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tiffdawg · 4 years

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The Light of Stars | Chapter Two: Interference

Gif: @bestintheparsec

The Light of Stars

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x Reader (no y/n)

Word Count: 4.6k

Rating: T | Warnings: None really. Maybe some minor angst?

Story Summary: In pursuit of the Child’s people, the mysterious Jedi, Din Djarin and his foundling find hope in a woman who shares the kid’s strange powers. Newly partnered with the Mandalorian, you are trained in the ways of the Force, but you’re no Jedi. You’re just trying to find your place in the galaxy.

A/N: Chapter two is here! The adventure continues, but not with out a few setbacks for our heroes. As always, thanks so much for reading. Oh, and happy birthday to our Mandalorian, Pedro Pascal!

Read on AO3

TLOS Masterlist | My Masterlist

... . ...

Chapter Two: Interference

“What the hell is going on?” You shouted at Din over the sound of the alarm. On his other side, the Child let out a sharp screech as if asking the same thing.

“Not sure,” he answered truthfully, “But I need you to hit the emergency override.” He pointed to the wall behind you. He was grateful when you jumped up, quick to follow his order, and did as you were told without needing any further instructions. The alarm mercifully ceased but the red signals continued to cast an eerie crimson glow across the cabin. There was definitely something wrong with his ship. After years of flying the Razor Crest, he only needed a quick glance at the readouts on the HUD and the fuel levels before he knew exactly the cause of all the trouble.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, flipping the necessary switches as fast as physically possible. “Get ready to drop from hyperspace. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

Din heard the click of your restraints as you hastily buckled into the passenger seat and he briefly looked over his shoulder to make sure the kid was strapped into his crib. Once he was sure you were both safe, he pulled hard on the hyperdrive lever. The ship shuttered around them at the unexpected change of course and the telltale stream of blue starlight faded from the viewport as the Crest dropped from lightspeed. The Child gave an excited, bubbly laugh behind him and Din turned partially around so that he could look the kid over.

“You would enjoy that,” he said, letting out an exasperated sound, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. Returning his attention to the ship’s controls, he pulled up the star chart on the HUD and set course for the closet planet with a spaceport. Not that he had many options.

“Ever been to Saleucami?” he deadpanned.

“Can’t say that I have, no,” You answered breathlessly behind him.

“Well, today’s your lucky day.” He punched in the coordinates and maneuvered the ship towards the backwater planet.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” There was an edge to your voice, and he felt a twinge of guilt run through him. He wasn’t exactly used to traveling with someone and never did explain what caused the alarm or the sudden drop from hyperspace.

“Looks like a fuel leak so we’ll be stopping a bit earlier than expected. We should just be able to reach Saleucami for repairs and refueling.”

“Does this sort of thing happen often?”

“No.” He lied but amended it quickly and the ship shuddered around them and you scoffed at him. “Yes. It is an older ship, so it happens sometimes.”

“Good to know.” You let out a deep breath behind him.

As far as spaceports on the Outer Rim go, Saleucami wasn’t particularly impressive, but it wasn’t the worst Din had visited over the years. In fact, many considered the planet to be a quaint oasis. As he haggled with a surly Weequay mechanic in a rather run-down docking bay, Din felt more like he was in his own personal hell.

“It’s a simple fuel leak. There’s no way repairs should cost that much.”

“If you don’t like my quote, go somewhere else, Mando.” The mechanic pointed a stern finger at him as he spoke, and it took every ounce of self-control Din had to stay calm. His right hand twitched at his side, but he forced himself not to ignite the flamethrower on his vambrace as he remembered that if it didn’t work with a bunch of Jawas, it wouldn’t work now. Instead he shook his head and turned away.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Din grumbled more to himself than the irritable man he was negotiating with.

“Frankly, I’d like to see you try to get that busted ship out of my shop. Things have been boring around here and I could use a good laugh.” Despite his taunts, Din knew he was right. The Crest wasn’t going anywhere.

“Fine,” he spat out between gritted teeth, “We have a deal.”

“Ah, see,” the Weequay slapped a sweaty hand against Din’s shoulder. The mechanic’s mood seemed to change instantly. “I knew you’d come around. And since we’re such good friends now, I’ll bump you up in line. We’ll get started on your ship right away.”

Din refused to respond, shrugging off the man’s hand. He figured he was paying him enough that he didn’t have to be nice about it. The Weequay smiled at him anyway and then whistled sharply. A couple of service droids whirred to life and rushed towards his ship. He bit back his usual request for no droids. His entire world had been turned upside down in the past few weeks. While a former bounty droid saving the kid and sacrificing its life for Din didn’t absolve all droids in his mind, a few astromechs working on his ship seemed like the least of his problems at this point.

As his line of sight was drawn back towards the ship by the scuttling droids, he noticed you disembarking. You walked at a place slow enough for the kid to keep up, taking one small stride for ten of his. You seemed to be speaking to him, and every few steps the Child would stop his progress down the ramp to look up at you and respond. He shook his head at the sight, not quite knowing what to make of it, but unable to look away.

“Hey,” he said, catching the Weequay’s attention once more. “Is there a cantina nearby? Somewhere they could get something to eat and I could find work. That is, if you want to get paid for these overly expensive repairs.”

“Oh, of course! My brother runs the best cantina in town. It’s just a few streets over.” He quickly pulled up a map on his datapad and pointed out the cantina. He jested boldly, “Good food and good bounties! Don’t you worry, Mando, it’s the perfect place for you. Tell them Jax sent you, you’ll get a good deal.”

“I’m sure I will,” Din muttered under his breath as he moved around Jax to meet you and the kid.

If by “best cantina in town” Jax meant dark and outdated with just a touch of a criminal element, then it probably was the best cantina in town. It was early enough in the evening that only a few patrons sat around the bar drinking and speaking in hushed tones. As soon as he’d walked in, he knew it wouldn’t be hard to find work and he’d only had to briefly speak with the bartender, another Weequay and presumably Jax’s brother-in-law, before he was directed to a human sitting in a booth at the back of the cantina.

A slurping sound brought his attention back to the table as the Child devoured a bowl of stew. A bit dribbled down the side of his face, but the kid seemed unfazed, so Din just wiped it away with a gloved finger. Even without looking, he felt you watching the whole exchange from the other side of the table.

“So,” you started, fully capturing his attention. You spoke in between heaping spoonfuls of food. “Tell me more about this job”

“Some Gran failed to repay his gambling debts and is hiding out on the outskirts of town. Easy enough job, but the Hutts are looking for him so it pays well.”

“You don’t mind working for the Hutts?” You were eyeing him again with a slight scowl. “They’re slavers.”

“A job’s a job.” Even as he said it, he didn’t even believe his own words anymore. The kid slurping stew next to him was evidence enough to that. You huffed at his response and crossed your arms. “Look, working with the Hutts isn’t my first choice either,” he said, hoping to appease you, “But I’ve got to cover the repairs for the Crest somehow so we can get off this kriffing planet.”

Your eyes dropped from his and you nodded softly in acquiescence. He could tell you weren’t happy about the situation from the way you pushed your food around with your spoon. A minute ago, you were shoveling it in as fast as the kid. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, but before he could offer an apology, you spoke up.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked.

“You don’t have-” he started.

“I want to.”

You were clearly still upset about the situation with the Hutts, but your overture seemed sincere. Though if the last day was any indication, he had the impression you were a strong-willed woman and would continue to challenge him. For some reason, that thought didn’t bother Din.

“Like I said, it’s an easy job and I should be back by morning. Just take care of the kid tonight.”

“I could do more,” you offered.

“I’m sure you could. But that’ll be plenty.”

“Okay,” you nodded again, this time with a faint smile, and went back to your food. When you finished a few minutes later, he picked the kid up. This time, the Child didn’t protest to being carried, but rather relaxed into Din’s arms, smacking his lips a few times and patting his little belly.

“Lucky for you, the kid ate his weight in stew and will probably sleep through the night.” He went to exit the seedy cantina but turned back around when you didn’t follow.

“Take sleepyhead back to the ship. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

“Sure.” Your actions continued to perplex him, but he took his leave anyway.

… . …

Based on the scene that greeted you when you entered the docking bay, the Child would not be sleeping through the night. At least not anytime soon. It appeared that sometime on the walk back from the cantina to the ship, the mix of an extended naptime and a hearty meal finally caught up with the kid and he was now running, as fast as his tiny legs would permit, full speed around the ship bay. The curious little toddler inspected everything in his path and squealed happily at each and every droid he encountered. Meanwhile, the Mandalorian stood idly by, shaking his head at the baby’s escapade, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. Your quiet laugh alerted the Mandalorian to your presence as nothing seemed to escape his notice.

“So much for bedtime,” you joked lightly.

“It was too good to be true.” He made an exasperated sound as the kid tried to climb up the leg of a pit droid.

“I have an idea.” You jogged over and gingerly removed the Child from his perch on top of the DUM-series droid. The droid chattered at you and gestured towards the mess of parts laying in front of him. You muttered a quick apology and hurried off with the kid, leaving the mech to his work. As you carried the kid inside the hull of the ship, the Mandalorian fell in step behind you.

“Can I try something?” you asked, seeking his permission. “Just something small, to get him to focus.”

“Go for it.”

You set the child in the center of the cargo hold and he, unsurprisingly, resumed his mad dash around the ship. You scanned the space for a small but safe-enough object, finally settling on what appeared to be an old compressor valve cap that was lying amidst some spare parts. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the ship’s hull, you took a few deep, steadying breaths, centering yourself with the Force. When the kid finally noticed what you were doing, he waddled up to you and sat across from you as if trying to mirror your position. He might’ve been too young to meditate properly, but he seemed to understand the purpose of your stillness. You felt his signature in the Force calm down as his big brown eyes stared at you inquisitively.

You stayed like that for a few minutes. Then, with practiced ease, you levitated the valve cap, lifting it slowly so that it floated in between you and the kid. His ears perked up at that and you smiled down at him. With a flourish of your fingers, you spun the spare part in mid-air before reaching out to catch it.

“Now, you try.” You set the object in front of the kid. “I heard about the mudhorn, so I know you can do it.”

The kid trained his wide eyes on the Mandalorian, who nodded once in return, urging him on. His focus back on the valve, he reached out a clawed hand, eyes squinting in concentration. For a long moment nothing happened but it didn’t surprise you; from what the Mandalorian told you, the kid had only used his powers in life or death situations. It would take a bit of practice before he could call upon the Force at will. Still, you weren’t surprised when the object began to shakily float in the air, following the path the kid traced with his hand, before tumbling back to the ground with a small clatter.

“Good job,” you cooed, gently stroking the tip of one of his ears, much to the kid’s pleasure. He made a second attempt, lifting the object with a bit more ease, before bringing it to himself. He then promptly shoved it into his mouth, chewing on one of the corners.

“Let’s not eat old ship parts, kid.” There was no menace to his scolding as the Mandalorian gently pulled the spit-soaked part out of the kid’s grasp. You stood so that you were facing him, with a proud smile you couldn’t keep at bay.

“That’s one special son you have here, Mandalorian.”

“Yes, he is.” The kid babbled in agreement. He’d moved in between the two of you and was beaming up at you. “You know, you can just call me Mando.”

“Seems a bit impersonal,” you said as you considered the Mandalorian before you, “But if you insist.” You found yourself wondering, not for the first time, who exactly was the man beneath the Beskar and if the eyes under the visor held your gaze in the piercing way you imagined. You pushed those thoughts from your head as quickly as they invaded your mind, internally chiding yourself for thinking like that. When you broke away from his stare, your eyes fell on your forgotten satchel. “Oh, Mando!” you said, testing his moniker, “I can’t believe I almost forgot.” You rummaged through your bag before offering a small container to him. “You didn’t eat at the cantina, so I had them package something up for you.”

“You did?” He asked, unable to hide the bewilderment in his voice.

“Yeah, of course. It’s no big deal,” you said, trying to brush off the gesture.

“It is, actually,” he replied, and you felt him lean a bit closer, his dark visor trained on your face. This time, you didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was studying you, and it made you sad that such a small gesture could so easily confound the stoic Mandalorian. You waited for him to elaborate, but he seemed to be finished speaking, so you tried to fill the silence.

“Consider it my thanks for getting the credits we need to get out of here. I only wish I had more to offer. I can keep practicing with the kid so you can eat in private before you go.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, carefully taking the container from your hands as if it were something much more precious than cantina food. With that, he disappeared deeper into the ship to wherever his own quarters must be. Trying not to dwell on the peculiar interaction, you picked up a slightly heavier spare part off the pile from earlier, tossing it between your hands a couple of times to test the weight, before turning back to the kid.

“I must’ve been going easy on you earlier. Wanna try something harder?” You took his sly smile and happy chirping noises as a resounding yes.

The kid let you practice with him until long after Mando left and the droids outside ceased their work for the night. When he finally curled up in your lap and fell asleep, you thought your heart was going to burst from the darling gesture. You also felt an immense relief as you were beginning to think he’d never tire himself out. You carefully tucked him into his makeshift cot and, after a few moments of careful consideration, then proceeded to move it into your room right next to your bunk. The thought of him roaming the ship unsupervised at night terrified you and you were so exhausted you probably would’ve been able to sleep though a fair amount of his destruction. You laughed to yourself at the notion as you watched him sleep, his peaceful face betraying none of his impish tendencies.

When you finally crawled into your own bunk, you were too tired to even complain about how ridiculously uncomfortable the damn thing was. It was a small price to pay for transportation and decent company. Better than decent, if you were being honest. It’d been a long time since you’d had any type of companionship and while the bounty hunter and his strange green foundling were a curious pair, you were grateful for the company. With a final glance at the sleeping baby, you flicked off the overhead lights and tucked in for the night. Before sleep overtook you, you let your mind wander to places you hadn’t allowed it to in a long time, recalling memories of your own training as a youngling and mentally modifying old lessons to fit the kid’s needs.

… . …

After a few hours of searching, Din tracked the orange-skinned Gran to a small settlement a few clicks outside of the main spaceport. With three wide eyes, the bounty pleaded desperately for his freedom, but after an unsurprisingly short scuffle, Din had him in binders and settled into the backseat of the speeder he’d hired. The Gran might’ve been a gambler, but he certainly wasn’t a fighter.

Saleucami’s three moons were just setting for the night as they made their way back to the cantina where he was told to return the bounty. The human he’d met earlier sat in the same booth nursing what appeared to be his fifth drink of the night despite the late hour.

“Good work, Mando,” he said jovially with only a slight slur as he raised his cup to him, “Didn’t expect you back quite so soon but I must say I’m impressed. Drinks on me.”

Din didn’t say anything as he shoved the Gran into the booth across from his temporary employer. He remained standing, waiting patiently for the reward, and it was only when the man made no move that he finally spoke up.

“The rest of my payment?” he asked with a sigh. He’d already given the first cut to Jax, who was quick to remind him that it wouldn’t be nearly enough.

“Fine, no drinks then. Have it your way.” He tossed a heavy pouch of credits onto the tabletop. Din seized it and turned to leave without another word.

“You know,” the man shouted after him, “There’s more where that came from!” Din stilled halfway to the front entrance. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, Mando,” he drawled. The client made a show of emptying his tankard and ordering another drink before he continued. “I told my employers about you, best in the parsec and all that. The Hutts are quite interested in hiring a Mandalorian for a certain well-paying job they’ve got lined up. It’s yours, if you want it.”

In the past, he wouldn’t have even had to think about it. He had just enough credits to pay Jax with a little left over for the ship’s next refueling. He’d need the money sooner rather than later. Especially if there were any more setbacks like this one. It should’ve been an easy answer, but it wasn’t. His gaze drifted to the booth he’d sat in the previous evening with you and the Child. Your reaction to learning he was working with the Hutts had been visceral and loomed heavily in his mind. You’d been nothing but kind to him, he mused as he recalled your unexpected offering of food and the affectionate way that you trained the Child. More importantly, he needed your help if he was going to find any answers about the kid’s people.

But he also needed the credits.

“I’m listening.”

… . …

The next morning, you woke to the tinny sounds of repair droids working outside the ship. It took you much longer than it should have to notice the deeper sound of boots treading on metal coming from inside the Crest. The baby, now wide awake in his carrier, seemed to make the connection at the same time that you did. His animated face hid none of his enthusiasm for his caretaker’s return as he reached towards you, silently begging to be taken to Mando. You jumped off your bunk and hoisted him up in one fluid motion, finding yourself just as excited that the Mandalorian was back from tracking down his bounty.

“You’re back early,” you said in place of a more typical greeting when you found him in the hull re-racking his weapons. He turned quickly and you almost felt bad for sneaking up on him. He probably wasn’t used to having anyone else besides the Child on his ship.

“Like I said, easy job,” he responded, taking the squirming baby from you. The Child instantly calmed down once he was with his father, leaning into the Mandalorian’s embrace and cooing contentedly. The tender way he held the baby against his chest plate brought a smile to your face as you watched the pair.

“Does that mean we can pay for the repairs now?” you asked after a moment.

“Yeah, but there’s going to be a slight detour,” he answered without looking up at you.

You gave a light laugh, “Why am I not surprised?”

“The client told me about another job,” Mando started to explain, “I didn’t want to take it, but the credits would cover us for a while. Especially if we have any more unexpected delays like this one.”

“What’s the job?”

“You’re not going to like it,” he said hesitantly.

“More Hutts?” You already knew the answer.

“More Hutts,” he affirmed. “And we have to go into Hutt Space.”

“You’re right. I don’t like it,” you said, and a tense silence filled the hull of the ship. “But it’s probably a good idea to have some credits on hand,” you could concede that much, but it didn’t make you feel any better. When he didn’t say anything, you kept talking despite herself. “I’ve been searching for Master Zarichi for five years so there’s no real rush and I suppose I’m just along for the ride at this point.” You cringed at the sarcasm dripping off your own words but didn’t have it in you to amend your attitude. The last thing you wanted to do was spend a moment longer helping some sleemo Hutts. When he still didn’t offer a reply, you told him you would be meditating and disappeared to your quarters.

You sat with your knees folded beneath you in the middle of your cramped bunk room, trying but failing miserably to center yourself. After decades of training, meditation was second nature to you. It usually came easy, like a calm wave washing you with only a few deep breaths. But every time you closed your eyes, images of slim-covered Hutts plundering your childhood village flashed unbridled before you. Try as you might to banish the memories, they just kept playing one after the other on a constant loop until your fury crested and you surrendered to it.

With a heavy sigh more akin to a growl, you collapsed from you practiced position and slumped against your bunk. Despite the silence around you, your master’s final words rang out loud in your mind. Anger isn’t the way of the Jedi. The words were an echo of a past long gone, but you remembered the night like it was yesterday.

“You can’t leave us - not like this!” The foreign desperation in your master’s voice chilled you to the bone, almost made you want to say. Instead, you steeled yourself, refusing to be guilted into changing your mind, and left behind the warmth of the small hut for the thunderous storm raging outside.

“Anger isn’t the way of the Jedi,” Master Zarichi called after you from the doorway, her voice cutting through the icy rain pouring from the dark sky, “Revenge is meant only for the Sith!”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I am neither,” you spat back over your shoulder as you walked away, fully prepared to leave the only home, the only family, you’d known since you were a child if it meant the Hutts and the Empire faced retribution for their crimes against the galaxy. You refused to watch passively any longer. Not when you finally had the power to do something and no matter what side of the Force you’d need to call on - Jedi and Sith both be damned.

“We don’t need her anymore.” Your younger brother followed a step behind. You gave him a withering look, but before you could open your mouth to scold him, to tell him to say behind where he’d be safe, he spoke again, his words confident and predictable. “Where you go, I go.”

You nodded your acquiesce and he fell into step next to you. “This is not the path of the Jedi, you know.”

“No, this if for our parents. For us.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

With careful fingers, you toyed with your mother’s necklace, letting the feel of the smooth curves and sharp points of the crescent moon finally calm you. You thought you’d worked through most of your anger towards the Hutts - the war had been surprisingly cathartic for you. Evidently a few weak embers laid dormant inside you, waiting all of this time to be stroked into a fierce flame. Fortunately, you’d given up all delusions of becoming a Jedi years ago and so you allowed yourself to feel your anger and hatred, if only for a moment before it was replaced with an equally powerful feeling of shame.

Sure, you didn’t like working with the Hutts; the very idea made your stomach turn. But what really started to irritate you was your own behavior. Even though you knew you had every right to stand your moral ground against the Mandalorian, you couldn’t help but feel like your criticism was making both of your lives more difficult. You were a grown woman and you hated that you felt like a petulant child. You’d had plenty of temporary partners on your previous travels and their actions never affected you like this. This one should’ve been no different. Mando was doing what he had to in order to get you halfway across the galaxy and, hopefully, closer to finding your master. You knew you shouldn’t care about the decisions he made to do so, and yet you did. Deeply.

... . ...

Thanks for reading!

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfic #my writing #my fic #fic: the light of stars

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

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Prom Night (RoD, Ximena x MC)

This fanfic was requested by @desiree-0816 for the @choicesnovemberchallenge by @ramseyandrys . I would like to apologise as I couldn’t deliver your request fully (the 21st bday). I have been busier than expected lately and I’m struggling with motivation and my muse lately, at least for Choices fics. So to meet this deadline and honor your request, I adapted an old wip that I hope will fit into the celebration prompt. I will write the bday fic in the future, if you wish: let me know!

Inspired by the song Driven By You (which is THE Ximena x MC song, paired with Uptown Girl), that’s how I imagine the prom night with Ximena we never got in the original book.

Prompt: Celebration

Word Count: 1952

Perma Tag: @brightpinkpeppercorn @bhavf @melodyofgraves @strangerofbraidwood @abunchofbadchoices @silverhawkenzie @begging-for-kamilah @kennaxval @kamilahmykween @universallypizzataco @gayestchoices @embarrassingsmartphonegame

Ximena Tag: @bobasheebaby @boneandfur

__________________________

It all felt so unreal. Standing in the middle of a crowded room full of people having the time of their lives - or at least pretending to have the time of their lives- taking selfies with each other, cracking jokes and sharing gossips, dancing to the beat, whispering sweet nothing or naughty compliments into each other ears' at the side of the dance floor. Ordinary prom stuff, ordinary life stuff but lately Ellie's life had been nothing but ordinary. Crowded places gave her a bit of anxiety and she couldn't blend in. Somewhere in the crowd one of her father's agents, Erica, was following her, guarding over her. Typical prom stuff, right?

She sighed and gave an apologetic look to Reya: she hadn't listened to a word she said, but she didn't tell her, she didn't want to hurt her feelings. She was trying to help, somehow, even if it wasn't working. She excused herself telling she needed to go to the loo and refused her friend's offer to walk her there. "I'll be fine, worry not" she said, before making a beeline to agent Erica and asking her to let her head outside for a moment.

"Are you feeling okay, Ellie?" the agent asked, searching her eyes.

"Yeah I just some fresh air, this is all so...overwhelming" she winced.

"I get it, sweetheart" Erica grimaced sympathetically. "But your father explicitl-"

"Just five minutes, please"

Erica was visibly torn and surprised by the grim intensity of the plea. She agreed to let her go. "I'll go check on you in ten minutes, okay girl?"

She liked Erica, she was a very empathetic woman and a good agent. She thanked her and walked into the parking lot of her school. She didn't like the idea of being alone in that place but she needed a break from the party atmosphere. It was all too fast, too much. She didn't even want to go: what was the point? She didn't even a date and she wasn't in the mood for listening to Reya's love issues.

She hugged herself as the night breeze blew over her, playing with her curls. She sighed: well, if only a certain someone was here now, she could certainly use one of her bear hugs. A weak smile drew on her lips as she reminisced her first meeting with Ximena. Good-hearted, funny, gorgeous X.. God knows where she was now: Ellie could only hope she was somewhere safe, out of reach for those criminals. Yet she missed her terribly, tonight more than ever. She had fantasized about her favorite driver surprising her on the prom night, walking inside the room on her arms, dancing the night away with her.

She smiled sadly to herself. What a naive fool she was. What a silly teenage girl with impossible fantasies...

She inhaled deeply and stared into the distance. The night was quiet and the moon shone oh so brightly in the sky. The perfect setting for a romcom, she joked internally. The parking lot was packed just like the room she had just left. A black SUV gleaming in the moonlight caught her eye. It looked familiar but our minds might trick us easily. She checked twice, just in case.

And...Ximena was there. She stood leaning on her car, one foot rested on the side of her SUV, arms folded over her chest. It took a while to Ellie to recognize her but when she did, she gasped and blushed furiously, thankful that her crush couldn’t see her in the dark. X. was wearing a black and white male suit: black pants matching a pair of black suspenders and bow tie and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up past her elbow to reveal her tattoos. Her hair was up in a ponytail.

She was looking the other way when Ellie arrived but when she spotted the Alvarez girl a huge smile lightened up her face. Her uptown girl was safe!

“El…”

She took a step closer than stopped, as if suddenly shy or unsure of what to do.

“X.! Oh my God I’m so happy to see you, I was so worried but….what are you doing here?”

Ellie had to summon every ounce of self-restraint not to start stuttering or to jump into X.'s strong arms. She had been so worried and blue after her father told her what happened at the casino. She was relieved that she was still alive but the thought that she might have never seen Ximena, again, like ever again tore her teen heart apart. But now her sweet Amazon was standing right in front of her. And she was dashing and flashing her an irresistible smirk.

“A birdie told me that there’s a prom night going on tonight so” she explained gesturing at her outfit. “I thought to dress up and stop by”

“And you’re gorgeous, Ximena! I-I mean…” Ximena gave her an amused yet exquisitely soft smile in full response, probably noticing how pink her cheeks were now. “Thanks, princess. But I can’t stand a chance with you” X. noted, taking in the sight of Ellie in the gorgeous lacy dress. An awkward silence fell between them, as they both were overwhelmed by the joy to be together again after all the troubles…despite being so out of place. Proms were completely out of their comfort zones. And they knew it. X. folded her hands in her pockets and broke the silence. “So I’ve never been to one of these fancy proms but I’ve heard that they involve a lot of dancing, right?” “Yes, I guess it’s one way to put it” Ellie confirmed, giggling at the understatement. “Thought so! Then I know just the thing…” She winked and opened the door of her car in a swift move. She quickly moved inside but got out after a moment, gallantly offering the girl’s a hand.

“Shall we dance, Ellie?”

Ellie gaped, looking around in confusion.

“What…you mean here? But there’s no music?”

Ximena grinned as if she was expecting that objection. She flashed Ellie an affectionate smile and picked a small remote controller out of the pocket of her pants. As she hit the button, the stereo in her car started playing a Queen song, one of X.’s all-time favorite.

Ellie giggled at first before smiling brightly at her unexpected prom date.

“May I have this dance, princess?” Ximena asked in the softest tone.

Ellie nodded, head over hills with happiness, and placed her hand on top of hers. Ximena gently pulled her closer, tossing the controller inside the car to rest her free hand on her uptown girl’s hip.

We touch and you’re afraid of me And we burn and now I’m at your feet High speed, but you know you’re in safe hands

As if reacting to the lyrics, Ellie raised herself up on the tips of her toes to wrap her arms around X.'s neck and another ecstatic smile formed on her lips as the two of them started swaying. The rest of the world, the parking lot, the school prom inexorably faded away.

Ooh, in the dark we make a brighter light From one spark to the horizon wide We trust, and together we tame the land, yeah

Ximena’s hands moved to Ellie’s small back as the girl adjusted her head over the gentle Amazon’s collarbone, sighing contently. It’s something out of a movie, a romantic movie and it’s happening! If I'm dreaming please don't wake me, she squealed internally.

Oh you’d be forgiven if you think you’re dreaming But we’re working night and day to make a dream come true, yeah Everything I do is driven by you

Warmth spread all over Ximena as she rested her cheek on top of the Alvarez girl's head. She inhaled the familiar scent of her coconut conditioner and for once forgot about all the troubles with the Brotherhood. There was no room for them now as she lost herself in the music and the feeling of Ellie's body pressed against herself.

Hold on tight to the driving wheel This ride is really out of line Raw deal, but there’s no other that’s worth a dime

Ellie was the first to break the charmed silence between the. A happy sigh turned into a little confession as words slipped out of her mouth...but this time she didn't care.

"I’m…I’m so happy that you’re here, X.”

“Let me guess? Worried about this prom thing?” X. attempted a joke as a tender smile formed brightened her face.

“Maybe a little.”

They both giggled. Then Ellie took a deep breath and parted just enough to face the young woman. She raised her eyes to meet Ximena's and hoped they could convey all the feelings inside her: concern, affection...that scary "l" word. It's now or never, El, she repeated to herself.

“But mostly about you. I guess the truth is I like you, X. Really like you”

Ximena’s eyes widened and she gaped but quickly recovered and offered Ellie the softest smile.

You know I love you but you drive me crazy ‘Cause you’re saying all the things I want to say to you

“And to me there’s no other worth a dime” Ximena whispered, quoting the lyrics.

Ellie felt her cheeks and her heart set on fire. She opened her mouth to say something but her breath was caught short as she processed what X. just said. Before she could think of what to say next, Ximena hushed her.

“It's okay...Ellie, I- may I...” she said slowly leaning down.

As if drawn to a magnet, Ellie rose on tiptoe and met her halfway. X. claimed her lips in a tender kiss. Their mouths met once, twice as the buzz of the prom party inside grew distant. Caught in the bliss of that kiss, Ellie pressed herself against the gentle Amazon, taking her by surprise and sending the driver to backpedal against the car. When Ellie parted to mutter an apology Ximena just giggled and pulled her close, capturing her lips once more in a fierce kiss that took her breath away.

When eventually she pulled back, the first thing Ellie saw opening her eyes was Ximena checking on her.

"Is this okay, El?" she asked, her voice soft just as her smile.

It took a moment to Ellie to reply: she felt dizzy, ecstatic...the happiest she had ever been.

"Yeah, I mean of course...I- wow"

Ximena's lips curled into an amused smile still filled with tenderness. She stroke Ellie's cheek and wiped off some of her smeared chapstick with her thumb.

"Happy prom, princess"

"Best prom ever" Ellie sighed happily, leaning to the touch.

Then she tipped her lips, a little cute gestured that made Ximena fell a bit more for her "uptown girl". The kiss was slow and deep, intoxicating...but Ximena pulled away too soon, almost abruptly. Ellie felt a pang of rejection: was it all over already? When she looked up at Ximena she noticed that her jaw, that jaw she was craving so hard to kiss, was now clenched and her eyes wandered above her head. Then they stopped and the grip on her hip tightened.

"El, get in the car"

"What? Wher-" she asked, not understanding what just happened but feeling cold chills ran down her spine.

"I'll be damned if they lay a finger on you again" Ximena explained, her tone hardened as she threw daggers at someone in the distance.

"We gotta go, princess. And fast" her voice softened a little as she shielded her with her body and gently pushed her inside the car just in time before a gunshot rang into the distance.

#choices november challenge #choices rod #ximena rod #ximena x mc #playchoices

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bnhascribbles · 5 years

Text

Partner

Bakugo x Reader

Angst, Humor, Dialogue Prompts (22, 47, 62)

I took artistic liberties lol. EDIT: Also may have forgotten one of the quotes...

Words: 4.4K

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Mentions of death

Hair, once light, is dark, matted with blood and sweat. Bakugo’s costume is in similar condition, still caked in a thick layer of grime from his last rescue. But he can’t stop, not yet. His practiced gaze scans over the rest of the debris, searching. Shattered windows, overturned cars, crumbling buildings–it was all the same stuff he’d expected to see in the aftermath of such a large attack. His heart races, nonetheless. Shit, shit, shit. Curses pour from his lips like prayers, uttered between bouts of panting. He focuses on getting his breathing under control before he moves on, planting a steadying palm against the wall of the alleyway. When he drags it down along the red brick, his gauntlet leaves a smokey trail in its wake. Memories flood in, even as he does his best to shove them back.

The scorch marks marring the dorm wall are obvious, to say the least. Faded grey rings branch out along the white plaster, all stemming from a single, intense patch of soot. One that, suspiciously enough, resembles a handprint,

“You’ve really done it this time, matchstick.” You lean in close, using your fingernail to scratch at the stain. Some of it flakes off, but there’s an obvious film of residue left in the blast zone. “Aizawa is gonna straight-up murder you when he finds out.”

To his credit, Bakugo at least has the sense to look a little nervous, one hand shoved deep into his pocket, the other tucked firmly beneath his armpit. Trying to avoid having another “misfire.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” He grumbles. “Just tell me if you can fix it.”

You scratch at your chin, seeming all pensive. But it was bullshit. Really, it was an easy fix–he already knew that, considering the fact that he’d come straight to you after his squabble with Midoriya escalated into a full-fledged explosion. But he also knew that you were going to try and draw this out; You had this thing about “leaving a lesson,” and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to make sure he learned a thing or two about dialing down his bloodlust.

“It’s gonna cost you.”

Bakugo’s mouth pulls off to one side of his face. “How much?”

“A month of cleaning my room–sweeping, dusting, polishing, and mopping. Plus an apology to Midoriya.”

He wants to argue, to barter. But he doesn’t–he doesn’t have the time or the patience to spend trying to convince anyone else to help him. So Bakugo just stands there, chewing on his lip and shifting his weight between his legs.

“Fine.” He sighs, bouncing on his heels. “Just fix it before anyone else sees.”

“What’s the magic word?” You ask, grinning wide and having way too much fun with the whole situation.

“Fix the damn wall before I–” A loud click from the double doors leading into the common area makes Bakugo flinch, twisting wildly, like some prey animal that’s about to be snatched up. When the knob twists, his eyes dart back to you, looking positively wild. You’re still grinning, thrumming your fingers against the stain. Waiting.

Your fingers tap, tap, tap against the plaster. Repetitive and rhythmic. And irritating–like Iida’s pencil sharpener whirring every evening at the same time. Or shitty-hair hitting his fucking punching bag at 3 am when the blonde trying to sleep.

As much as he wants to burn your hand to a crisp–to stop that grating sound–now wasn’t the time to go ape-shit. Bakugo couldn’t risk the consequences of pissing off Aizawa (again).

“Please!” He swallows his pride and hisses the word, even though it feels like it’s burning on his tongue.

Without another moment of hesitation, you tap the wall. It’s like hitting an imaginary rewind button–Bakugo can see the progression of the damage being played out in reverse. Rings sink back into the palm print until even that begins to fade. Within a second, all signs of his outburst have been erased. Dusting off your hands, you turn just in time to wave at Kirishima as he pushes open the common room door, strolling towards you. His lips twist upward when he sees a very relieved-looking Bakugo clutching at his chest.

“Was he being an idiot again?”

Bakugo barks out an irritated curse at his friend and stomps off into the hallway, never once peering back over his shoulder. Even so, your boisterous laughter bounces off the walls, reaching his ears as he turns the corner into the stairwell.

“Yeah, he was. But don’t worry about it; I’ve got him covered.”

The throbbing in his chest doesn’t subside, even after a minute of that “deep breathing” crap, so Bakugo decides to move on anyway. He scales the fire escape up to the roof, anxious to get a better idea of his surroundings. He already knew the area well–he spent more time patrolling the streets than he spent in his own damn home–but knowing where the corner store was wouldn’t help him find what he was looking for. People never stuck around in one place for too long during disasters like this. Not unless they were–

No, Bakugo shakes off the thought as he climbs the final step. He yanks his phone out of his pocket and an alert banner drifts across his screen, screaming at him with bold, obnoxious text.

...mass civilian casualties reported. Additionally, over two dozen individuals are unaccounted for in the Dagobah district alone. Counted among the missing is pro-hero, Retrograde, who was last spotted leading rescue efforts in...

Bakugo locks the screen before he has to read any more, running a shaky hand over the bottom half of his face. Reporters didn’t know shit anyway.

You step into the agency training room, following close behind Bakugo. Once the door shuts, you twist the lock to the right. Your partner scowls, folding his arms across his chest in a frustrated gesture.

“What the hell is this about?” He growls, looking down his nose at you.

You inhale deeply, staring into blazing red eyes, unfazed. There’s not an ounce of your usual, goofy self left to be found. He’s grateful.

“This is gonna hurt.”

He blinks, gritting his teeth. “What–”

Before Bakugo can even get a word in, your fist is slamming into his jaw. He stumbles backward, thrown off balance by the force of the impact. Once he regains his footing, it’s less than a second before he’s pouncing towards you. His teeth are bared, his lips pulled back in a tight, animalistic snarl. You hop left, avoiding a full-on hit by a centimeter. Still, Bakugo’s reflexes get the better of you; He throws out an arm at the last second and catches your ankle as he passes, dragging you down with him. You hit the floor hard, landing on your back. Groaning, you fling out your other leg, shoving it into his ribs (too conveniently, in the same side he’d bruised just last week). Bakugo winces, releasing his hold, and after a complicated moment, you’ve got him pinned–held down by his chest and wrists.

“You know why you’ll never be number one?” You pant, pressing more of your weight into him when he struggles.

He growls, feral. “Get the fuck off of me.”

You don’t.

“It’s not ‘cause you’re a terrible hero. Hell, you’re brilliant–everyone agrees on that much.” You lean in close, speaking slowly. “It’s because your image is shit, Katsuki. And it’s shit because every time you do something good, you manage to screw it up by losing your cool and doing something stupid.”

You continue, paying no heed to Bakugo’s eyes as they narrow, murderous. “Silverfish is a hero. He worked his ass off helping us clear out that warehouse, but the second he makes one comment about your way of doing things, you go apeshit. You get in his face and scream and throw a hissy fit right in from of the reporters.” Shaking your head, you stand. “Like they need any other reason to rip into you.”

It takes every ounce of restraint in him, but Bakugo doesn’t lunge at you the instant you give him the opportunity (even though he really wants to). He settles for watching you rub your knuckles as you stare down at him. He hopes they hurt–he hopes you’d shattered every damn bone in them when you’d punched him. People needed to stop telling him how to do his job–how to act, how to be “nice” and pretend that he was some happy-go-lucky do-gooder. He wasn’t, and he didn’t want to be.

Bakugo sits up, scowling. “Reporters don’t know shit. I don’t care what any of those dumbasses say about me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Yeah? Then you’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.” When Bakugo jolts up, you move in close to him. Too close. “The press can make or break you. Give ‘em an opening and they’ll take it–they won’t hesitate to make you into their seven o’clock special. ‘Breaking news: Hero Ground Zero threatens violence against critics.’ Does that sound like the sort of headline that helps you move up the rankings?”

“It’s a fucking lie.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a lie or not! It’s what they’ll say!” You’re shouting now. Red seeps up to your face, coloring your cheeks and ears. “And what they say is what the public will believe.”

You stop and breathe, shallow and ragged, through your nose. Tracing small circles over your temples, you shut your eyes and hum to yourself. Your shoulders slow, their quick rise and fall, melting into something more controlled. Bakugo half thinks you’ve finally snapped–that the pressure of dealing with hero work and him and the media has finally made you lose it. He’s about to shove past you when you finally open your eyes. The intensity is still there, but your breathing has calmed down substantially.

“That’s why,” you begin, holding up your hands in a placating gesture, “If you’ve got a problem with someone, you find me. If I’m not around, you breathe and wait it out.” The words are soft. But they’re also firm. Rational.

Bakugo wonders if you’re still angry. He is. Then again, he can’t think of the last time that he wasn’t pissed off at something. He stares at you, grinding his teeth. He’s surprised to find that the urge to pay you back for the cheap shot you landed on him has faded. Just a little, though.

You click your fingers against your wrist guard, thinking. After what feels like a century of the nothing but tapping, you finally speak.

“We’re partners, Katsuki. If we don’t watch each other’s backs, then nobody will.” You hold out your hand. “Think we can agree on that much?”

He glances down at your outstretched fingers, then up at your face. If he’d really wanted to, he could’ve knocked you flat on your ass.

But there would be opportunities for that later.

Barely even realizing it, he takes your hand in his own.

Bakugo meets up with one of his sidekicks on what used to be a commercial street–the sort of place that vendors sold overpriced knick-knacks to tourists that didn’t know any better. Now, it looked like a fucking mess, with stalls overturned in the panic to evacuate and banners burned in the blaze that everyone had been running away from. Bakugo lifts the remains of a larger display, peeking under it. To anyone that didn’t know him, it might’ve looked like he was searching for civilians that’d been left behind.

His sidekick knows better. Bakugo doesn’t even have to ask the question burning in his mind before the young woman shakes her head.

“No sign of ‘em. We ripped apart the whole street and found nothing.”

Bakugo clenches his jaw, chokes down the acidic taste in his throat. No news was good news; He tries to convince himself that those words you liked to repeat over and over again have some truth to them. It’s hard to do that when he knows the actual numbers–when he has facts to refute the hopeful little figure of speech. The truth was that with every moment he waited around, the chances of finding you alive decreased. Drastically.

“Clear out these buildings the second you’re sure they’re not going to collapse.” Bakugo commands. “There could be survivors hiding out in there. And don’t move on until you check everywhere.”

He fiddles with his gauntlet, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady–like you’d showed him. In and out. In and out. No need to lose his cool. Yet.

“Rip out the ceiling tiles if you have to. People get creative when they’re desperate.”

“Where the fuck were you?!” Bakugo nearly loses it when he sees you hobbling towards the ambulances, coated in dust and nursing more than a few nasty cuts.

“Sipping piña coladas down at the beach.” You shout with a shit-eating grin that doesn’t seem to fit the situation. “Where do you think I was? I was hiding, Katsuki. That’s what you do when you’re hurt and there’s a baddie trying to murder you.”

Seeing you standing there, hearing the playful tone of your voice–it isn’t enough to convince him. Bakugo pushes past the paramedics, the news crews, his sidekicks. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, grabbing your shoulders and looking over you from head to toe.

Real. Ironically enough, the word doesn’t seem... well, real.

“How?” Bakugo demands as he runs his hands down your arms.

Feeling for broken bones, he convinces himself, even though that wasn’t something he usually did. Usually, he let paramedics handle checking for injuries. But right here, right now, he feels this compulsive need to check you out for himself–to make sure you’re as alive as you seem.

“Everyone was sure you were dead. How the hell did you get out of that tower?”

“Did you know,” you muse, still smiling, “That those old buildings have this space right above the–” You hiss, obviously in pain when Bakugo pokes at a spot between your side and your stomach.

“I climbed into the ceiling and waited around until things got quiet. Then I just scurried out the service entrance.” You admit shakily. “I didn’t think I’d be of much help like this, so I decided to play it safe.”

Bakugo stops his fussing for long enough to peer up and meet your eyes. You looked coherent enough. Tired, but sane–well, as sane as you could be. He remains quiet for a moment, then sighs.

“Good. That’s probably the smartest thing you could’ve done.”

You quirk up an eyebrow. “Wow, ‘smart.’ Don’t make a habit of complimenting me, now, or I’ll start to think I’m actually having a positive influence on you.”

Bakugo groans. “I didn’t say it was a smart decision, I said it was the smart-est given the situation.” Despite his protests, he kneels down to examine your ankles, spending extra time checking the side you’d avoided putting weight on. Not that he’d been paying attention.

“Same, difference. The point is, you were a decent human for about five seconds. That’s progress.”

He doesn’t respond, pretending to be too be too engrossed in his search for injuries. What was he supposed to say? “Thank you?” Was he supposed to hurl an insult back at you?

What if he didn’t feel like doing that right now?

“Does this hurt?” Bakugo asks, pressing on a spot that looks a little questionable.

“No.” You answer without hesitation. But your expression looks odd, strained.

“Are you lying?” He makes no effort to hide the irritation in his voice. He was trying to help, dammit. “Why are you making that face?”

“Not lying. It’s just,” your voice is thin–from what, he can’t decide, “You’re being so careful, and I couldn’t help but imagine ‘what if he was a nurse instead of a hero?’ Then I imagined you in one of those old, stereotypical nurse uniforms and I–” Whatever self-control you had disappears and you erupt into a fit of laughter. “I’m sorry, I just–”

You flinch, face contorted in pain and hand clutching at your side.

“Ow, ow, ow. Okay, it hurts to laugh.”

Bakugo stands, rolling his eyes. “That’s because you probably cracked a rib, weirdo.”

“And he’s back to being a jerk.” You groan, but a hint of a smirk lingers on your lips. “Then again, ‘weirdo’ sounds much nicer than ‘dumbass.’ So maybe you’re learning a thing or two, after all.”

Gingerly, without saying anything, he loops your arm over his shoulder. Bakugo could’ve used the opportunity to make some snarky remark about you being “dead weight” or “useless,” but he doesn’t.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” Bakugo mutters under his breath. He doesn’t mean to say it–it just sort of slips out as the two of you trudge along your way.

You don’t reply; You don’t give any sort of indication that this was anything out of the ordinary. Still, Bakugo wonders–if he glanced over at you, would you roll your eyes? Would you think he was being insincere? Or would you look surprised? Happy, even?

“Even though you’re a dumbass.” He tacks it on before he can overthink things too much.

Bakugo kicks over a trashcan, pissed and exhausted and anxious. Nothing even vaguely human-shaped rolls out–just candy wrappers and soda cans. A deep sound bubbles in his throat, growing until it evolves into a full-scale shout. Your name.

Nobody shouts back. Bakugo hears ambulance sirens echoing in the distance, the low groan and clunk of machinery as crews come in to clear out heavy debris, maybe even the creaking of some buildings that had yet to crumble beneath their own weight. Whenever he stops focusing on them for just a moment, they become less industrial sounding–more human. His hyper-focused mind makes it into something it’s not. He hears sobbing, distant and choked, but so familiar it almost kills him to ignore. Throwing his hands over his ears, he shuts his eyes tight and tries to block the sounds out–tries focus and force down the memories they bring.

“Please, don’t cry.” Bakugo pleads even though he knows it won’t do any good.

He’s terrible at comforting people–that wasn’t a surprise–but even that isn’t the reason why your sobs continue to rip through the eerie silence of the alleyway.

Every hero had to go through this at some point–had to grapple with the fact that they couldn’t save everyone.

His had come early on, during his third-year internship nonetheless. An old man, trapped beneath rubble from a roof cave-in. It hadn’t even been a villain attack that did him in, just a sorry excuse for a supermarket and an ill-timed tremor. Bakugo remembers the rush to carry him out to the ambulances, the head-pounding, gut-wrenching feeling of being fucking useless as the paramedics looked over the man. Then, the sinking doubt that crept in, long after the techs shook their heads and made their pronouncements. It was a silent beast that told him he hadn’t been fast enough. Smart enough. Good enough.

Now, it was your turn to deal with the same thing. Months–almost a year–into your career, and you still weren’t any more prepared for it than he’d been. Hearing about casualties was one thing. Looking people in the face, promising them you’d save them, then watching as the light faded from their eyes was something entirely different–something you couldn’t ever be ready for. He knew that as well as anyone else.

“It’s my fault.” You whimper into his shoulder. “My god, Katsuki. It’s all my fault.”

Bakugo tightens his grip on you. His dry cheek presses against your wet one, your hair ticking the edge of his nose as he grumbles into your ear.

“No it isn’t. You did what you could.”

You inhale once, then twice, then a third time, your entire body trembling. “And it wasn’t–”.

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Bakugo warns, leaving no room for argument.

And you don’t. You stand there, clinging to him, sniffling into his costume. When the brunt of it passes, neither of you move for a long time. He keeps his arms around your middle while you cling desperately to his neck.

Bakugo isn’t sure why he pulls his head back, but when he does, you do the same, staring up at him with puffy eyes. He breathes, long and drawn-out. His mind races.

Then, his lips are pressed to your forehead. He doesn’t know why the hell he does it–why he leans forward and kisses your skin like that. You were just standing there, looking upset and it felt like the right thing to do.

That’s what he tells himself.

But it was wrong. Bakugo knows that the moment he takes another look at your face. Your eyes have gone wide. Still wet with unshed tears, they watch him without blinking. Your lips trace imaginary words–probably questions. What was he doing? Why was he being so sweet? Where was the matchstick with the temper that tried your patience nearly every day?

He tries to look away, but your fingers tap at his neck, three times, demanding that he turn his attention back to you. You’re staring, insistent. Demanding answers.

This wasn’t right–now wasn’t the time. Not when you were a mess like this. The thought isn’t enough to keep him from hunching over again, stilling the frantic movement of your lips with his own. You gasp against his mouth, but don’t push him away. In fact, your arms constrict around him, pulling him in closer.

He’s not entirely sure how that makes him feel.

Phone call after phone call buzzes at his side, but Bakugo ignores all of them. Maybe it was one of his sidekicks checking in on him. Maybe it was the agency trying to convince him to do a press briefing. Maybe it was Kirishima, just making sure he wasn’t dead. Either way, answering would be a waste of what precious little time he had left.

Three hours–that’s how long it’d been since your phone started dropping calls. It’d been at least four hours since he’d heard from you last and six since he’d seen you with his own two eyes. If you’d been a civilian, he would’ve told anyone searching for you to go home–let the heroes handle it. Which was code for “they’re probably gone for good.” But you weren’t a civilian, and you couldn’t be gone. That wasn’t how this whole shit-show was supposed to go down. The two of you were partners, dammit. You were supposed to stick together–watch each other's backs. One of you couldn’t just go off and get killed without the other.

Right?

The thought makes Bakugo’s anxiety spike again, his hyperventilation returning. He braces himself against the first wall he finds. It belongs to some sort of warehouse, but he barely even notices. His main concern is calming the fuck down–trying to inhale and exhale without focusing on the fact that he might already be too late. He’s terrible at it.

Everything aches. His arms, his legs, his back, even his fucking mind. It’s a dull feeling, lingering. Agonizing and persistent. Not like a punch to the jaw, where you focus on it for a second then move on. With the added pressure of breathing, it’s almost too much.

Bakugo rams his fist into the wall, harder than he should. He can feel his knuckles crack on impact with the cement or concrete or whatever it was they used in buildings nowadays, but the sting that shoots through his fingers is welcome, a distraction from the rest of the pain and, more importantly, from his own morbid thoughts. It fades soon though.

He’s about to do it again–sacrifice more of his fingers to his own, temporary relief–then there’s a sound. It’s soft, like a pin dropping in a loud room. But something about it is familiar–too familiar.

Bakugo freezes, suddenly capable of holding his breath. He catches the back half of something–he can’t decide what–as it fades off into the ambient noise of the street. When he waits for a while and it doesn’t start back up, he smacks the wall again, sparing his fingers by using his palm this time.

Then, he presses his ear to the wall and listens. It begins again and his breath hitches involuntarily. He was right–he knows this sound.

Tap, tap, tap. Groups of three. Faint and weaker than ever before, but unmistakable all the same.

The wall crumbles away with a couple hard hits. Buildings weren’t supposed to do that–to splinter and crack like chalk. No doubt your quirk had some part to play there.

Knowing that doesn’t stop heat from pulsing in his skull when he finds your heaving, broken body nestled into a spot that should’ve been filled with concrete. Your limbs twisted at the wrong angles, eyes glazed over–open, but staring at nothing. Even as he lifts you out of your hiding place, you barely react. Quiet. No wincing, no witty remarks. Just shallow wheezing that grows weaker by the second.

“Breathe, dammit.” Bakugo commands, grabbing you and sprinting towards the triage area. “Come on, you need to breathe. In and out, remember?”

Each time your body stills–every moment your breathing falters for just a second–he finds himself holding his breath with you. Counting the seconds, making sure you’re actually listening when he tells you to inhale. He wishes that were enough, wishes that staying alive was something you could just decide to do–like rewinding damage on an old wall or fixing a bad attitude with a well-timed right hook.

It wasn’t that easy; Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to think that it was. Still, even if it means babying you, monitoring each breath like he’s some sort of fucking life-support machine, he refuses to let you die. Not now, not ever.

You weren’t getting out of this gig that easily. You were stuck–his partner for life, whether you wanted to be or not.

Sweat pours down his face as he ups his pace.

“I’ve got you–same as always. Just keep breathing with me, okay?”

#katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo #bnha reader insert #bnha #mha #bnha imagines #bakugo imagines #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #im so sorry #this turned out way longer than it was supposed to #requests #dialogue prompts

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captain-erwinmerica · 7 years

Text

Masquerade 5 - As Cities Burn

Chapters 1-4 can be found here, or on Ao3 here

This chapter is for @kantonliu, who has been doing some amazing fanart for Masquerade and I literally can't thank them enough. Find it here and here on their tumblr account.

I’m not gonna lie, writing tension can get draining af, so take this filler chapter that gave me a nice break from angst haha.

The door clicked shut behind Yuuri as he pushed Victor into the room, sealing in their secrets, locking in all the tension that was currently setting Yuuri’s blood on fire all over again.

Victor played along with a feral curl of his lip as Yuuri pushed him again, back onto the double bed in the centre of the room, plain cotton duvet with only a pillow for each person, simple, if not for the most complicated person on the planet currently scooting backwards to settle himself against the headboard.

Still fully suited in all his glory, the pressed line of his dress pants running along the top of his muscled thighs as he spread them in open invitation, tie impeccable with buttons still done up too far, as if to mock Yuuri by hiding the true prize underneath.

Even behind closed doors; Victor sometimes still liked to pretend, liked to play this game where he was the unshakeable Victor Nikiforov who still had every ounce of control at his fingertips, and so he beckoned Yuuri with nothing but hooded eyes and a self assured smirk that dared Yuuri to do his worst.

There was no way in seven hells that Yuuri could turn down an offer like this, because as intimidating and imposing as Victor was right now, even though it looked like he could order someone’s heart to stop beating without a second thought, like he could make you want to kneel and kiss his feet; Yuuri knew it for the game that it was, because Victor sighed Yuuri’s name then as his need to continue where they left off won over.

And so it was Yuuri crawling onto the bed after him, over him, knees planted either side of Victor’s hips, hands atop the edge of the headboard so he could loom over Victor’s face for a closer look at all that was his.

He wouldn’t ever get over it, the line of his jaw or the curve of his lip, the flawless colour of his skin or his thick silver eyelashes that only served to draw you in the depths of his person. The lone freckle he had on his left cheekbone, the striations of blue in his irises that never seemed to be the same the next time he looked at them.

“Sometimes, I don’t even think you’re a real person.” Yuuri commented dryly as anticipation lodged in his throat, because everytime the realisation never failed to stun him that someone could actually exist who Yuuri felt this strongly for. It was terrifying.

“You can’t kiss what isn’t real, Yuuri.” Victor prompted then with an amused huff, and then the feather light touch of his fingers found the nape of Yuuri’s neck to urge him close, to bring their lips together in whispers of kisses until it was clear that Yuuri wasn’t going to stop.

Victor’s hand fell away to his side then as Yuuri kissed him deeper, open mouthed and chaste and not quite deep enough for Victor’s liking, it was fun to make Victor clench at the sheets in frustration, fun to have Victor growl as Yuuri pulled away and trailed nips of teeth and kisses down his jaw instead.

Yuuri pulled at the knot of Victor’s tie as he went to work on the heated skin of Victor’s pulse, tugging at the silk until it came loose enough to let him undo the top button, and the next button after that, and every other button until he got to waistband of Victor’s dress pants.

That’s when Yuuri couldn’t fight the urge to have another look, couldn’t help sitting back on his knees to see Victor’s ravenous gaze staring back at him with impatience and the mask of Victor Nikiforov back with not a hint of anything else underneath; demanding Yuuri to keep going.

And Yuuri would never fail to want either, to burn from the inside out because Victor’s suit jacket was pushed open just enough to reveal the unmistakable butt end of his weapons in their holsters, still fully loaded and so thrillingly dangerous, then there was his crisp white dress shirt underneath; parted enough to reveal the muscled dip in Victor’s chest, the ripple of his abs as he breathed his lust heavy breaths, a path of perfect skin that in this moment, was made to be worshipped.

Yuuri did just that, let himself be drawn back down by the sight of Victor’ bare skin that was there for the tasting.

“I think I like this method of you making it up to me.” Victor hummed then as his head fell back against the headboard, as he closed his eyes and relished the feel of Yuuri’s lips lighting fire down his skin.

And Victor groaned, a deep rumble in his chest as he caught on to where this was going, the tented fabric of his pants enough to communicate his own want.

Yuuri couldn’t say who would like it more, the novelty of being able to be spontaneous wouldn’t ever wear off, the notion of just being able to fool around because all they had now was time, time to drive each other to the brink of a different kind of insanity.

The metallic clink of Victor’s belt buckle seemed obscene in the silence, filthy in what it stood for, agonising as it pooled the tension low in Yuuri’s gut. Victor offered his hips to the ceiling without resistance so Yuuri could pull them down enough to make his heart lose its mind, to reveal the sharp corners of his hips and the muscled V that led down to his briefs, to fully uncover the scar Yuuri had sliced into his skin years ago.

Yuuri always started there, the top of the silvery knit of healed skin, sucking and nibbling his way down as Victor’s fingers curled tighter in the covers, and it was funny how someone so seemingly unbreakable, someone so strong and so collected could crumble in an instant when Yuuri got to the panel of soft flesh below his hipbone. That was always the part that Yuuri liked most, because Victor’s hands found his head then as he gasped, fingers wound their way into his hair, unrelenting in their grip because Victor was never shameless in saying what he wanted, in expressing how good he felt, and it was Yuuri’s pleasure to make Victor want it more than his brain knew how to cope with.

So Yuuri gave his body more slow attention, laves of his tongue that dipped under the elastic band of his briefs as the grip in his hair slowly pulled tighter, as Victor rolled his hips up, opened his legs further and shuddered when Yuuri put him partially out of his misery to mouth at the fabric restraining Victor’s dick.

He wound Victor up more, as much as he could, he wrecked his breathing, pinned his hips down to make Victor growl once again with frustration and pleasure all at the same time. Yuuri sucked and nipped, running his teeth up the damp material in a mocking rehearsal of what Victor really wanted.

He could feel Victor’s eyes watching his every move now, attentive and rapt on the vision of Yuuri’s pink lips working over the black fabric of his underwear, the contrast of colour no doubt making everything that much easier to see.

And it seemed Victor couldn’t take much teasing today, because the threaded fingers in his hair pulled Yuuri just far enough up for eye contact, for Yuuri to see Victor with his pupils blown, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and that feral smirk back again because he knew Yuuri was going to give him what he wanted.

“You’re horrible, Yuuri, to make me wait like this.” Victor teased, heated and antagonistic as he brought his other hand up to run his thumb along the line of Yuuri’s bottom lip, tugging on it as he spoke.

“Good things come to those who wait, Victor.” Yuuri teased back, sucking at Victor’s thumb for good measure, spiking the fire in Victor’s eyes because it wasn’t his thumb that Victor wanted Yuuri’s mouth on at all.

Despite the madness in his eyes, Victor still managed to reply with the sincere and heartbreaking voice of the truth, the whisper traveled down Yuuri’s skin; “Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough to have you, Yuuri?”

Victor’s palm radiated warmth as Yuuri gave in then and leant into the touch, as he kissed Victor’s hand and let himself be swept away all over again. “Yeah,” Yuuri agreed, “I think you have.”

And it was insane, how Victor could make Yuuri want to give him everything with just a word like that, how he could make Yuuri want to spoil him rotten with attention and pleasure and everything that Victor craved. This is why Victor was most dangerous like this.

Yuuri didn’t need the hand in his hair to guide him back down, but it did, it pulled his hair tighter in anticipation as Yuuri pulled Victor’s briefs down at last, as he took Victor’s throbbing dick in his hand and positioned it in front of his lips.

Victor was watching still, brows pinched with restraint as Yuuri thumbed the smooth skin on the underside of his length, pulsing as blood pumped through to make him harder still.

“Don’t hold back.” Victor quoted Yuuri’s own words back to him, made them a challenge and an order all at once, an invitation for Yuuri to do his worst, because that’s the way Victor liked it.

Yuuri didn’t waste anymore time then, no more teasing kisses and licks, he took Victor completely by surprise as Yuuri wet his lips one last time and then promptly took Victor into his mouth with a slow drag of his lips sealed tight around his girth.

“Fuck.” was all Victor managed then, his grip now painfully tight in Yuuri’s hair as he threw his head back and exhaled an explosive breath.

“More, take it all in.” Victor urged, and it really was as Yuuri said; Victor wasn’t ashamed to tell Yuuri exactly what he wanted.

He wasn’t afraid to moan aloud without a care about his volume as Yuuri took him all the way to the back of his throat, he wasn’t embarrassed to bite at his own lip and use both of his hands to cup the back of Yuuri’s head, to rock his hips up and slowly fuck Yuuri’s face in slow, drawn out thrusts.

Victor’s fingers scratched at his scalp as he let out a huff of pleasure, as he bared his neck to the ceiling and let his jaw hang slack with silent words that weren’t in English anymore.

And Yuuri liked that reaction a lot, he liked the way it twisted the heat in his gut and pooled the tension in his groin, he liked that he was the only person that Victor would give his control to like this.

So Yuuri swallowed him back deep in his throat, massaged Victor’s length all the way up as he laved at the base with his tongue, pulled at the smooth skin with his lips, he did it over and over again as Victor moved his hips, as Victor’s body coiled taut with need, as Victor’s stinging grip drew tears from the corners of Yuuri’s eyes.

“Yesss, like that.” Victor hissed when Yuuri changed rhythm, as he sped up and let Victor pull his hips back before rocking them up to bury himself deep into the heat of Yuuri’s mouth, and Yuuri knew there was no control left with Victor now, because the steady pace increased, as frantic and needy as the stuttered breaths Victor was taking.

“Ungh, Yuuri.” Victor whispered one last time, and Yuuri didn’t need a warning, because he knew the moments right before Victor came more than Victor did himself.

All of Victor’s muscled tensed at once as his lower back arched against Yuuri’s face, fingers lost their strength as he pulled at Yuuri’s hair desperately to grind deep in Yuuri’s throat, his breath froze heavy in his throat, and it was all the instant before Victor came with release of all that tension, as his breath raced from his lungs with a rumble of pleasure, as his hips lost rhythm and trembled in the weakness of Victor’s high.

And before Yuuri could finish swallowing it down; Victor was already in full control of his senses as he tugged Yuuri back up, as he settled Yuuri on his lap, sideways against his chest so he could suck at Yuuri’s neck with fervour, so he could feel the rolling motion of Yuuri’s throat as Yuuri swallowed the last of his release, and that only made Victor more fervent in the attention he gave Yuuri’s skin, because it made Victor crazy with satisfaction that Yuuri took every single part of him.

“You know, I hate that you’re so good at that.” Victor mumbled against his skin after a time, after his breathing evened out and his pulse had slowed, as he cupped Yuuri’s dick over the fabric of his pants and rubbed with his palm only a mocking amount of friction.

“Why?” Yuuri could only question with half of his attention, but Victor stopped then instead, his hand firm around the shape of Yuuri’s own desperate need, his mouth threateningly hot as he blew puffs of air on Yuuri’s skin to raise the hairs on his neck.

“You were that good when we first met, and it makes me boil with jealousy, Yuuri, because you must of learnt with someone else.” Victor confessed with a quiet mutter, dark and greedy and dead serious, once again not afraid to say exactly what he was feeling. “I even killed one of my men when I got back once because I was in such a temper.”

And Yuuri could only laugh and take Victor’s hand at that, thread their fingers together and kiss him as he faced Victor’s obsession head on with his own. “You’re insufferable.” Yuuri teased.

It’s not like he could ever reveal exactly where Yuuri had picked up on all these things, the moment Minako found out Yuuri was %100 gay when he was 16 years old was the moment Yuuri’s life became hell. She used to ramble on in the middle of sparring sessions about the perfect way to seduce a man, the best way to con him into giving up everything he owned, or about the best sexual position to be in so you could slit someones throat before they knew what hit them, all the way down to the right way to literally blow someones mind like Yuuri had just done. It was pretty damn hard not to take it all in when Minako used to drill him with questions out of the blue in the middle of fight training, because if he got the answer wrong he’d have to endure that particular lesson all over again. Like Yuuri said, hell.

No fucking way could Victor ever find that out.

“It’s lucky you think I’m hot then.” Victor chuckled as he ran his nose up behind Yuuri’s ear with a tickle of breath.

Once again, Yuuri couldn’t help himself, because Victor was too easy, too addictive and too adorable when he took the bait.

“When did I ever say that?” Yuuri cocked a brow as he questioned, laughing the instant Victor gasped and then followed it with his ridiculous heart shaped mouth and watery blue eyes as he whined.

“Yuuuri!” and even as he said it was laughing too, rolling them both over on the bed to pin Yuuri down by the hands with his hands, by the hips with his hips, half hard against Yuuri again already.

When Yuuri said Victor was insufferable it was meant in the best possible way, because now he was looming over Yuuri, eyes alive with a childish expression, and then there was the rest of him, his jacket and shirt hanging wide open to reveal the full expanse of his body, the thick muscles of his chest, the flex of his abs as Victor braced his core to hold himself up, there was so much strength inside this one person, and it drove Yuuri crazy in turn.

“You’re right.' Yuuri eventually said, not afraid to admit this one thing, “I do think you’re pretty hot.”

Victor’s expression turned into one of triumph in the blink of an eye, self confident and playfully arrogant as he spoke. “I know.”

It was Victor’s turn to kiss him this time, to take control and kiss him until Yuuri could no longer forget his own aching need.

“Now that you’ve paid your dues, let me take care of you, Yuuri.”

It was late morning, after Victor well and truly took care of Yuuri, after a few hours sleep that Yuuri walked back down the hallway in Victor’s shirt instead of his own bloodstained one, and even though it was too big, the scent of Victor on his skin fit just right.

He’d left Victor to sleep, to lay in and catch up on rest because for the last week he’d been the last to shut his eyes and the first to wake, and that was even though Yuuri slept minimal hours himself. He would never forget the image of walking in on Victor in the lounge after Yuuri woke to find the bed empty, standing at the window that looked over the ocean with a searching gaze that was trying to see everything at once, his blue eyes vivid against the dim light of dusk, it would haunt him, because Yuuri hated seeing Victor alone.

The kitchen was empty when he found it, the polished wooden floors cold underfoot as he padded across to explore the cupboards for a glass so he could get a drink and try forge another plan to make it to Phichit in one piece.

The window over the spotless stainless steel bench looked out over the expanse of concrete that Yuuri crossed earlier to get to the house, and from here he got to take in more of the property as he filled a glass from the tap at the sink.

The garage where they’d left the car was nestled next to another double doored garage, Yuuri could see through the open doors from here, and inside there wasn’t more equipment for Otabek’s trade like he thought there might be, but rows of motorbikes that were all polished until Yuuri could see their chrome accents shining even from this distance.

That would explain where Yurio got the motorbike from to get to their house in the hills.

There were stacks of spare tyres and pieces of machinery even Yuuri couldn’t name, all well kept and rust free should they be needed for Otabek’s next job, Yuuri guessed. He was halfway through refilling his glass again, looking into the overcast sky into a future that Yuuri couldn’t even begin to predict anymore when the sound of another pair of footsteps entered the kitchen behind him.

Yuuri turned on instinct, put his back to the window because it felt so fundamentally wrong to leave it exposed to anyone, and Otabek just continued into the room, nonchalant as he went to the same cupboard to get himself a coffee cup before setting the jug to boil.

“Coffee?” Otabek asked like this could have been their usual morning routine, like outside this fenced property the Russian Mafia wasn’t turning St Petersburg on its head to find them.

“Thanks.” Yuuri appreciated Otabek’s sense of calm, found himself comforted in the fact that Victor trusted this person.

Time stretched out as the sound of the jug boiling filled the gap, the bubble of water, the hiss of steam as the button flicked back when the water reached temperature, it was easy to be in the same room with Otabek and feel at ease, Yuuri noted.

“This morning was the second time.” Otabek spoke randomly as he moved about the kitchen with the clink of spoons on ceramic as he made coffee for two.

“Sorry?” unable to follow the meaning, Yuuri looked to Otabek then, who’d stopped what was doing and was looking at Yuuri eye to eye with no intent or judgement.

“This morning was the second time I’ve been scared of someone.” came the blunt admission, Otabek’s expression was impassive, but Yuuri knew at that moment there weren’t any lies hiding anywhere underneath his skin.

“That’s not something I hear very often.” Yuuri brushed it off as a cup of black coffee was handed to him.

“Pfft, from the way Yura was going on about you a few hours ago I wouldn’t believe it.” Otabek gave him a sideways glance as he leant against the countertop.

“Appearances can be deceiving.” was all Yuuri said as he took to looking out the window again, and nothing he’d ever said in his life had been more true than that.

“Words to live by.” came the quiet agreement, and Yuuri didn’t know why after knowing this person for not even the space of a day that he found that he liked him, maybe because Otabek seemed open enough, maybe he had nothing to hide. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to pick you apart on first sight, and that wasn’t something you encountered very often in his walk of life

“You’re sure you want to involve yourself in this?” Yuuri asked when his cup was half empty, because he wouldn’t tolerate someone joining them with half assed intentions.

Otabek smirked then, it was small and sly, and there was no way Yuuri could have misunderstood it. “I was already involved. I met with Yakov and Georgi during the week, they gave me a big sum and contracted me to find you… but they never explicitly stated that I had to tell them when I did.” and he let himself have a quiet chuckle as he sipped at his coffee.

All Yuuri could do was stare back at Otabek, rightfully stunned at the sheer guts it took to deceive such a powerful organisation.

“Shit was going to hit the fan either way, if I could have given Vitya enough time to slip away then that would have been better, but it was too late.” Otabek shrugged as he continued, seemingly comfortable with telling Yuuri this information, “Yura wouldn’t let up, I made him promise not to do anything drastic, but it looks like you won’t have any trouble with him now.”

“Why?” was all Yuuri could ask, and Otabek knew exactly what he meant, because you didn’t just help someone and not expect to get anything out of it.

That was when Otabek turned to face him, his intelligent eyes only now just trying to decipher Yuuri for the first time, to gauge Yuuri’s potential reaction to his next words.

“Victor needs something better to live for, deserves it, which is why I was surprised when I heard it was someone from the Katsuki family, given your history and all. I can tell there’s more to it between you than that, but that’s none of my business.”

Once again Otabek was just stating facts, it wasn’t accusatory or searching, there was no hidden barbs in the statement, and in this Yuuri appreciated it more than Otabek would ever know. “Plus something tells me you two are worth following.” Otabek added as he stepped forward and offered his hand.

Yuuri shook it, felt the calloused skin and his firm grip, the confidence in Otabek’s person, he would be tough to come toe to toe with if it came to it, but there was no one Yuuri wouldn’t fight now in order to give Victor as much as he’d given Yuuri, as much as he’d given up for Yuuri.

“Otabek Altin.” he finally said as a proper introduction.

“Katsuki Yuuri.” Yuuri said in turn, and it’d been a long time since he’d given anyone his name with the full intention of revealing who he was.

The hand in his turned stiff in Yuuri’s grasp, Otabek’s arm rigid in alarm as his eyes widened with comprehension.

“As in Katsuki by blood?” Otabek questioned, unable to hide his surprise and curiosity, an expression Otabek probably didn’t make often.

“Messed up right?”

“Well shit, even I have to admit that now, this is more complicated than I thought.” with a shake of his head, Otabek cleared away his disbelief as he laughed at himself. “I was right to be scared then.”

“Only if you go back on your word…” Yuuri drawled low then, feeling his blood simmer at the mere thought of someone betraying not his trust, but Victor’s.

“I won’t.” was all Otabek could say as he saw some of the ugly truths slip from beneath Yuuri’s facade, it was one thing to know how far Yuuri would go, but it was another thing entirely to see it.

And Yuuri always did like the reaction he got, too.

Yuuri managed to rehash the plan with Otabek while Victor slept, Otebek could smuggle them to Chelyabinsk and get them on a private plane that would take most of their belongings without questions. Once they set foot in Thailand they’d be on their own until they met up with Phichit.

Otabek would stay behind to tie up some loose ends, try and point the Russians in the wrong direction to give them time, to hold off one enemy long enough so that they could deal with the other, because one of the worst things that could happen would be getting stuck in between the two families at the same time.

That was a situation in and of itself that Yuuri didn’t even want to think about, and it was down right stupid for him to say, but maybe if he didn’t think about it, didn’t plan for it, then it wouldn’t ever happen. Because things would happen that Yuuri would otherwise spend the rest of his life trying to prevent.

It didn’t take long at all to solidify a plan of action, Otabek was agreeable to all that Yuuri said, accepting the role of Yuuri’s leadership without complaint. He agreed Thailand would be a place most wouldn’t think to start looking, and given Phichit’s profession, if they were with him they’d most likely know before anyone got close enough to be a threat.

Phichit wasn’t someone who got his hands dirty, more like he was an aid to helping others dirty their own. He was an extremely resourceful information broker, if there was information you wanted to confirm, photos you needed for blackmail or evidence; fabricated or real, then Phichit was the person to go to. If you needed a rumour put out or a rumour confirmed, no one was better than Phichit at playing whispers on the wind.

Phichit would be full of information that Yuuri needed right now, and the sooner they reached him the better.

He first met the cheerful Thai at University in Tokyo, where Minako had moved with him during his studies so he could better his English, so he could learn business and economics and all the skills needed that would make him qualified enough to run legitimate businesses to cover the lies underneath. It was the fundamental principal of organised crime in Japan after all, his family had multiple assets that were only camouflage, tools to help smuggle and aid in tax fraud, Yuuri had to learn it all, though he could never understand why.

It was his first year that Phichit became one of the only people that Yuuri would call friend, one day during a boring lecture on business law; Phichit had taken the always empty seat beside him with an innocent smile and introduced himself, he hadn’t cared about the rumours surrounding Yuuri’s random attendance to classes, and they’d been friends through thick and thin, through lies and then truths ever since.

If there was anyone that genuinely wanted to see Yuuri happy, to help him no questions asked; it was Phichit.

In the end it was decided that they would make a move tonight, they’d rearrange baggage and gather their strength until nightfall came, have a few more moments of respite and quiet until everything was thrown into action once more.

With that settled, coffee and porridge cooked by Otabek in his stomach, Yuuri finally gave in to the urge to go and watch Victor sleep, to listen to the rhythm of his breath and watch the flutter under his eyelids, to let the image calm the new forming tension in the back of his mind.

Before he could even make it out of the kitchen though, a foot halfway though the doorway brought him face to face with Yuri Plisetsky who stopped dead in his tracks.

Yurio opened his mouth to make some snide remark, and he closed it again when no words came, he made to poke Yuri in the chest with his finger until he thought better of it after all, until in the end he exploded as all his questions culminated into one single line.

“Oi. Are you a fucking ninja or something huh?” he didn’t shout or snarl, his voice was full of tamed snark as much as it was real curiosity, like he loathed to even be asking the question.

Behind him through the doorway, Otabek barked a laugh at the kitchen table, loud and booming in his amusement because hearing a question like that after learning the truth was cause enough for it.

Even Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh under his breath as Yuri looked up and him, serious with his question still.

“You’ll never know.” Yuuri winked with a smirk.

He left Yurio standing bug eyed and indignant in the hall with Otebek snickering still in the kitchen, lost for words as Yuuri went back to the bedroom to see Victor.

The sleeping beauty was curled on his side when he found him, hair feathered across the pillow, the sheets tucked under his arm to reveal the top half of his bare chest with his skin flawless agains the white of the sheets.

Yuuri almost laughed, because how could someone who looked so peaceful and content in sleep like that be so contradictory when they were awake, Yuuri knew there was a storm inside Victor as much as he tried to not let it show, and there was so much about him that Yuuri still needed to learn.

For now he would settle with this as he sat on Victor’s side of the bed to keep watch, because even being in the same room with Victor was worth more than Yuuri could name.

It hadn’t even been a minute before Victor’s hand shot out with a speed that said he was well and truly awake, before he grabbed Yuuri by his shirt and pulled him down with a glomp against the mattress.

“You left me.” Victor mumbled as he nestled into Yuuri’s neck, wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s midriff and settled himself in with a sigh.

“Victor Nikiforov, the clingiest boyfriend in existence.” Yuuri stated aloud, even as Yuuri said it he couldn’t help but squeeze Victor back.

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” the answer was all breath against Yuuri’s neck.

“Why?” and Yuuri realised he’d taken the bait after it was too late.

“Because it was about time you said I’m your boyfriend.” Victor said, and Yuuri could feel Victor’s lips curve against Yuuri’s skin as he smiled, as he chuckled at his own joke about a game they’d been playing for the last five years that Victor had just finally won.

“You really are insufferable.”

Against the odds; their second attempt to make it to Bangkok went off without complication just as Otabek said it would.

A day and half’s ride with the four of them in Otabek’s four wheel drive forced everyone to talk to each other, for Yuri to give in to his curiosity and ask Yuuri question after question about his footwork and where he learnt to move.

He didn’t say another word about his relationship with Victor, didn’t say that what they were doing was stupid or fucked like he said it was before, and it made for much more bearable company even if Yuri was still prickly at the best of times.

Victor and Otabek took turns driving until they got to Chelyabinsk where there was a plane waiting at a private airfield like promised, the pilot didn’t say a word, he knew who he was carrying, and he knew what would happen if he even so much as thought about breathing a word to someone about it.

Threatening someone was always the best way to ensure silence, short of killing them of course.

So now it was nearly three days later with the three of them driving through the busy streets of Bangkok in an Audi that Victor had paid for in cash, because he had indeed neglected to tell Yuuri one major thing. He hadn’t told Yuuri that he’d liquidated all his assets the same very day that they’d run off together, sold all his stocks and transferred everything to offshore accounts that could finally be accessed now they were outside of Russia.

“I didn’t want to factor it in to our plans until we could actually use it, and then I just forgot.” Victor had offered with a cheeky poke of his tongue to Yuuri’s exasperation.

Yuuri wondered how many other stops Victor had up his sleeve, how much more actions he’d taken to ensure this ended the right way, he only knew to trust Victor to bring it up when the time called for it.

They eventually found the last address Phichit had given Yuuri, a high rise apartment that looked over the river that flowed through the bustling city, it was next to others of its kind that put the street they parked on in permanent shadow.

With Yurio keeping an eye on the car; the concierge didn’t question Victor or Yuuri as the crossed the marble floor of the foyer with loud clacks of their dress shoes, suited up all over again, ready for anything to come.

Phichit’s floor was the third one from the top, and as the ridiculous elevator music that seemed horrible no matter what country you were in played, Victor eyeballed him from across the small space with mirrored walls and soft carpeted floors.

There was that heat and possession in his eyes, the affection and down right devotion, like just looking at Yuuri was enough to give him all the strength he needed, and as the elevator announced their arrival on the floor with a ting, Victor pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips, a kiss like only real couples had time for.

Satisfied, Victor hummed his tune next to Yuuri the whole way to Phichit’s door, hummed it even as Yuuri sounded the buzzer and they stood in wait, he hummed even as the door swung open to reveal the face of Yuuri’s friend who only looked surprised to see them for the barest of seconds.

In a loose cotton shirt and jeans, Phichit’s face transformed into a glowing smile as he recovered from seeing them both standing in his door way.

“Yuuri! I was hoping you’d come.” and Phichit paid no heed to the fact that Victor Nikiforov was standing there next to him, he didn’t question whether they were really together or if they were serious about this.

He just pulled Yuuri into a brief hug before stepping back, that usual smile no where to be seen on his face.

Phichit was smart enough to put the pieces together to know what the worst case scenario would be, he was close enough with Yuuri to understand that it would be news he didn’t want to hear, and his sorry expression said it all.

Yuuri felt his stomach drop, felt the involuntary thump of his heart as he thought of all the things that could go wrong going wrong all at once, he felt Victor’s hand take his as they stood there in the hall of Phichit’s luxury apartment building.

“What is it?” Yuuri questioned even though an answer was the last thing he wanted.

“Come in first.” Phichit offered a sympathetic smile as he beckoned them in.

“I have news, and you’re not gonna like it.”

#victuuri #yoi #yoi mafia au #masquerade #yuuri katsuki #kantonliu #ashida writes

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