deserved to know what they'd done was wrong. And if hating them was what it took, then goddamnit, Wes was going to do it.

Wes tossed his phone onto his bed and started getting dressed for school.

***

The school day passed by uneventful. Mia had the scoop about some couple that had broken up over the two day break that Wes hardly paid attention to. He helped her set her shutter speed and they took pictures of fast moving objects outside.

At lunch he sat with Kyle and his stoner friends.

In chemistry, Wes got there after Danny. He set his stuff down, scooting his stool away from him. They ignored each other the best they could as people got settled for class.

Wes bounced his leg on the stool’s rung and kept an eye on the clock. Two more classes until tryouts.

Mrs. Merriweather erased the notes on the board from last class and once the bell rang her iron gaze flicked over the class to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be.

“Once I take roll, you’ll work on writing your findings from the last lab in a short essay.” An unenthused murmur filtered through the class. Wes glanced sideways to see Danny grimacing.

Hah. Served him right.

“Mr. Fenton. You can make up for your absence last class in an hour's detention after school today.”

Some of their classmates turned to look at Danny, half smiles and shared glances. Nothing was more unifying in a classroom than someone who wasn't you getting in trouble.

Danny hunched his shoulders and sighed.

“Yes, Mrs. Merriweather,” he said.

Sucked for him, but really, what did he expect? Skipping class was a risk he decided to take.

Wes used his notes from the lab he’d done by himself, and started writing his short essay. The class quieted and the only sound was the occasional whisper and the shuffle of papers.

Danny was quiet, fiddling with a pencil and looking at his phone under the table when Mrs. Merriweather wasn’t watching. Wes couldn’t tell who Danny was messaging, but if he had to guess it’d be the other two-thirds of his friend group. Eventually, Danny pulled out papers from a beat up binder and started working on it. From the corner of his eye he’d guess it was history homework.

All Wes cared about was that Danny didn’t bother him. He wrote his essay with his mind half on the words and half on the growing excitement of hitting the court. Finally, finally he’d be able to do one of the only things he was good at. The minutes dragged past and around the fiftieth time he’d glanced up at the clock Danny shifted next to him.

“Dude, chill out, you’re making me nervous,” he said quietly. He didn’t even look up from his homework when he said it.

Wes lifted his head from his partially done essay and narrowed his eyes.

“Mind your own business, Fenton.”

Fenton rolled his eyes but said no more.

Class wrapped up twenty minutes later, Wes turned in his sloppily written essay and bolted out of the room. The hallways swelled with students as they poured from their classrooms. Econ was all that stood between Wes and tryouts. He swung by his locker, grabbing his books.

He was about to turn to leave when he bumped into someone. They both stumbled back and Wes recognized the pungent smell coming off the other person.

“Whoa man, sorry ‘bout that.” Said a guy with blond hair and a beanie slouched over his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wes said, trying to get around him.

“Hey wait, you’re Wesley, right? Kyle’s lil bro.”

Well, that explained the smell.

“Uh, yeah that’s me. Sorry, but I’ve gotta—”

“Dude, sweet. Name’s Robbie, I’m pretty chill with your brother,” he said.

“That’s nice. Well, nice to meet you and stuff.” Wes stepped around the stoner and headed towards his class.

“Yeah, totally! I wasn’t here for lunch but Kyle said you hung out with the group today—” Robbie said, following after Wes.

He pushed a breath between his teeth. Great, guess this was happening now.

“—but like Kyle’s told me a lot about you, man.”

“Cool?” Seriously, why was this guy talking to him?

“Yeah, I just wanted to say the group’s mega on your side.”

“Uh-huh. Cool.”

Wait.

“On my side about what?” Wes slowed his pace.

“The ghosts, bro!”

“What about them?”

“Pf, bruh. We’ve lived in Amity Park for like, ever? We’re trying to convince him that this ghost stuff is legit.”

Wes scoffed. “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying since I was like six.”

Robbie shook his head. “I know what’cha mean, bro. Dude’s like a steel trap... or however that saying goes.” Robbie shrugged.

Wes chuckled. “Let me know if you guys make any progress with him,” he said. He’d meant it as a joke, but Robbie nodded seriously.

“Hell yeah, dude, that’s what’s up. You can count on me.” He held out a closed fist to Wes.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his grin. He fist bumped Robbie.

“Okay, well… I’m going to class now.”

Robbie held up his hands. “Oh, yeah, totes. I should probably do that too, now that I think about it.”

“Probably.”

Robbie turned and walked away in the opposite direction, a single textbook swinging in his grasp. Kyle’s friends were always friendly. Even if they were a bit annoying.

Wes was almost late for Econ, thanks to the fact the class was on the other side of the building. He slipped into the room and sat down, letting out a breath when the last bell rang thirty seconds later.

Mr. Brown took his place at the front of the class, voice as monotonous as ever. His button-up was wrinkled around his midsection, and he ran his hands over it like that would help.

“Alright class, we’re going to start talking about the stock market today,” he said, pulling up Google on the projector.

Wes hardly absorbed a word from Mr. Brown’s lecture, which was a total snooze-fest. The stock market wasn’t exactly riveting stuff. He bounced his leg under his desk, watching the clock.

Mr. Brown was in the middle of describing the homework: picking three stocks and tracking their ups and downs through-out the weekend, when the bell rang. Wes had been about ready to start pulling his hair out.

He shot up from his seat and was first out the door.

Wes made a beeline for his locker. Or at least he tried. He got stuck behind kids walking at a snail's pace three times. He got a few dirty looks for pushing past people loitering in their groups.

Eventually, he made it to his locker and fumbled with the lock. Once open, he stuffed his books and notes anywhere they’d fit. Papers crumpled and his notebook creaseed down the center. He pulled his bag from the hook and slung it over his shoulder. He headed to the locker rooms at a jog, back to bobbing and weaving around people in the halls.

“Mr. Weston, no running in the halls!” He heard Mr. Lancer call after him as he went past the English room. He slowed down to a power walk, not caring that he looked stupid.

He got to the locker room and got his gym clothes out. He changed quickly, ripping his shirt off and almost tripping over his jeans.

There were other guys in the room, some he recognized and others he didn’t. Before he put his phone away he checked it, the screen lighting up. At the very top of the lock screen was a message notification.

Mom: How was the first week of school?

His fingers tightened around his phone, pushing the blood away from his fingertips and leaving them pale. He stared at it until the screen dimmed.

He didn’t want to think about it, not now—not at all. He tossed his phone into his bag and zipped it up.

Out of sight out of mind.

He locked up the rest of his stuff and left the locker room. He followed a few other guys into the gym.

The overhead lights reflected in bright streaks on the polished wood floor. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of cleaners and old set in sweat. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the floor. The high pitched sound echoed around the room; it felt like home.

Mrs. Tetslaff was standing by the bleachers, writing something on a clipboard. A few students that looked like freshmen were wheeling out a wire cart heaped with basketballs.

Wes walked towards Tetslaff, coming to stop a ways away. He shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. Within a minute or two there was a loose ring of guys waiting around. A majority were talking amongst themselves, joking around. Clearly they were last year’s team, bonded by hours of blood, sweat, and tears. Wes was on the outside. He felt a sour twinge in his stomach watching them. He wondered how his old team was doing… None of them had messaged him since he left. Not even Cole or Adam.

“Ay, new kid!”

Wes turned to see a guy with short black hair and olive brown skin. The guy was a bit taller than him. He came up and clapped Wes on the back so hard it stung his skin. He stumbled forward a bit before catching himself.

“I hear you played point in Cali.”

Wes tapped the toe of his shoe against the ground a few times. “Yeah?”

The guy smiled, dark eyes sparkling. He had a nicely structured face, the stubble on his chin making it a reasonable guess that he was a senior.

“I’m José. Wesley, right? ” He crossed his arms over his chest. Wes didn’t know if he was intending to show off his biceps or not, but it certainly seemed like he was. “I was point-guard last year, and ain’t no way in hell some lanky California kid is gonna yoink my spot.”

Wes carefully gaged for any hostility, but there was none. José was all smiles. A friendly challenge?

“I guess we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He smirked back.

Somehow José’s smile got bigger. He laughed, his posture breaking into something more casual.

“I like you already, Wesley.” He stuck out his hand for a handshake. Wes obliged. José grabbed his hand without mercy and shook so vigorously Wes thought he’d lose his arm.

“Just ‘Wes’ is fine,” he said with a wince. José released his hand. “Ow,” he muttered, shaking his hand out.

“C’mon, you can hang with us, save you the embarrassment of mingling with the Freshmen.” José slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him into the inner circle of guys. He followed, mostly because he didn’t have much of a choice. As they got close the group looked up, varying levels of welcoming.

“Wes, this is Mark,” he pointed to the dude the farthest from them. He was shorter than Wes, long brown hair tied behind his head.

“‘Sup.”

“Next we got Joseph.” José motioned to a guy with terrible posture, it made it hard to tell how tall he was. He looked familiar and it took a few seconds for the light bulb to come on. It clicked and Wes remembered he had Homeroom with him. “We just call him Jo or Joey though.” The guy in question threw up a peace sign. He had light grey hair, obviously the product of a good chunk of money and some bleach.

Now that Wes thought of it, living in Amity Park, it was weird how many people didn’t have crazy bleached or dyed hair. Maybe it was more of a west coast thing? Or Amity was just behind on the times. Probably both.

“This is Anthony,” José moved to the next guy. He was about Wes’ height and he had neatly cut and styled almond brown hair. He looked like he belonged in a boy band. His eyes were hazel green, and he looked Wes up and down.

“Hey,” was all he said. Wes tried not to stare too long as José moved on.

“Last but not least we got our boy Isaac.” He had black hair, shaved on the sides and longer on top with loose curls. He had dark skin like José. Isaac pointed finger guns at him.

“Yo, man, pleasure to meet ya,” he said. He had more of a detectable latin accent than José.

José broke away from Wes to clap hands with Isaac and pull him into a one armed hug.

“This here our inner circle, Joey and Mark are Juniors like you, but the rest of us ’re Seniors.”

“It’s nice to meet all you guys, God, you don’t know how long it feels like I’ve waited for today,” he said. He rubbed his upper arm.

“I just hope you ain’t rusty. I heard you got game.” Isaac said.

Wes shrugged a shoulder. “I mean…”

“Humble,” José nodded. “I like that about you, Wes. I’m ‘bouta smoke you, make sure you stay that way.”

The rest of the group let out a chorus of “oh”s. The gauntlet had officially been thrown down in front of witnesses. Wes didn’t fight his smile as he sank into the familiar feeling.

“Cool, dude. Just don’t cry when I dunk on your ass, okay?”

The group oh’d louder this time.

“Dammnn, new kid! You got spunk, never would have guessed from class,” Joseph laughed. “Seriously, in Homeroom he never talks to anyone,” he told the rest of the group.

“Hey, no judgment, Anthony’s been needing another introvert to keep him company.” Mark grabbed Anthony by the shoulders and gave him a rattle.

Anthony waved him off. “Shut up.”

The sound of a whistle pierced through the gym. They all cringed and turned to look at the source of the noise.

Mrs. Testlaff had her hands on her hips.

“What’re you all waiting around for? You know the drill, warm-ups first.” She clapped a palm against the back of her clipboard. Her voice boomed through the gym. “Two laps around the gym, go!”

***

The amount of drills they did had to be criminal. Wes’ muscles burned and his hair was spiked with sweat and water from the fountain down the hall. He’d forgotten his water bottle at home, which he wholeheartedly blamed on his dad.

It took a while, shaking off the rust and sinking back into his comfort zone. It felt like the court snapped into focus and all that mattered was the squeak of shoes and the fleeting touch of the ball against the curve of his palm. His body moved the exact way he wanted it to. He spun and dodged, nailed three point shots more often than not, felt like he was riding a high.

They practiced individual skills before they moved onto mock games. José was no joke. He moved like he could read the offence’s mind. It was frustrating and exhilarating at the same time.

The group’s synchronicity of their plays made their history together obvious.

The practice games were intense and competitive. For every layup and three pointer Wes scored, José would score the same. The others weren’t pushovers either. Isaac would shut him out with a shit-eating grin and Anthony was way faster than he looked.

José blew past his sophomore defender and jumped, slamming the ball through the basket and holding onto the rim for a few seconds before he dropped. He bounced into a jog, whooping in triumph. Isaac and Mark high-fived him while Joseph and Anthony, who were on Wes’s side, groaned.

Mrs. Tetslaff blew the whistle and everyone stopped, turning towards her.

“Alright, gentlemen, good job today. Take a five minute break. Go get some water and then we’ll move into cool downs.”

Wes sighed, his shoulders sagging. Admittedly, he was tired, but he didn’t want to stop. His new friend group walked towards the corner of the gym to a bench where they had water bottles and towels. Wes, who had neither, just went for the company. Issac grabbed his shoulder as he neared.

“Shit, man, you can actually play,” he said, giving him a shake.

“So can you guys,” he breathed. Wes grabbed the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. “You didn’t take it easy on me that’s for sure.”

“Mrs. Tetslaff was impressed, I could tell,” Joseph said, sprawling out on one of the benches.

“You think so?” Wes glanced back at the stern woman who was in the middle of yelling at a pair of Freshmen across the gym.

“For sure, bro. The way you played you might jus’ make varsity,” José said, smacking the cap of his water bottle closed.

“‘Might’?” Wes quirked a brow.

“Homie, yer gonna have to get past us to make varsity,” Isaac pointed out, gesturing to the rest of the guys. Wes blinked, looking at the five of them.

“Damn, guess you’re right.”

“It’s okay, you can take Joey’s spot, he won’t miss it,” Mark said, snapping his hand towel at Joseph. He squawked and rolled off the bench onto the floor with a thud.

“Asshole! And what the hell d’you mean I wouldn’t miss it?” He pushed himself up to glare up at Mark.

“Bruh, all last season you cared more about flirting with Tiff than showing up to practice on time.”

Joseph’s cheeks flushed pink.

“So? I still got better stats than you did. Plus who doesn’t lose track of time when flirting with a cute girl?”

“I dunno, man. Sounds like a straight problem,” Anthony said from Wes’ other side. Wes looked over at him, a little surprised.

Joseph pushed himself up. “Shut up, Anthony, as if you haven’t been late because you’re flirting with some guy.”

Anthony snorted. “At this school? Gimme a break.”

“Whatever, dude, at least I don’t wanna fuck a ghost.”

That managed to get a reaction out of Anthony. He stiffened, cheeks tinting red. His gaze darted around the ground before his expression hardened.

“If I remember right, Joseph, you retweeted Dash’s ‘Its not gay if he’s dead’ tweet just like everybody else,” he shot back, lifting his chin.

Joseph’s eyes widened.

Isaac, Mark and José spluttered from behind Joseph. Anthony smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Because it was funny! It was a meme, dude!”

“No need to get defensive now, it’s okay. You can admit that Phantom made you have a gay awakening.” Anthony had an evil twinkle in his eye, like a shark that’d caught the scent of blood.

“What? Dude, no I— Guys come on, help me out here.”

Isaac stepped up next to Joseph and threw an arm around him, pulling him closer by his neck.

“Homie, no cap, I wasn’t bi till I moved here. That probably ain’t no coincidence, know wha’m’sayin’?

Joseph looked stricken, like he could feel himself losing the argument.

“Oh come on—what about you, newbie?”

All eyes turned to Wes and he swallowed. Oh, God. Why were people in Amity so goddamn weird? Attracted? To a ghost?

“Uhm… I mean. Uh. I’ve only seen him once…” He twisted the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Also he’s technically dead, right? Isn’t that like, messed up?”

Everyone who wasn’t Joseph just rolled their eyes or puffed out a breath.

“He’s new, give him a while, he’ll come around,” Isaac said, sharing glances with the guys in support of literally thinking a ghost was hot. Wes tried to hide his bewilderment. He seriously doubted he’d “come around”. What was wrong with these people?

Joseph shoved himself away from Isaac’s grip and interlocked his arm with Wes’.

“Fuck you guys, Wes is my new bestfriend now.”

“Boy, you literally out here with silver hair, who’da fuck you think you foolin?” José said, jabbing a flat hand towards him.

“...Elliot said it’d help me get girls’ numbers,” he said softly, lifting his hands to tend it with a frown.

“You actually listened to that clown?” Anthony grimaced.

“Bro, I thought you said you liked it?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Oof, Anthony hit his word limit, guys.” Mark said. The guys broke into laughter. For the first time since moving to Amity Park, Wes actually didn’t hate being there.

But because it was in-fact Amity Park, of course that’s when shit went sideways.

There was an explosion from above them. Wes flinched, whipping around towards the source of the sound. The overhead lights flickered, and debris rained down on the center of the court. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling of the gym, sunlight streaming through. A huge shape flew down through the hole, stopping to float thirty feet up. The being glowed unnaturally and had what looked like a mohawk of green flames. The thing looked around, and then flew straight towards Wes and the group. Wes stumbled back into Isaac, his brain short circuiting.

“What the hell—”

“Ghost!” someone screamed, and that’s all it took for the gym to descend into chaos. People scattered, fleeting through the nearest exits.

But Wes and his new friends had nowhere to go. They all backed up, pushed against each other in the corner.

“Oh shit,” José said, voice hushed. “It’s Skulker.”

“What? Who?” Wes whispered back.

“Dude, shut up! He’s coming closer,” Joseph hissed, slapping a hand over Wes’ mouth. He didn’t even have time to be pissed about it before the ghost was right on top of them.

It grinned. The air felt heavy and Wes’ heart kicked in his chest. Its body was grey and sleek like metal. Out of all the ghosts that they could have, of course Amity had a fucking cyborg ghost.

The ghost loomed over them. “Have any of you feeble little humans seen the Ghost Child recently?” Its voice was gruff and low, echoing horribly against Wes’ ears. Its eyes were disks of solid green burning into them as it stared. It was still smiling, jagged metal teeth gleaming in the dim reflected light.

Wes wanted to say “no”, maybe that would make it leave, but Joey’s hand was still firmly over his mouth. The ghost leaned closer, its glare narrowing.

“Well? Speak, you sniveling humans,” it growled.

There was a moment’s silence, then: “recently? No.”

Wes, along with the rest of the group’s attention snapped over in dismay to Anthony. He looked nonchalant, or would have if not for the rigidness of his arms and the tension in his brow. Their gaze slowly craned back over to the ghost, terrified of its reaction.

But the ghost leaned back, demeanor doing a complete one-eighty. “Huh, you haven’t?” Its eyes went cartoonishly big. He looked at a panel that appeared on the back of his wrist. “My scanners say he’s in the area.” The ghost tapped in the scanner a few times, before he gave up and shrugged.

“No matter.” The cruel smile spread over its face again. “All I have to do is stir up a bit more trouble and my prey will surely appear.”

Wes watched in horror as long wicked green blades extended out from the ghost’s arms. It closed the small gap between them, a chuckle building up from its throat—or whatever ghosts had.

“Why hasn’t someone hit the Ghost Alarm?” Mark whispered.

“Shh,” José snapped.

Wes swallowed, his mouth going dry and his knees shaking.

Yeah, he absolutely hated it here again.

The ghost lifted a blade, resting its tip just above his collarbone. Holy shit, holy shit, holy—

Wes caught the sight of movement from behind the ghost: a flash of black and white.

“Skulker, leave them alone,” came another echoing voice. Instead of feeling hot and stuffy a chill spread over Wes’ skin as the temperature of the gym dropped.

The metal ghost spun around, its absence opening up the group's line of sight enough to see none other than Phantom. He was floating some ten feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He paid them no attention, his eyes fully locked on the hulking metal ghost.

“Oh thank fuck,” Joseph breathed, relaxing enough to release Wes.

“There you are, Ghost Child,” the cyborg said, sounding pleased. “I was wondering when you’d decide to—” Phantom became a blur. The next thing Wes knew, the huge ghost was sent flying, crashing into a wall on the right side of the gym.

Phantom was now occupying the space the cyborg ghost had just been. He shook out his hand before curling it back into a fist. “Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you not to drag people into our shit, Skulker?” There was a beat, and Phantom looked over at them, like he’d just remembered they were there in the first place. His eyes flicked over all of them, and Wes couldn’t suppress his shiver when the ghost looked at him.

“Oh, ‘sup. You guys might wanna, ya’know...” He jerked his head towards the closest exit. And then Phantom was gone, reappearing across the gym. The group didn’t need to be told twice, the next second they were moving. They scrambled out of the corner, practically tripping over one another.

Wes felt like he was frozen in place. He stared dumbly at where Phantom and the metal ghost were now locked in battle.

“Dude, what’re you waiting for? Let’s go!” José said, grabbing Wes by the arm and hauling him towards the doors.

“Wait—” he objected weakly. His legs felt like jelly as he moved. He wanted to see the fight, see Phantom. He didn’t know why, but something in the back of his mind was screaming at him.

He had questions.

But his new friends didn’t stop until they’d dragged him out through the metal swinging doors of the gym and into the hallway. The door slowly swung back closed, and Wes caught a glimpse of green bolts streaking like comets through the air and Phantom colliding with the ground.

#Danny Phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #Danny fenton #frigid #wesley weston #Wes weston #Kyle Weston #Walter Weston #Danny phantom fanfic #cross posting here on tumblr is a nightmare #copy and pasting doesnt copy over the bold and italics so I gotta go through and make sure every italicized thing is right and uuuuhhhhhgg #anyway hope yall enjoy #Also this cliffhanger isn't as bad as it seems I promise lmao

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di-kut · 4 years

Text

Baar Bal Runi: Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Words: 4k

Summary: (Body Swap AU) You are forced out into the desert to find moisture farmers on the desert planet. On your trip the Mandalorian asks you questions about your past he’s wanted to know for more than six months, and some truths are revealed.

Rating: A cautious M. This chapter has some descriptions of canon typical violence. While it’s not graphic it is very obvious what is being discussed. Violence related to war.

Tags: body swap, force sensitivity

A/N: This is the second part of the not officially two parted chapter and this is the GOOD part (hopefully, lol) Backstory amiright ladies? Backstory backstory backstory and MORE backstory. I’m a slut for it. Also an excuse for some e m o t i o n s Because I JUST KEEP FEELING THEM. Also fckn s/o to @namay @hdlynn @sistasarah-sallysaidso and @fleurdemiel145 for the beautiful feedback u guys r everything 💕

It's the beginning of harvest season. The aliens which run the moisture farm are ones you have never seen before, hard skin, narrow eyes almost shut against the glare of the desert. They speak no basic, but sign in a language similar enough to Tusken that Mando can negotiate a price. The two tanks of water you buy are barely enough to drink for a week. Will only get you to the next nearest planet with a trading centre by millilitres. It costs you all the spare parts you have. Makes you grit your teeth beneath the helmet.

They offer you shelter in a small outhouse. A round, domed building made of the same red dirt as the surface of the planet. Mando is quiet the whole day. Barely speaks even when the farmers leave you alone in the hut. The child’s crib finally open in the controlled air. Outside the shape of the vaporators on the horizon spear against the sky. Mando shows you how to tilt up the helmet just enough to eat without pulling it off. The farmers come by to check on you with frequency which makes you too nervous to take it off completely. He’s tense and stiff even when you are alone. You find yourself buried in your blankets before the sun begins to set. Sore from two days riding and sorer at knowing there is the same ahead. Find yourself missing your lumpy cot on the Crest.

The next morning Mando wakes you before dawn. The farm is already busy. The air is bitterly cold before the sun rises. Mando has his scarf wrapped so tightly around his face even his eyes are barely visible. It is not until well after dawn your tanks are loaded onto the carriages of the two bikes and ready to go. Mando signs his thanks. He is unsettled, twitching to leave. You set out when the last of the stars have finally faded away, melted into a pale blue sky.

The sun rises quickly once you set out. The air becomes bearable. You think that the warp of haze in the desert is worse that day, so there is no horizon. The sun is so bright your eyes begin to strain. The terrain so flat and constant. You will be glad to turn your backs to the planet and move on. The day slips by. Slow at first, so that you think maybe you will be stuck in the desert forever, and then too quickly. Your toes had gone numb first. Then your legs. Your fingers burned around the handles until they didn’t anymore. Mando doesn’t stop to eat or rest and you follow.

It's pitch black but for a beam of white from the front lights of your bike when you finally stop. You leave it on, stagger off your bike. Hands aching and sore to flex from clutching the bike. It takes some time for the blood begin to flow, hurts your toes when it does. But you have no time to linger and ease onto your feet. Mando hasn’t moved from the bike, he’s so stiff and still even in the dark by the light of the stars you can see it. You almost trip getting to his bike and when you finally do he moves, peels himself off the bike with enormous effort. He stumbles and you manage to catch his arm. It’s shaking. Badly. You should have stopped an hour ago. More, maybe. The cold is coming on too fast in the dark. You should be angry at him – angry he would risk exposing you both to the freezing night air.

“You idiot, Mando.” It has no bite. No anger. You help him to sit on the dirt and make quick work of extracting his bed roll and thermal cape from his pack. Roll them out and check you have everything in the bike light. Set the bed rolls out and catch something before you can add the thermal cape. A patch of light through the middle of it.

You move and hold it up to the light. The cape is threadbare, worn through in places so you can almost see the bike behind. You drop it to the ground and dig out your own pack, fumble for your thermal cape. Hold it to the light as well. Its seen better days, but it is whole and not so thin as Mando’s. The anger you knew you should have felt before surfaces now and you turn back to him, rolled into his bed and pull the covers back. Wrap the thermal cape around him and cover him again. He stares at you, just his eyes over the top of his scarf. You want to scream at him. Don’t. Turn back to your packs to extract the woodbricks.

It takes you several tries to get the fire going. The cold is biting, but nowhere near as bad as you know it must be for Mando. Whatever is lining the armour is keeping your body heat within and the coating on the coarseweave keeps the worst of the cold at bay. You coax the flames as they begin to eat through the woodbrick, poke at them until the blaze is hot and bright. Hold your hands out in front of it to warm them. Mando shifts closer beside you. As close as he can without setting himself and his bed things alight. You crouch there until your fingers no longer burn from cold and your toes have feeling. Only then do you lay out and climb into your own bedroll, sitting upright.

“What in the kriffing hell is wrong with you?” You snap at him. Hold up his ragged cape. “Why do you have this?”

“Only have three.” He says. You can still hear the shake of his shivering.

“Why do you have the worst one?” You want to hurl the thing at his head, peaking out the top of his blankets. “You don’t have the armour on anymore! You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

He doesn’t answer.

“We should have stopped an hour ago. What the kriff do you expect me to do if you die?” You wait. Wait for some kind of response. He doesn’t say anything. “Mando!”

“We’re fine.”

You could scream. Have the sudden and childish urge to hit him. You drop the helmet into your hands. You can’t think of anything to say to that. So you clamber back out of the protection of the bedroll and check the kid. Pull out some of the salted meat and pass it in to him quickly with a gentle pat behind his ear before you seal him back in. Wary of the cold. But the crib is warm inside. You find yourself wishing for one. Wish it were big enough to crawl in with him and avoid the cold.

By the time you settle back in your bedding you are too tired to be angry. You pass over Mando his share of the food. He grabs your wrist instead. Catches your eye. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

You sigh. He takes the food and draws it under the blankets. You watch as he tucks as much of himself into it before unwinding the scarf. He eats quickly. Mustn’t even taste it. Winds the scarf back up around his nose and mouth and pulls the blankets up over his head.

“Are you at least getting warmer?” You ask.

He grunts.

You think it means yes.

The feeling is creeping. Slow and quiet. Until it’s not anymore, until you realise it isn’t yours. It’s an aching feeling, tired and sad. Almost guilty but not quite. Loss. Grief – not new, but not old either. Still weeping and sore. You nestle back into your bed covers, lay down finally. Your uneaten food next to your head. The Mandalorian must feel everything so intensely, because it fills you up until you have no room left in your heart for anything else. Just like the first time you had ever felt him on the Crest. It lingers and hurts until it becomes dry. A well all used up. And then it becomes soft. Aching in a different way. Familiar somehow, but before you can place it the feeling retreats and you are alone with your own heart again. When you twist slightly so you can see his face, his eyes are visible again. Looking at you.

“Why didn’t you come with me when I asked you on Batuu?” He says, voice muffled by the blankets.

The fire cracks and pops. A small shower of sparks illuminates the dirt beneath for only a moment before they fizzle and fade. The question sits heavily between you, so heavy it’s almost visible. He doesn’t look away and you can’t. Can’t find a way to tear your eyes from his. Aren’t sure where the question has come from.

“I…” You let out a shaking breath. “I was scared.”

“Of me?”

“No!” You jerk back slightly. And then more calmly, “No, Mando. Not of you. Maybe – maybe at first. I thought… I thought maybe when you came into the shop you were going to collect the bounty on me.”

“I was never going to.”

You smile. “I know now.”

He looks away first. He has relaxed finally, not curled in on himself so tight. You peer through the dark, think he has stopped shaking as well. Feel yourself sink further into your own blankets. More comfortable. Still too cold to be tired.

“What were you scared of?” He asks.

You roll onto your back. Above you the stars are visible, a river of silver light across the sky. Winking from the heavens. Bright. Infinite. They seem further away than you could ever reach, even in one hundred lifetimes. And yet, in the frigid desert air, close enough that if you brought your hand out from the blanket you could touch them. Trace the shape of them in the sky. A sky filled with life, and yet you are completely alone with the Mandalorian and his son. The darkness beyond the light of the fire so absolute you could be your own planet, floating with the stars.

“Everything.” A whisper. “After – after Coruscant. I’d never been alone before. Not really. And I thought… maybe… maybe I was better off. There, on Batuu.” You swallowed. Look at him again. He’s watching you too. “I regretted it, you know? After you left the first time. I thought I was never going to see you again and I thought – ”

“What?” He asks when you stop. “What did you think?”

You can’t hold his gaze, so you turn back to the stars. “I realised I was already alone.”

He’s quiet. Hums softly. You hear the sound of him shifting and when you chance glancing at him from the corner of your eye he is rolled onto his back. Staring with you into the galaxy. The moment settles around you. Peaceful. Easy. You tilt your helmet up like you had the night before, the way Mando had shown you. The air is so cold on your bare skin you hiss and swear. Hear the deep sound of your voice without the vodocor and it makes your stomach tighten. You can feel Mando look to you again at the sounds. Eat as quickly as you can. Feel relief when you can pull the helmet back down and the warm fog of your breathing warms your face.

You nestle deep as you can into your blankets. You aren’t as warm as you had been the first night out in the desert. Certainly not as warm as the night before in the dirt hut with the moisture farmers. Think you might kill the Mandalorian for giving you the warmer cape. So very typical of him not to say anything. You still miss it as you wait for the blankets around you to heat, hardly as effective without the thicker thermal cape. You tuck the thinning one in anyway, figure it must be better than nothing. You close your eyes. Open them again. Remember Batuu without really meaning to. The heat. The mech shop. The first time you’d seen the gleam of the Mandalorian’s armour. A lifetime ago. Really only six months. Think of the welding mask he’d given you as payment on his second visit to Batuu, hidden away under your cot on the Crest. You hadn’t needed it since coming aboard. Remember the way he’d tilted his helmet when he’d seen you carrying it after he’d given it to you. It makes your chest tighten.

“I don’t feel alone anymore.”

You feel silly as soon as they slip out. The words so quiet they crackle through the modulator. Drop in and out. But so loud in the quiet. Mando turns his head back to you. Eyes glowing in the flames of the fire. You don’t feel silly when you see the intensity there. It makes the tightness in your stomach double and twist. Feel a flush along the back of your neck and ears. The confession feels somehow more intimate because you are blushing in the Mandalorian’s body. Because it is his stomach you feel tightening.

“Gotabor.” His voice is so gentle. Makes the name feel different. Special. Not just engineer. The first time he’s said it to you since the swap, except – your panic attack. He had said it then too. Just as soft. Just as gentle. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do it?”

You don’t need him to elaborate. Don’t need any more explanation, even though he had never asked you before. Never brought it up. Never even asked what the records contained. He knew your bounty. Traitor to the Empire. Aid to the Resistance. Wanted dead or alive. With some number, some meagre amount which felt too infinitesimally small to represent your life. As if your life could be contained within some amount of credits. Worth so little. Your bounty didn’t say why you were wanted, that you had leaked Empire orders for tie fighters, but he had known that when he found you on Batuu. Knew your real name.

You shake your head. “I don’t know.”

He’s silent.

“I didn’t even think about it first. I don’t think I even thought about it while I was doing it. It was so stupid. There was this guy, I can’t even remember his name. Some guy I met when I was out for drinks. I remember seeing him there and just thinking he was so… dirty. No one looked like that on Coruscant,” you say. Wish it didn’t sound as awful as it was. “And I saw him show some guy this little badge. I knew it. We all knew it. The insurgents. The rebel scum. And I just followed them. They didn’t see me.” You close your eyes. “They used to show these photos, you know. Have these big triumphant displays up in all the records buildings. And they had this one the next day of this – this – this pile of people. Like it was some, some victory. I never liked them. But after that night all I could see was that man in the bar lying in the pile with them. It was so stupid. And I just… I just did it. I found him again and I gave them to him. It probably meant nothing to them. Just spec sheets. Diagrams. How many they were ordering. They would do hundreds of orders. I – I guess it made me feel better. Like I wasn’t as bad as the rest of them.”

You open your eyes again. Look at Mando. Expect to see the hatred there. The revulsion. You feel it yourself, when you let yourself think about it. About life before Batuu. Some ridiculous little story of self-redemption while his people had burned at the hands of the Empire. But you don’t see them. His eyes are still gentle. The air around him is still quiet. It makes you feel better, lighter. Makes you feel even more stupid.

“I regretted it,” you say. “I went home afterwards and cried. So spoilt.”

“But you did it again.” Not a question.

“Yeah. Three more times. But the Empire was already falling apart. By the time anyone realised, I was long gone.” You want to stop, but now you’ve started you find you can’t. Words you’ve never said tumbling out. “They make you feel so important. The Empire. They make you feel like if you fall short then everyone does. Like we’re not some expendable cogs to them. Like you really matter.” And you feel awful, you feel terrible, but the words don’t stop, “The rebel guy. The informant. He said the same thing to me. The same thing as the Empire did. I was important.”

Mando is quiet again.

“I didn’t want to be just someone’s cog.”

You’re breathing hard. Almost panting. You aren’t sure if you feel better or worse having it out. Having it said. You think it might sit somewhere between. Some sort of shifting feeling between relief and fear. You wait for Mando to tell you how silly you sound. How childish he finds the whole thing. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, unchanged. Still looking at you the same way.

“Do you regret it now?”

Coruscant was different to this. Different to everything you knew now. Had been cold after your mother died and left you in the hands of the academy. But it was easy. It was inevitable. Life simply went on there. A Galaxy away from the Outer Rim. From Batuu. From the Mandalorian and his son. A son who maybe was like you. On Coruscant the war had felt like some holodrama. It hadn’t even been given the dignity of being known as war. It was a blight on the Empire, some upstart uprising. Some distant petulant child, throwing empty threats at an adult. But they had won. The Resistance had won. And life was the same for everyone else. Coruscant was too far away for the Resistance to control, and the Outer Rims too wild. But you aren’t resentful any longer.

“No. Not anymore.”

You are warm. Finally. The thinner thermal cape finally trapping in the heat of your body. You feel the weight of your eyelids. Time begins to slip, pull all around you. You think Mando is pleased at your answer, but you are too tired to figure out why. Happy he doesn’t hate you for the life you used to live. The fire still burns bright, heat pulsing against your bed rolls. You turn onto your side. Tuck your hands beneath the helmet to try and reduce the pulling it makes against your neck. You will be glad of the Crest when you get back so you can remove it.

“Mando?” You call. Not quite ready to sleep yet. He hums in response. “Why did you save the kid?”

He’s silent. You think maybe he had fallen asleep already. But finally, you hear a rustle. He turns on his side to face you across the flames. Looks as tired as you feel. “I don’t know,” he echoes you. “It just… seemed like the only option.”

You nod. There is another moment of peace. Warm and understanding. You feel the space between your souls pull. Closer together. You think you feel him again, a brush against you, but the feeling is gone before you can latch onto it. Retreating back into Mando. You think you will have to tell him about that also, three times now that you have felt his heart. But not tonight.

Mando goes slower the next day. Stops halfway back to let you both stretch and move. The ride is worse. Worse because your muscles ache in protest to clamping your weight around the bike. Better as well, because you will be back to the Crest in a few hours. Bearable because it is nearly over. The haze is not so bad either. It doesn’t hurt your eyes so badly. You can even manage to find a beauty in the flat, red landscape now that you know you are leaving it. You mention this to Mando while you lean, side-by-side, against his bike. It makes him laugh. The air around you both feels lighter than it has weeks. Longer even than the swap.

You load the water into the ship’s tanks with the mechanic. Mando avoids the yard, returns the bikes one by one. You are grateful when the mechanic is too terrified to talk to you, although a part of you thinks you shouldn’t be. You pump what you need into the ship’s tank, load the rest into the filtered water reserve. Let the mechanic talk you through the work he’d done on the ship with more patience than he deserves. It takes some time, and you double check everything by habit, protective of the ancient ship which has become your home. The mechanic fades off, leaves you to your checks. The kid is with you, you’d packed the crib aside and let him wander after you freely. Guilty he’d been cooped in there so long. He’s gleeful at the chance to stretch his legs. Sometimes crawls onto your boot and hangs on while you walk, squealing in delight at every step.

Mando arrives back as you finish closing the hatch. Eyes the smears of engine grease on the Beskar and the coarseweave.

“When we get to the next planet we need to shower,” he says. The bluntness makes you flush. “I’m going to clean the Beskar.”

You nod carefully. Relieving yourself was enough, certainly necessary. You know this will be different, though. A new kind of intimate. Know under the Beskar you must need it desperately. Know you will feel better with the grit of almost two weeks finally washed away. But – you try not to imagine it. You have enough material already that the image is clear enough without having ever stripped out of his underclothes. Try not to think about Mando surely also having the same thoughts. Seeing all of you. You manage a strangled sound of assent and have to walk onto the ship, can’t look at your own face. Can’t look at the dark blush marking those cheeks the longer you take to reply.

He doesn’t bring it up again. Let’s you empty both your packs and climbs into the cockpit. He waits for you to climb the ladder before he shows you the planet nearest to you. A trading port. You will need more fuel before long. Need more water. He’d calculated the distance already, you would make it there with what you had, but not with another jump to hyperspace. Another four days. Nearly a week. You have enough of the dried bread and fruits, and salted meats for longer. Spare rations bars. You collapse into the co-pilot’s chair while Mando sets coordinates. Prepares to leave.

Your legs are aching from the bike. Finally sitting it rushes over you fully. You groan and stretch them in front of you, stretch your arms above your head. Your back is the worst, hunched over the handlebar for days. Curled onto the hard dirt in the desert.

“Maker, I’m sore.” You tilt your head, stretch your neck out. Feel the muscles twinge and resist. “Kriff I am so sore.”

Mando huffs. “Back’s probably locked up.”

“Yeah, it feels like it.”

“Take it easy.”

You continue to move as much as you can bear. “Why am I so sore? Are you not sore?”

“I get thrown around a lot. Get hit a lot.”

You pause your stretching. For a moment you can’t piece together what he’s saying. And then. “Is this – is this a you thing? Maker, Mando, do you always feel like this?”

“Bounty hunting isn’t exactly an easy job,” he mutters. “Only if I’ve been sleeping rough. Or fighting someone.”

You groan and begin stretching again in earnest. As much as you can with the restriction of the Beskar. Mando is shaking his head from the pilot’s chair. You feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye. You push yourself up, ignore the way he tilts his head. You push your arms over your head and then drop your whole upper body down. Fold in on yourself and let your hands hang as close to your toes as you can get them. Straighten slowly. Change your stretch. It’s tight in the cockpit. There’s barely enough room for you both to sit, let alone stretch out. But you don’t think you will make it down the ladder. Eventually Mando abandons any pretence of ignoring you and swings the chair around fully. You have your back to him, but you still hear the muffled laughter.

“Shut up, Mando.”

Gotabor: Engineer

Tags:@btillys @vercopaanir @absurdthirst @sistasarah-sallysaidso @adikaofmandalore @babyomen @purpleeeslurpppp @fleurdemiel145 @hdlynn

#backstory!!!#I love backstory!!!#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #reader insert #force sensitive reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #fic #my fic #baar bal runi

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bumbleberrysky · 4 years

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alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 01

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.2k rating: sfw warnings: none except the appearance of battered gabriel fresh out of asmodeus’ hold notes: welcome to my first dive into writing for supernatural! i saw someone say that s13 lit a fire under their ass like nothing else and honestly i don’t think i could have described it better. i binged so much while catching up the past few weeks idk who i am anymore

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It's something you're destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you'd thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you're suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you'd been brought here in the first place? Maybe...

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

next.

“Honeys, I’m home!”

The bunker has the same light aroma of musty air and metal as you let yourself in through the heavy front door, feet carrying you, out of habit more than anything, to the steel landing that marks the entrance to the fortress. It’s been so long since you were last here that the two men you used to hunt with regularly have likely forgotten they gave you a spare key. Well, they hadn’t exactly given it to you so much as you’d made a copy on the down-low and kept it for occasions such as this.

One hand keeps pressure on your arm, an attempt to stem the bleeding, and the other carries your single carry-on bag. You make it about halfway down the stairs before your gaze swings out over the foyer and you freeze, mid-step.

Sam and Dean, the two figures you expected to find here, are standing stock-still with their guns half-poised (not directed at you) and expressions on their faces that are a combination of shocked, pissed, and extremely confused (mostly directed at you). Following the line of their weapons leads you to the other two occupants in the room, most definitely unexpected and completely unfamiliar.

One is in rags, cowering, and whimpering, unrecognisable underneath filthy tangled hair that covers his face, and the other is in a prim suit marred only by blood and a bit of dirt, barely a single strand of dark hair atop his head out of place.

“Twinkletoes? What the hell are you doing here?!”

It’s Dean’s stupid, old nickname for you that breaks you out of your shock, a glare already falling onto your face with the practised ease of muscle memory.

“I’ll answer that when you tell me what the hell I just walked in on—” You come the rest of the way down the stairs, slower and more cautious now, with your gaze trained on the two at the other end of the table. It’s when the man in rags finally looks up from where he had been cowering and you catch a glimpse of his face, bloody and bruised but instantly familiar, that your words swell and catch in your throat.

“… Gabriel?”

The brothers in front of you heave a great, unanimous sigh, a look passed between them telling you that you’re about to be on the receiving end of a very ludicrous and typical Winchester story.

x x x

The first time you met Gabriel was not long after you’d gone through the biggest plot twist of your entire life. You’d gone to sleep in your bed, in your home, and woken up in a completely different part of the world, like some magician had snapped their fingers and you’d been the punchline of their very next trick. Much to your regret and distaste, some minor investigation revealed that where you’d woken up in the backseat of a car on the side of the road was in some state in the US. You’d sworn to yourself that you would never step foot here in your entire life and then, like God or whoever reigned above was laughing straight in your face, you’d just up and woken up in some random car in a place that made you long to be literally anywhere else.

Preferably somewhere where the occupants didn’t have such easy access to guns.

…like the two men who screamed and pointed theirs at you when you popped up from their backseat after they climbed into the cabin, fast food in their arms.

That was the first time you’d met the infamous hunting brothers, the Winchesters, and the first time of many you’d nearly died in their company.

It had taken a while for them to trust you, but after you inviting yourself onto a few of their cases and saving their asses a handful of times (ignoring the amount of times they saved yours because you forgot that almost every American slept with a gun beneath their pillow) they’d eventually taken you under their proverbial wing. It helped that you had literally nowhere else to go and nothing but the clothes on your back and a bare handful of belongings to your name. Once they figured out you weren’t hiding anything up your sleeve and that you’re just naturally annoying and a little dumb, they’d happily invited you to become an official-unofficial part of their little hunting gang. This means you’re also familiar with the hilarious angel they have in their back pocket. Castiel is a riot and one of the things you miss most when you go off to hunt on your own.

Having been around during the whole ordeal of Lucifer and Michael going through the motions of continuing their family spat on an apocalyptic scale, you too grew to be familiar with their youngest brother, the archangel Gabriel. Of course, while you’d been there for a fair amount of the angel-turned-trickster’s shenanigans, you weren’t there for the final appearance he made at a hotel in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. In complete juxtaposition to the fact that you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d interacted properly with Gabriel, the sensations you experienced at the news of his sacrifice, his death, were unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You like to consider yourself much more emotionally healthy and with an emotional range far larger than that of a teaspoon and the Winchesters’, but that… that news was something that it had taken you months to recover from fully.

And even then, apparently your recovery wasn’t as complete as you’d thought, because hearing what the boys have told you now has made your eyes burn and your stomach turn into a nest of manic bees, your insides lined with flowers and pollen. You think, for a moment, that you just might be sick.

You’re sitting in the library, Gabriel having been taken to a room of his own by one Winchester while the other fills you in before they’re both reunited before you, and you’re in the kind of mood where you sort of want to just sit there and dissociate for a few hours, truthfully. You can tell you’re not going to get that opportunity though, so in the wake of the bombshell they’d just dropped on you about all you’d missed in the past few months—that they had apparently forgotten to tell you over the phone when you checked in occasionally— you do the next best thing you can think of for the moment.

Put it on the backburner, baby.

You massage your temple with your fingers as you lean your head into your hand, a sigh escaping through your nose. “See, this is why it feels like I have been brought on as a babysitter—I leave for a few months and you old men manage to dig up another almost-apocalypse and find and raise Lucifer’s kid?”

“Alright, first of all,” Dean whips out a finger to point at you, filling you with glee. You’ve barely been back a few hours and already you’re stepping back into your favourite “stir-the absolute-shit-out-of-Dean” pants. As always, he is almost pitifully quick to rise to the bait. “Old? Who are you calling old? Alright so maybe we have a few years on you but that’s just because you’re a toddler and w—”

“Dean,” Sam places a placating hand on his brother’s shoulder, a look that seems to be a mixture of amusement and exasperation crossing his features. “You’re making it too easy for her.”

The older Winchester pauses, turning to pin you with an accusing look. You smile, not even attempting to appear innocent. After staring at you for several long moments, Dean makes the ‘eyes-on-you’ gesture with his fingers before turning away, rolling the tension from his shoulders as he takes a seat across from you.

“You were gone for almost a year this time, did you have any luck, well, leaving?” Sam brings your attention back to him, the question dragging out a sigh that feels like it’s been dredged from the very depths of your being.

“No,” you answer, sounding somewhat petulant even to your own ears. “Why is it so hard to leave this god-forsaken country! I hate it here. I’m sick of trying to make a run for it and being zapped back into a swamp, or—or a pool at the top of a penthouse suite in the middle of some random city! It sucks balls.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean waves his hand, enjoying the dirty look you give him. “So you still haven’t found whatever purpose you’re meant to fulfil while here?”

You huff, shaking your head. “No. It’s been years and I still have no idea why I woke up here that day. Or why I can’t leave.”

Over the time you’ve spent with the Winchesters, a few things became apparent to the three of you about your stay here. One, it was indefinite. You’d discovered quickly that you are, quite literally, unable to leave. Every time you get close to escaping this country you black out and wake up back inside. Sometimes in a helpful place, sometimes…. Not.

Two, the three of you had thrown around and entertained the idea that maybe you’d been brought here for a reason, that like them maybe you’d been divinely allocated a role to play. But you’ve been through a lot with the Winchesters, whether in person or by association, and still…

You’re no closer to being able to leave and return from whence you came.

You have no idea why you’re here!

This is something that has really contributed to your temporary career as a hunter here. That isn’t to say that this profession isn’t something you were involved in before you came here, but you’ve really… you really dove into it, whether as a distraction or as an ongoing investigation as to what on earth was going to set you free of your tie to this place. A part of you thinks that each case you take on, each person or family you save and creature you slay might be the one reason that brought you here, and the one task that with its completion will grant you freedom. You’ve never been a fan of being caged; just because this one spans a grand total of 9.834 million square kilometres doesn’t make it any less of one.

This most recent expedition that led you to part from the Winchesters for such a long time was another of your failed attempts to leave. You think you’ve tried escaping at every possible point along the coastline and border by now, with a definite lack of success.

“Well, if it really is some divine intervention keeping you here, then it’s better if you just sit back and settle down, twinkletoes.” Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back in his chair with an accompanying creak from the wood. “Those divine types have proven to be… kind of assholes.”

You frown, but he isn’t saying anything you haven’t already thought. It’s part of why you’d settled so easily into hunting here, actually. ‘When in Rome…’, as they say. You’re familiar with the hunting grind and there is comfort in familiarity.

“Are you going to stay a while?” Sam asks, opening the first-aid box he’d first brought over when you’d settled down. Ah, right—you’d almost forgotten about the injury on your arm, despite the fact that you are still pressing a palm to it. You listen as he speaks, almost swearing you can detect a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “You still have a room here for you, of course. We haven’t touched anything inside.”

“Yeah, mostly because we didn’t wanna deal with the mess and the booby-trapped doors—” Dean’s under-the-breath mutter is cut off by your coo, a wide smile pulling your lips.

“Oh, you two missed me, didn’t you?” Instantly, you are successful in ruffling Dean’s feathers— Sam might take a bit more work, though. “I know I really light this dark, dingy place up but I didn’t know it was that bad without me! Ah, perhaps I will stay a while. You know, out of charity.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, beseeching. “It’s not too late—you hold her back and I’ll find her key. It’s not too cold, she’ll be alright outside.”

An appalled and affronted look slips onto your face and Sam has to clear his throat so that he doesn’t laugh and add to his brother’s torment.

“I’m not a misbehaving puppy,” you say, holding your arm out for Sam as he comes over and finally freeing your bloody hand. “Wait, unless you want me to be. Been broadening your horizons beyond animated tentacle porn have you, Deanie-bo-beenie?”

On cue, Dean’s face flushes light red, whether from anger or a brief spritz of embarrassment, only God knows. You can see Sam’s face grow tense from the effort of holding back noise in your peripheral as he tends to your arm.

“You know what? I’m better than this. I’m gonna let it go.” Dean rises from his chair, making a show of dusting off your metaphorical drama. His light eyes flick to you, squinting. “I’m tired; I have a date with my memory foam pillow and nice, warm, feather duvet and a good night’s rest, so goodnight. I hope your bed has bed bugs, twinkletoes, and I hope they bite.”

“I hope you sleep well too, Dean!” you call after him, deciding you’ll have to give him a break from the bullying tomorrow or else he’ll explode before you can have much fun. “Do you want me to come tuck you in?”

“No! Goodnight!”

His yell and disappearance down the hall is followed a few moments later by the familiar sound of a door slamming shut,

“That’s not very fair of you,” Sam announces, sounding strained and very much like he’s trying not to laugh lest Dean has an ear pressed to his door. “He’s too tired to fight back right now.”

“I know,” you answer, wincing as he wipes down the laceration on your bicep and cleans the blood away with an alcohol wipe. It burns, but it’s definitely not the most painful thing you have ever experienced. “I hadn’t seen you guys in so long, though. I couldn’t help myself.”

Sam simply snorts, reaching for the needle and thread to being stitching the skin back together, and you breathe harshly through your nose as you reach for another topic to distract yourself.

“Are the two—sorry, the three of you actually dads now? To… to Lucifer’s half-angel kid? I thought angels getting frisky with humans was, uh… illegal up in heaven.”

You feel rather than see Sam roll his eyes, your own pointedly directed away from your arm where he has begun to get to work. “It’s Lucifer, y/n, I don’t think he cares about what’s illegal up in heaven.”

You purse your lips—he makes a fair point. Honestly, you feel a little silly for questioning it. “Right, and he’s… trapped in some other dimension? An alternate world where the apocalypse really happened.”

“Yep,” Sam says, hitting a particularly painful spot with his needle. You hiss, giving him a glare.

“I wasn’t even gone a year! Just hearing all this shit is stressing me out so much, dude.” You sigh, attempting to adjust your position in the wooden chair without jostling your arm too much. Thankfully, practice has made Sam quick at his job and already he is almost done piecing you back together. He finishes up with a knot, snipping the thread and then placing a large bandage carefully over the wound. He dusts his hands once done, standing from where he was leaning against the table and proceeding to loom over you like a T-Rex.

“You’re blocking my light, bro,” you inform him, narrowly avoiding a subsequent good-natured smack to your good arm. “Damn, what the hell! Didn’t you take an oath or some shit? I’m your patient!”

“I was studying law, not medicine,” Sam retorts dryly. He turns to leave and put the first aid supplies away, his back facing you but not before you see how his lips twitch. “So your annoying ass is free game.”

“Maybe so,” you acquiesce, rising from your seat with a light grunt as you jostle your arm. You consider asking Sam where Castiel is, to see if you can get a hit of the good stuff and skip the healing process, but think better of it. You always feel a bit bad asking him to heal you, though you barely ever have to since he’s like a rabid mother hen the second he sees blood on any of you. “God, I’m beat. I didn’t think I could get any more tired than I was before, but as always catching up with you two has aged me a few years and now I’m just about as tired as you two are all the time.”

Sam doesn’t rise to the ‘old man’ bait you dangle in front of him—never really does, if you’re being honest; that’s mostly Dean’s vice— but he does offer you a smile that is unexpectedly sincere and fond.

“Go to bed, toddler,” he retorts, before continuing in a softer tone, “… It’s good to see you again, y/n. I’m glad you’re here. Dean and Mom are going out on a hunt in the next few days and I think you can really help with, uh… the whole Gabriel thing.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything. You’d sort of been trying to avoid thinking about the elephant in your mind, for the very same reason that makes your eyes burn once more. It hurts, a lot, thinking and imagining what he must have gone through at the hands of Asmodeus. It feels like your heart is going to tear itself to pieces in your chest from the sheer extent of your empathy and how terrible you feel for him. The Gabriel you saw cowering before you earlier is nothing like the confident feathery asshole you used to know.

Even having only seen him once, it’s enough to make you fearful of the possibility that… he might be too far gone to ever return to that last echo of his previous self.

“I’m not sure what I’ll even be able to do to help,” you respond, approaching the doorway to the hall with your bag in tow. You pause to finish what you’re saying, meeting Sam’s puppy-like gaze from across the room. “But I’ll try. It hurts to see him like that, so… I’ll stay a while, to do whatever I can.”

Sam’s answering thankful smile and nod is all you can ask for in response as you turn and head further into the bunker, dragging your bags back to the room you’d come to call your own over the years. Your gaze strays on the way to one of the doors that has a little note taped on saying, ‘please do not open suddenly or loudly’, undoubtedly the room that they have allocated to Gabriel for the time being. Heart heavy in your chest, you continue on down the hall and tear your gaze away.

You’re not sure how much you can do for him, but you hope you can do something.

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Text

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 1: CAT AND MOUSE

Word Count: 2406 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Warnings: Canon-typical violence Rating: T Cross-posted to AO3: here

Masterlist

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Twenty minutes. Maybe more, if the neighbors were particularly unobservant, but twenty minutes was a sure thing.

Gently, you tested the doorknob, shocked and almost a little insulted when the latch clicked and the door swung silently inward under your guidance. What kind of smug prick leaves home and doesn’t lock the front door behind him; sure, the neighborhood was nice, but it wasn’t that idyllic. Still, gift horses and all that. You shrugged and proceeded in, closing the door again behind you, no need to draw attention, and ghosting up the stairs to the third floor.

Keeping your light low, you looked around for something that matched the description of the painting that would be hiding your target.

“The painting contains three apples and a lemon,” your informant had said.

Unfortunately, nothing in the veritable gallery of this home office was one of those weird fruit still-lifes. Scanning all of the images for some fruit, especially with the variety of art styles on the walls, would take time. You cursed under your breath as you set to work systematically.

It wasn’t like you could hold it against your informant that much. She was a disgruntled and bitter but still scared and reliant employee telling you where to find maybe not all but certainly the most fungible of her shitty boss’s assets. You could permit her a little crypticness, so long as it didn’t blow up in your face in the end. Which, since this bloody fortune was made in arms deals, there was always the possibility of, literally.

Three apples and a lemon, three apples and a lemon, three apples and a...

“Gotcha,” you murmured, the first real sound you had made since entering the house.

The tall painting took up most of the corner where it hung, and the fruit was not particularly prominent, but there they sat, in a bowl on the table of the young couple featured in the image. That was good enough for you. The frame lifted easily off the wall, and behind it, set in was a small steel door with three combination dials in the center. It was cute that he thought that would protect him from you.

Within minutes, the last of the tumblers thunked into place and the door popped open.

“Hello my lovely,” you purred, plucking out a padded box, opening up and gazing briefly at the way the finely cut gem glittered beneath your fingers. “I have a new home for you.”

You snapped the box shut, reveling at the way it echoed through the empty house. It was reckless, but you had earned a little bit of that. There was no one close enough to hear and if there was a security system, all it would pick up was a blip of sound, a glitch. Tucking the gem, and several other treasures from the safe into your bag, you put everything back to the way it was with expert precision.

Nineteen and a half minutes. You should be smart and get out, you knew, but there was no sign of concern, interest, pursuit. And this was the sort of man you wanted to take more from than money. You bit your lip, hesitating. And then you made your way to his desk, which was scattered with files and papers, a treasure trove of corporate secrets and proprietary scandals.

Suddenly, the file you were reading was knocked from your hand and you jumped, startled by the heavy sound of something metal striking wood. Looking down, you saw the glint of a knife sticking out of the desk not more than an inch from your hand. You had been so engrossed in the numbers and figures, math and profits painted in blood, that you hadn’t noticed that you were no longer alone.

“Shit!” you shouted, recoiling.

Leaning in the doorway, another knife in hand, was a man dressed all in black, leather mostly, his eyes covered in a domino mask that really didn’t do much to hide his face. It might stop you from picking him out of a crowd, but if you were to try, you could probably figure out his identity. In fact, as you stared at him in the dim light, you were sure that he looked familiar, a fact you filed away for later, if he didn’t kill you.

“You know, solid black isn’t actually that great for creeping around in shadows,” you said, fighting back control of your voice. “And if you’re looking for Mr. Sullivan, I’m not him.”

“Good thing I’m not looking for him then,” he answered with a smirk. “But it does beg the question: what are you doing in his office?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m his secretary and he asked me to stop by and pick up a file?”

“In the middle of the night, in the dark, dressed like that?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d get that one to work. Listen, whatever you came here for, I won’t get in your way if you don’t get in mine. We can both walk out of here with no one the wiser.”

“I came here to stop you. Heard about a lurker on the radio and got here faster than the cops. But a lurker looks to me more like a thief.” His head tilted to one side.

“No point in denying it then. I was hired by one of his competitors to try and steal some blueprints for some new grenade design,” you lied, hoping he didn’t know enough about the man to know whether that could be true. “But I don’t see it here, and frankly the payday isn’t worth getting almost stabbed. So how about I just…go and we forget this ever happened, yeah?”

You kept your hands in the air where he could see them and slowly circled the desk, away from the man blocking the doorway, closer step by careful step to the window. You studied it out of the corner of your eye. Heavy, leaded glass. That was going to hurt, but you’d been through worse.

“I’m not going to let you just walk away after you broke in here.”

“Technically all I did was enter, there was no breaking. Asshole left the front door open. Practically an invitation.” You gestured as if to say you were helpless against the temptation.

“Oh in that case…” you couldn’t tell from the distance, but the tone of his voice made you fairly certain that he was rolling his eyes at you. “I’ll be nice and not pin you there,” he gestured again with the knife, pointing at the wall behind you. “But I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“Oh I dunno…strong handsome guy like you, I might like you pinning me,” you smirked. “But I’ll have to take a raincheck on it. Places to be and all that jazz.”

You had managed to position yourself directly in front of the window now, the light of the full moon shining around you like a very misplaced halo. He was watching your every move closely, tensed like he expected an ambush. Instead, you blew him a kiss.

And then you turned and leapt, smashing through the window in a rain of shards which glittered magically in the moon. By the time he reacted, crossing the room in a flash to stare out into the night below, you were rolling to your feet and running, adrenaline letting you ignore the distance you had fallen and a miracle letting you escape without blood.

You encountered the mysterious man with the knives seven more times over the course of that year. It had become almost a welcome tradition, a warning that someone was onto you, with plenty of time to get out before the actual police showed up. No matter how many times he threatened it, he never hurt you, and he never quite managed to stop you (part of you wondered if this was intentional, as you had worked out early on that this was one of the members of The Umbrella Academy which you had grown up hearing so much about).

“Diamonds again?” he asked, leaning casually against another display case as you placed the glass back over where the necklace now in your hands had been.

“What can I say, I like shiny things?” you offered with a shrug, holding up the jewels before dropping them into the bag at your hip. “And in my defense, I checked the provenance. These were stolen long before they ended up in my hands.”

“So that makes it alright to rob a museum in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, basically. Doesn’t it?”

“No.” His voice was flat but his face beneath that stupid domino mask was incredulous that you would even try such an excuse.

“What if I add in that the necklace contains blood diamonds and ethically, no one should have them?”

“But you have them.”

“Only until I can sell them. And then I’ll put the money to way better use…I’m thinking Thai food, first at least. Wanna come?”

“What?”

“I’ll fly a signal or whatever it is that summons you and we’ll get dinner. You can leave your mask on if you like.”

“I’m not getting dinner with you.”

“Breakfast then?”

He pointed at you, with the hilt of the knife, as he had started doing more often. “You’re just trying to confuse me so you can escape again. That’s not going to happen this time.”

“Isn’t it?” you cocked your head to one side. “I don’t think the saying goes ‘eighth time’s the charm.’”

“Even if you escape, you’re not in someone’s house or office this time. A museum will have a security system. You’ll get tracked down for this one.” He sounded almost sad as he said it, like he regretted that your game of cat and mouse was coming to an end.

You took a step closer to him. He tensed. A certain amount of distance between you had always been one of the unspoken rules. Another step. You watched him swallow nervously and found it hilarious, since he could definitely best you in a fair fight. Third step. His eyes flickered to the sides as if looking for an escape route. Maybe he knew if you ever decided to have a go at him you wouldn’t let it be a fair fight.

By the time you stopped moving, you were inches from him and he practically vibrated with tension.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you whispered, watching his eyes flicker down to your lips. “I’d say you wanted me to get away.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped half-heartedly, licking his lips nervously. “You’re a criminal.”

“Then now’s your chance. Stop me.” You leaned closer, the motion with the double meaning of your words making your intention clear.

The knife he was holding clattered to the ground as his hand shot out to grab you by the wrist. But the gesture wasn’t used to restrain. No, he used it to tug you closer, making you stumble into his chest as your lips crashed together. And then, the kiss became a war. You were both all teeth nipping lips and tongues battling each other. One hand gripped bruisingly onto your hip, fingers digging into flesh and holding you against him. The other released your wrist and tangled into your hair, knocking aside the cap you used to keep it contained. For your part you wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer. The other clawed his shoulder, clinging to him to keep yourself upright.

Your head was hazy and overwhelmed with the taste and feel of him, with the wanting more of it. But, there was a tiny part of your mind that was still paying attention. Your hand danced, trailing touches easily disguised as passion, freeing the knives from his harness, collecting them quietly in nimble fingers. He released your hip, slid his hand down over the curve of your ass, making you gasp. You set the knives as quietly as you could on the top of the display case, just out of convenient reach or obvious notice. His hand hooked onto your thigh, an inviting gesture. Instead you pulled away.

“This…” you murmured, lips still just barely brushing against his, “…was a bad idea.”

He released you; you stepped back.

“It doesn’t change things,” he said. “I’m still not letting you get away again.”

“Of course not,” you smiled, soft. You knew the steps of your dance. “But I’m still going to try.”

You turned. Diego watched as you ran, sprinting over marble-tiled floors. He reached back to grab a knife, not sure what he was going to do to keep from hurting you badly, but needing to do something. He frowned, the sheath was empty. Your steps drew you further away, he moved to follow, reaching further, only to find that every sheath was empty.

He swore, shouting the curse after you, and you couldn’t help the laugh that echoed back to him.

Laying on his bed in the boiler room that night, Diego couldn’t stop thinking about her: the feeling of her hair beneath his fingers, the taste of her lips on his, her soft warmth pressed against him. But more than that, it was her smile, her laugh, the light-hearted way she had teased him from the very beginning, utterly shameless and unafraid.

Something tickled at the back of his mind that there was more to her than just a good thief, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. And every time he tried, instead he was assaulted with the memory of the way her flesh gave way to his touch and her hot breath tickled his face. He wanted to solve the mystery of her, but more than that, he just wanted her.

He got up with a sigh, knowing he’d be unable to sleep in this state. He loosely wrapped his hands before taking out his pent-up emotion on the punching bag hanging in one corner. As he worked, his mind seemed to clear, and a new thought occurred to him. The next time they encountered each other, and he was certain there would be a next time, at the very least he would get her name. A name to put to the face, and the other things, would be enough.

#Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #pre-canon #Light Fingers #I might hate this title more than anything else I have ever written #or I might love it

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punkrock-writer · 3 years

Text

Space Cowboy- part 5

Never Fight a Man With a Perm

Pairing- Din Djarin x F!OC

Warnings- Swearing, Mentions Blood, Canon Typical Violence. The Gang from Chapter 6 are dicks.

A/N- Howdy!! I’m so sorry this took so long to come out. I had a bad case of brain rot this past week and did not want to type, but it’s here and I hope ya’ll like it! I’m kind of nervous about this chapter because this was the situation that inspired the entire story, so please let me know what you think!

I’m going to try to have the next chapter out quicker! Put who knows, I got worms in my brain!

Masterlist AO3

After almost taking another roll around the ship — thanks to Din's lack of a warning — Sedona was now aware of what hyperspace felt like. It was actually rather calm, quiet, and still. She wished she could see it, but she didn't really know if she should attempt to enter the cockpit. Instead, turning to face her bags, she figured it was a good time to get some real clothes on. The child cooed sadly when she set him down in the sleeping compartment, and though she hated to, she ignored him and knelt by her suitcase. Searching for something somewhat warm through the clothes that were packed for Florida was proving difficult. She settled on black leggings, an old grey Ron Jon Surf Shop hoodie, and a pair of soft crew socks. A sports bra and a fresh pair of underwear completed the 'look' and she gathered her things and headed to the shower room.

Not before quickly turning back and grabbing her deodorant, because, yuck.

With a deep breath, she decided it was finally time to look at herself.

Nothing was exciting or truly different to note about the person reflected back to her in the foggy mirror. It was the same girl, blue eyes, short brown hair, but now there was a brand new massive bruise on her left temple. Her dark circles were deeper, and her eyes were tired. But other than the wound there was nothing new. She discarded her pajamas, and slipped into the clean clothes, she never thought it would feel this good to be fully covered. Her arms all the way to her toes now concealed in comfortable fabric, and she was grateful. She quickly put her hair into a folded bun, and set to her second task, putting that extra bacta patch on her head.

Peli made it look much easier. Whatever it was, was slimy and hard to get a grip on, but once it was placed, it stuck. So now she had a slightly lopsided, oversized band-aid on her head. And she knew it was going to hurt like a bitch to yank out of her hair. Taking one last look in the mirror, she sighed.

Honestly, she looked like she was about to go take a plane trip back home, and it tugged her heart a little bit.

Shaking her head she picked her things back up and opened the door to exit into the hull. A shiny helmet of beskar startled her, he must've just jumped down from the cockpit, as he was facing her through the ladder. She tried not to think too much about the way he stared for a bit too long, most likely just assessing her change in appearance. Before she could say anything he turned sharply, stepping over to where the child pouted in the sleeping compartment. She scooted by them, heading to put her things back in her bag. And when she straightened up to see what he was doing, he was already halfway up the ladder, taking the child with him.

Sedona tried not to dwell on it too much, it's not like he knew her, he barely even trusted her. He didn't owe her any more kindness than he was already giving her. But it really didn't help when she felt like she knew him. She needed to get that idea out of her head, she didn't know jack shit about what went through his head. Seeing someone on screen is so much different than actually being around them, and Sedona had to make sure she didn't get too comfortable too fast— she couldn't afford any slip-ups. So for now she would take it slow, tiptoe around the Crest, and do what she needed to do when called.

In pursuit of being quiet, she decided now might be a good time to check her phone. She settled herself in the sleeping compartment, purse in her lap, and plucked it from the bag. The time read 10:34 am, and obviously, there was no way of telling if that was right. Her calendar read two days since she had been ripped from her hotel room, and she was pretty sure that would be reliable. As long as she had some way of knowing how long she'd been here, she could keep herself grounded.

It didn't even cross her mind that she should try to find some way to get back home.

Sedona dozed off after a while, curled around her purse in the sleeping compartment. Her circadian rhythm was thrown off, or maybe it was like some kind of space-sickness. She was just tired, and she didn't know what else to do. The plot was getting scrambled in her head, and until Din jogged her mind in some way, she wasn't going to risk getting a headache thinking about it.

So she slept, the soft hum of hyperspace lulling her into relaxation, no matter how uncomfortable the bed was.

~o~o~o~

That was how Din found her a few hours later. Curled like a lothcat around one of her smaller bags. The child gurgled in happiness at the sight of her— he was the reason they were down there, wailing incessantly at the ladder. He didn't understand why he liked her so much, but if he trusted anyone, it was the child. So he set him down next to her knees, a position they had just recently been in. The child began climbing up her legs, and Din could only look on in amusement as she grumbled something incoherent.

The toddler reached his intended destination, her shoulder, and began to tap his tiny hands on her cheek. Din couldn't stop a small smile from breaking his features, thankful for the helmet once again. Her eyes popped open, panic clear on her features as she turned to look at what was tapping her face, and a smile overtook her.

"Hey little guy, how'd you get up there." Din pretended not to notice the roughness of her voice or the sleepy smile that turned to face him. "Oh I see now, you had an accomplice."

She slowly sat up, taking care to hold the child steady. She folded her legs in front of her, setting him in her lap. The child smiled up at him, and before he could stop himself, a gloved hand reached out and stroked his ear. Din wasn't used to showing affection in front of others, especially people he didn't fully trust. But the atmosphere was so relaxed, and it seems his body reacted before his mind could stop it.

"Did we stop somewhere?" Her quiet voice broke him out of his trance, his head snapped back up to meet hers. She looked worried, her eyes searched the helmet, and her teeth caught her bottom lip. Din told himself he was just observing a possible threat, analyzing her tells.

Subconsciously, that was a different story.

"No," he paused to clear his throat when it came out in a whisper. "I've picked up a job, I'm changing our course, and we'll be there in an hour... I just—" well Din didn't really know why exactly he felt the need to warn her. "I just wanted to know if you had... anything to tell me." Right, just trying to get information. Her eyes seemed to light up in recognition, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Who- or what is the job exactly." She looked confused still, her eyes zoned in on something in the distance, deep in thought.

"It's with an old... acquaintance of mine." His voice was rougher than he intended, still not really enjoying the idea of the job. But by the way her eyes darkened, he knew it was probably going to be a big mistake.

~o~o~o~

Sedona's mind instantly hooked onto the information and dragged it from the depths of the scramble. This situation, she knew well. This episode, she had watched, many times. For the plot... not for the way the red lights danced off beskar or the amazingly hot fight scenes.

No for the plot.

She knew what she needed to do.

"They betray you, they're going to try and shove you in a cell and leave you there... and a droid tries to shoot the baby— and they're all massive dicks, every one of them." Okay. That sounded crazy, she didn't mean for everything to tumble out like that. According to the way Din suddenly stood straight and alert, she probably didn't say the right things. "Wait... but you get out of it, no one gets hurt— except for the assholes— but they deserved it a-and you get money."

He just stood there, still as a rock. She couldn't imagine how all of that sounded to him. He probably didn't even know what the mission was supposed to be, and she had already informed him it was doomed from the start.

Yeah, I gotta work on the info delivery.

He let out a long sigh. His fingers twitched at his side, he probably would've rubbed his forehead in frustration if he could. She could feel herself shrinking in the silence, she unconsciously held onto the baby in her lap a little tighter. He cooed at her, seemingly sensing her anxiety. His little 3 clawed hands tapped at hers that held his waist.

"Well... like I said, an hour." He then turned and quickly made his way to the ladder. Climbing into the cockpit in almost record time. Sedona let a long sigh escape her, bringing one hand up to rub her eyes. She wasn't tired anymore, anxiety had squandered that quickly.

She had to either, A. Figure out some way to keep Din from being tricked and captured. Or B. Make sure Grogu doesn't alert the droid of his presence. For some reason, the situation felt wrong. She knew this mission was on course to go sour, but there was a bad feeling whispering at the edges of her mind.

Everything was feeling super, extra, bad and it was making her stomach hurt.

Or maybe she was just fucking starving.

Sedona realized she had never eaten the 'bar' Peli had given her. And an all-liquid diet the day before probably wasn't helping her whole, situation. Moving the child from her lap, she placed her feet on the ground. Thankful for her socks as the cold of the metal seeped through the fabric. She walked over to her suitcase— not really remembering where she had put the food— the entire evening leading up to her fight with Toro was a blur. When she didn't find it in her purse, she searched through her suitcase. Her hands touched the foil wrapping, and suddenly there was another presence at her side.

The little green gremlin was a bloodhound for food, it was like he read her mind and teleported to her. Letting out an excited squeal when she brought the bar into view, Sedona couldn't help but laugh with him. Sitting cross-legged in front of her suitcase she invited him to sit with her. And with more adorable grunts and snorts he sat down in between her legs, eyes never leaving the bar.

"Okay we can share, but don't tell your dad" she whispered, he made a soft coo in response. The bar looked like someone had put a granola bar through a grinder, and then reformed it back into a bar. Not exactly the most appetizing thing, but food was food, and the little guy seemed excited. She broke off a small piece— yes she had witnessed the child swallow a frog whole— but he was so little in front of her, so she went by baby rules and gave him something small. He grabbed it in his little hands, and then she broke off a piece for herself.

It was dry, and tasted kind of like a protein bar, but not at all like a protein bar. It was just different, but with the way the child inhaled it, she knew it was probably worth eating. They carried on like this till it was gone, Grogu munching happily, not minding the crumbs that fell into his lap. She was able to choke it down with the assistance of the water bottle that still sat in her purse. But eating didn't seem to help the way her stomach twisted in worry. When she wasn't distracting herself by watching the child, her mind wandered dangerously.

She couldn't tell if the walls her mind had put up the moment she dropped on the Crest were finally crumbling. Or if something was actually wrong. Her head was starting to hurt again, and now with a stomach ache, she felt like she was starting to break down. She needed another distraction.

Crumbling up the wrapper she turned to her suitcase. The child babbled a little, probably wondering if she had more food. Instead, she was just looking for anything; she moved through everything in the bag, toiletries, bras, a journal. And then she felt something solid. Her boots! She had honestly figured she didn't have any shoes here. Those had been the first thing to come out of her suitcase when she got to her hotel. But now, pulling her work boots from the depths, it was the first time she had actually been excited to see them. They were beat up hiking boots, with the perfect amount of ankle support and non-slip bottom to make it in space.

"Well, are you gonna let me put these on or what?" She said to the child in her lap, he tilted his head with a coo. She slowly started to straighten her legs, he made a squeal and then started to wiggle away from her. She laughed, helping him get off her lap and setting him to the side. He grunted, loudly, instantly very mad at her. She chuckled again, trying not to notice the way her hands shook as she began to lace up her boots.

Grogu toddled over to the ladder, reaching his arms up toward the cockpit. She couldn't help the smile, she finished tying her boots, standing, and headed over to the child. He was hanging from the 3rd rung of the ladder, obviously getting his speed from his father, she was able to catch him just as his 3 fingers slid off the metal. She rose and looked up with anticipation, obviously he wanted to go up there, and that meant she would have to... talk to Din.

She swallowed, but the baby in her arms let out an impatient squeal, reaching his arms up. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Um... D-Mando" she called, catching herself on the name quickly. "G-The kid wants to come up, i-is it alright if I bring him up." She hated the way she was stumbling through this, it shouldn't be that difficult to ask, but she almost shaking in fear at the prospect of being dropped off on the next planet. Her subconscious was telling her the Din she knew wouldn't do that, but this wasn't the Din she 'knew', this was a stranger. God, why did this have to be so complicated?

There was a long daunting pause. "Just don't touch anything." She let out a sigh of relief, and quickly attempted the climb to the cockpit. Proving to be much trickier with one hand. Her head breached the hole, and in front of her was something amazing. The cockpit of the Razor Crest lit up with the blue streaks of hyperspace. She stopped, awestruck at all of the buttons and levers, all of the details laid out before her. She didn't even notice the child wiggling out of her grasp.

It was beautiful, but also so terrifying. She watched the expanse of space whiz by, something her mind could've never been able to comprehend. And as she stared, she didn't notice when the pilot's chair slowly turned.

"You can come inside." She jumped at his voice, eyes meeting the helmet she didn't know was facing her. She quickly shut her mouth, just now realizing Grogu had made his way to Din's lap. Slowly, she finished the climb up the ladder and found herself at the door to the cockpit. Tentatively she stepped inside, eyes still wide in wonder, and made her way to the chair behind Din's left shoulder. He turned back to the controls, or more back to making sure the child didn't touch anything. She sat down slowly, still not entirely certain this was all real.

Swirling blue was constantly moving above and before her, it was mesmerizing, she felt herself getting lost in it. She could probably look at it for the rest of her life. It was the perfect distraction. Or until someone broke her from her daze, but she didn't expect that to happen anytime soon. Instead, she sat quietly, trying to take up as little space in the room as she could. Her thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind, she was allowed this brief moment of peace.

Sedona had held it together surprisingly well, though it was more likely she was in shock. Numb is what she would call it, seeing everything moving around her, but she didn't really feel it. A mild form of disassociation is probably what a therapist would tell her, her body was in survival mode while her brain just followed, screaming from the shadows. But at this current moment, her mind was quiet, the rolling blue was enough.

Comfortable silence, the baby sleeping, his snores being the only thing breaking through the hum of hyperspace. The pair sat quietly for what seemed to be a long time. It was the first moments of calm both had experienced at the same time, hopefully, it wouldn't be the last. In the past, the silence would have irked her, gnawed at her stomach. She probably would've started a conversation with anyone in the room. But now, it felt okay, her mind felt at ease for the first time since she'd got here. She ignored the voice that whispered, maybe it's him.

A sudden beeping broke through the serene atmosphere, Sedona jumped, while Din only moved his helmet. His hands reached out to flick some switches and punch some buttons.

She secretly wished she might be able to figure out what it all meant, but she wasn't going to get her hopes up.

"We're dropping out of hyperspace, hold on." It was an off-hand comment she realized because she didn't even have time to straighten in her spine when the ship seemed to lurch forward. Her hands flew to her sides, gripping the seat quickly. With the sudden movement, all of her anxieties flew into her throat. And as another giant space ship came into view, another emotion came forward.

Rage.

"Oh, those fuckers." The words were growled out before she even knew her mouth was open. Her eyes widening in surprise as a T-shaped visor snapped to face her. She could only shrug in response, it was the truth. Deep down, she was glad to know her shock-induced state hadn't taken everything from her, she could still talk some smack.

That was going to cause problems.

"You're staying on the ship, with the child." He had turned back to the controls, grasping the handles with gloved hands. The child in question had just woken up, cooing curiously at the scene change. "Make sure he doesn't cause any trouble, or whatever you said happens." She heard him and understood. But she was focused on trying to figure out how the hell she was going to hold her tongue when she knew what was about to happen. Din seemed to notice her unease, his helmet shifted slightly toward her, most likely confused by the white-knuckle grip she still had on the seat.

"You're going to have to gag me." The realization came suddenly, it was the only way, she did not trust herself to keep quiet. Din fully spun to face her now, even without seeing his face she could tell he was surprised and mad. She aimed for his eyes beneath the black visor, "It's the only way to shut me up." He let out a long sigh, that ended more in a frustrated growl.

"Are you serious?" His voice was sharp, serious disbelief. She nodded, it was ridiculous she knew, but with all the choice words swirling in her head, and the way she didn't have full control of herself, it really was the only way. With another growl-sigh he leaned down, ripping off a strip of material from his cape, and handed it to her, then he more or less shoved the child in her lap. "Just go— take him to the sleeping compartment, and... do it yourself."

She stood and left quickly, not wanting to anger him further. She staggered her way down the ladder, Grogu laughing at her struggles. She was panicking, her eyes darted over everything quickly, setting the child in the compartment she went over to her things. She zipped her suitcase closed, then hooked the handle to one of the nets that hung on the wall, hoping that would keep it out of way. Then with her purse, she made her way over to Grogu and climbed in after him. He babbled excitedly, not picking up on the frazzled emotions that were rolling off her in waves.

"We are going to have a totally chill time in here." She said to the child, though it was also mostly to herself. She adjusted till her back was against the wall, and allowed Grogu to clamber onto her lap. "It's gonna be totally cool and nothing bad is going to happen, alright?" Her voice had risen multiple octaves, and it seemed the gremlin had finally caught on to her panic. He tilted his head at her, making a much smaller, almost sadder sound. She instantly felt bad; making shushing noises, she rubbed his little back as he pouted up at her. The ship started to wobble, Din was maneuvering it into the bigger space ship, she held onto the little creature. And with a big thump, they were stopped.

Sedona let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Grogu's ears seemed to perk up at that, he settled down onto her lap. Listening carefully to the noises above her, she could hear Din moving around before steps began to descend on the ladder. He paused in front of the compartment, carefully observing the situation. Sedona could only stare back, doing her best not to let him know how scared she was, but he probably had a fear sensor on his helmet. Before he could turn away her voice betrayed her again.

"Di-Mando... could I have a weapon." It was a whisper, she was doing the best she could to hold herself together. But this was becoming more and more real by the second. He stared at her for much longer than she wanted, even Grogu made a small whine at the atmosphere. Then his hand moved to his wrist, tapping something, and a compartment opened adjacent to the one she was in. She peaked around the corner, eyes widening at all of the weapons laid out. And she almost laughed at the sight of her pink taser, placed there among all of the space gadgets. He grabbed that, setting it in front of her.

Without a word, he turned, fingers working at his wrist again. Almost simultaneously, the weapons doors and the door to her compartment shut. While the side ship door opened. She and Grogu were alone in the dimly lit compartment. He turned to look at her, head tilting in confusion. And she could only shrug in response.

There was silence on the ship for what felt like hours. Sedona and Grogu sat quietly, only the child breaking the silence with his babbles. She would shush him quickly; not really knowing when the crew would be joining the ship, and she didn't want their cover blown sooner than it needed to be. When his fussing became a bit more persistent, she gave him her keys that were still tucked in her purse. His big eyes widened further, entranced by the shiny metal and jingles.

Because how else do you calm a baby you don't know what to do with, you give it your keys. Fuck.

A heavy sigh passed through her as she leaned her head back against the wall. She's trying desperately to keep her emotions under control, obviously, Grogu could sense them, so if she was calm, he was calm. And that was most important right now. Her mind was constantly on edge, just waiting for something to happen. She didn't want to tie her mouth yet, fearing it would startle the child. Instead, she chewed on her lip, distracted by the soft tinkling of her keys.

The wait was soon over.

Metallic footsteps were making their way up the ramp. Thinking fast she tied the strip of fabric around her mouth, then held the child close. He cooed, moving his head up to face her before his ears flicked up in surprise. She tried to give him a smile.

It definitely looked absolutely horrifying.

His little features contorted into a frown, and a whimper was heard before the footsteps on the ship drew closer. They both snapped their heads to stare at the unmoving compartment door. Ears perked, listening closely as she heard someone ascend to the cockpit. There were noises outside of the ship, people were gathering, she felt her heart rate increase sharply. She squeezed them further into the corner of the compartment. The mattress creaked so loudly in the silence, but thankfully the noises coming from above them seemed to drown it out.

Her brain had ceased its flow of information. She wasn't sure who entered the ship first, it could be Din for all she knew. But she knew there were about to be a lot more people, and then shit was going to go down. Her mouth had gone dry thanks to the fabric, and the child had started to whine. She tried to shush him, but it came out more in weird hissing sounds. His eyes bugged out as he looked at her in fear, pushing his arms against her chest. She moved to set him down behind her, pretending her heart didn't break at the sight. She maneuvered herself more to the front of the compartment, leaving the keys behind for him.

She almost didn't notice the grumbling that followed the metallic clink of someone leaving the ship. The person was complaining, aggressively, but the voice was definitely not human.

Of course. That shitty droid.

The one emotion that had been hardest to keep at bay was rising up again. It coiled in her throat, sharpening her tongue with nasty thoughts. She hated this group, and all the shit they say to Din and the violent betrayal. She didn't know how she was going to be able to handle it if it happens right in front of her— the fabric in her mouth was going to be her saving grace. She really did not want to risk making this even worse for Din than it already would be.

And sure, she knows they get their due karma in the end. But the nagging pit in her stomach, the feeling of wrong, was eating her alive. She reached for the taser that sat at the front of the compartment and maneuvered her back to Grogu. If that compartment opens, she was going to fight like hell.

And that's how she waited.

And waited.

Back turned to the child as he jangled her keys around. She waited as voices crept closer to the Crest. As someone made their way up the ramp, then another. Until something was set down with a heavy thump, and a murmur of voices filled the hull. No one was really saying anything of importance, just fighting about who got to sit where. Sedona turned her head back to the child, who was now also listening attentively. His ears perked, owlish eyes met hers, the keys now forgotten in his little hands. He made a small 'ooo' sound and pointed to the compartment door, and she shrugged, holding her finger up to her mouth in a shushing motion.

Then there was the sound of the hatch closing, her head snapped back to the door. Trying to picture the scene behind the metal. She heard someone climbing the ladder, and then there was more grumbling. It wasn't long after, the ship began to move, she braced her hands behind her back as the compartment rocked. She looked back at the child, who was now back to jangling the keys around, she tried not to cringe at the sound, hoping they couldn't hear it.

She couldn't help thinking how insane this was. She was sitting in a space ship with a little green alien, gagged, and listening to other aliens argue. Her breath had started to quicken, and she could feel her pulse thumping in her neck.

This is so fucked up. What the hell am I even doing here. I'm going crazy-

Her spiraling thoughts were cut off when she felt a small hand on her back. She turned, blinking away a tear that had formed in her eye. Grogu made a tiny coo, his eyes wide. She instantly felt bad, he could sense her distress and it was making him feel bad. But she almost let out a sob when the little creature leaned forward, setting both his arms on her back in a tiny hug. A strangled noise tore through her throat, lifting one of her hands to pat his wrinkled little head. He made a snorting noise, one of the cutest things in the world, before plopping down and playing with the keys again. The interaction so small, but it had immediately calmed her down.

God, I can see why everyone loves this little shit.

She felt the atmosphere speed up, and the telltale feeling of hyperspace overtook the ship. A sound she recognized made her snap her head back to the door. The weapons hold adjacent to the sleeping compartment was open. She hadn't even heard their earlier conversations, too entranced by the little guy. She couldn't remember who had opened the door, but from the grumbling, it sounded like the one she hated most. Everything was happening much faster, but it felt as if time had slowed. She distantly registered the thump of someone jumping down the ladder, then the doors closing, and someone immediately hitting them.

"Hey, hey, hey. Okay. Okay. Okay, I get it. I'm a little particular about my personal space too." That voice, God she knew that voice. Her blood boiled as she listened further. "So let's just do this job. We get in, we get out, and you don't have to see our faces anymore."

How ironic, she almost rolled her eyes.

"Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian." The voice was much closer than she wanted it to be.

"Well, apparently they're the greatest warriors in the galaxy." There was a pause, Sedona gritted her teeth around the cloth. "So they say"

"Then why are they all dead"

And there was laughter. She heard a sharp giggle, the kind that makes your lip curl. And she felt herself shaking— she wanted to say something so fucking bad. She didn't know how Din could just take all of this.

"Well, you flew with him, Xi'an— Is he as good as they say?"

"Ask him about the job on Alzoc 111." Their voices grated her ears. Subconsciously she really did want to know what happened on Alzoc 111"

"I did what I had to." But this voice, with his calculated roughness, broke her heart. She didn't know how much more she could take before words started leaving her mouth. She heard a female voice, and her hands curled into fists behind her. She could hear what they were saying, but it wasn't fully registering anymore. Her ears rung with rage, the feeling of the child still leaning against her back was the only thing keeping her from ripping off the gag and screaming.

Her eyes narrowed at the continued jeering and insults. She tried to blink away the tears of anger that burned her eyes. Pressing all of her weight into her arms, her muscles tense. Ready for what was coming next.

The ringing in her ears didn't stop, even as a fistfight took place outside her door.

Only when she was suddenly faced by the people she did not want to see, did everything come crashing back to the surface.

The trio looked at her in shock, Din out of her view. She sees Mayfield's mouth moving as he walks closer to her, but she only picked up the last of his sentence.

"— you get lonely up here buddy? Huh." He stepped up to the compartment, Xi'an sauntered after him. Sedona tried not to focus on the way the other woman's gaze twisted into disgust. She turned her head to meet all 3 of their eyes, Burg looking even more devil-like up close.

"Why do you have your bed warmer tied up like that huh?" Din didn't answer Mayfield, she couldn't even see him, but with the way Burg had his arm locked out of view, he was probably being held back. "Is that how he kept you, huh, Xi'an? Is that how he likes 'em?" The woman in question hissed in response, and she settled herself against the door. Knife still held loosely in her hand.

"Didn't take you for the type." She snarled at Din, her eyes predatory as they shifted away from Sedona. "Maybe that code of yours has made you soft."

And suddenly there was another voice. Though not really a voice, instead it's sounded like an angry cat in the other room. Muffled, and full of rage.

It wasn't till she noticed the others were just staring at her in silence, that she realized it was her. She was snarling like a rabid dog, her mouth has developed a mind of its own. Thankfully all the words were swallowed by the cloth.

"Well let's see what she has to say," Xi'an said with a sickening smile, sharpened yellow teeth on full display. The next actions happened so quickly, Sedona honestly didn't realize what transpired. There was a flash of metal, as Xi'an's hand darted out like a snake. A searing pain appeared on her left cheek, and the cloth holding her words in fell away. She felt herself gasp, her hand instantly flying up to cradle her cheek. And then there was laughing, the trio laughed at her pain, and it only made her angrier.

"I said," She placed her hand, now sticky with blood, behind her back. Bracing herself. "I've got a penchant for smokes and kicking douches in the mouth. Sadly for you, my last cigarette's gone out."

And with that statement, her right foot flew out. Connecting with Burg's jaw, a sickening crack rang through the hull.

Then there was chaos.

The Devaronian stumbled back, his own hand coming up to clutch his jaw with a growl. Mayfield and Xi'an jumped for their weapons. But before anyone else could cross the threshold of the sleeping compartment, there was a blaster shot— and the metal door collapsed shut. Din had shot the control panel to the door, no one could get in, or get out without the use of his fancy wrist control. There was aggressive banging on the door, Sedona feared it might dent. She could hear swearing and shouting from the other side, but she wasn't done. She sat up on her knees, slamming her hands against the metal a few times. If Din wasn't going to say it, she would.

"Fuck you Xi'an! I wanted to be your friend so bad!" She could hear an aggressive snarl over the other commotion. Burg roared, and then there was a particularly loud thump against the door.

"Fuck you, Burg! Your breath fucking reeks!" Her voice had a heavy growl in it, all of the rage she could muster put behind her words.

"And fuck you, Mayfield! Prison is going to make you it's bitch!" Her voice had risen to a scream to counteract the noise. And with a few more slaps against the metal, she sat back down. Her hand coming up to the cut on her cheek. Xi'an's blades were so sharp, they cut deep and thin. A perfect slice, that was going to leave a nasty scar. It was then she realized the other creature in the room.

Grogu let out soft whimpers at the commotion, he was trying to hide behind her purse. Her stomach dropped at the sight, instantly letting out a soft coo of her own, she reached her hand out to him, trying to let him know it would be okay. But another voice broke through the pandemonium.

"Dropping out of hyperspace now." She scooped up Grogu, and he let out a small cry of protest. But she knew what was coming next. The ship lurched foreword suddenly. "Commencing final approach now."

"Cloaking signal now" Grogu let out a scream as they were suddenly airborne. Sedona's head crashed against the ceiling of the compartment with a thump. They slammed back down, the wind getting knocked out of her lungs. Trying to catch her breath she glanced down at the child, who was relatively fine. Just panicking by the way his massive eyes stared up at her. The ship stopped with a heavy crash, and she heard the droid speaking again. But she was far more distracted by the little green hand straining to reach her cheek.

"I'll be okay buddy" she whispered, bringing her hand up to gently grab his. He frowned, babbling urgently at her. She gave him as much of a smile she could muster, hoping he accepted it. "You don't have to heal me, I'm all right." Truthfully, she wasn't really all right. Her cheek was burning, and from what she could feel, the cut ran from just under her jaw bone, all the way up to her cheekbone. A neat slice, that was still steadily leaking blood. She set Grogu to the side and reached for her purse, fishing out the travel pack of tissues, and holding one to the cut. It wasn't stitches or magical healing space goo, but she hoped it would at least stop her from bleeding all over Din's bed. A loud smack interrupted their tentative peace. Mayfield's voice followed.

"Don't think we forgot about you girl, we'll be back for you!" There was laughing, and for the first time since the door had opened, the wrongness flooded back to her stomach. She focused on taking deep even breaths, for the sake of the child who whimpered beside her. She heard a fast beeping, and then someone jumping from the ship. They were leaving, and her heart only seemed to race faster. She waited till she heard the particularly loud thump of Burg.

"Din," she cleared her throat, voice coming out raw. "Don't let them capture you." She wasn't sure if she was just talking to an empty hull, or if the Mandalorian could even hear her raspy voice.

She just hoped desperately if he had, he would listen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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