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witchersmistress · 1 year

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The eye of the storm

“Why are you here?” he asks. “Baron said you were done with all this.” “You wouldn’t have come if you knew I’d be here?” I ask, feeling unaccountably hurt. Which is stupid. Of course he didn’t want to see me. “I do my best to avoid places where your kind are present.” I roll my eyes and don’t bite on that one. But two can play this game.. After all, he’s never going to want me again. Not after he let his brothers take turns with me, and they brought a friend to join. August’s way too possessive to want to be with a girl who’s been with his brothers. He hated that I’d been with a couple guys before we even met.

He turns and pushes through the crowd on the porch and out the screen door, letting it slam behind him. I stand there reeling from his words. He can’t mean what I think he means. There’s no way. No. Preston would never. He might be cold, but he isn’t violent. But was the old Preston? I think of how different he is online, as Mr. D, and my stomach lurches like I might be sick. I try to get a grip on myself. Yes, Preston is a dick online. He’s bold and demanding, but he never asked me to hurt anyone. Being a voyeur who likes to hear about someone else’s sexual exploits doesn’t make him a rapist. It makes him sad and creepy. I understand what made him that way, though. What August’s saying he did… No way. Suddenly, Preston’s words in that gazebo come back to me. He told me what he did to their sister, the thing he tried to do that the Walker boys succeeded in doing to me. What was it he said? I’d never have let anyone from the team touch her… I might have, though. The beer in my stomach churns. I close my eyes and try to breathe, feeling the plastic cup crumple in my fingers, the cold liquid sliding over my skin.

I shove away from the wall, pushing through the people in front of me without seeing them, out the back door and down the steps. My feet slide on the wet grass, the soft earth. Drizzle splatters onto the shoulders of my leather jacket. I stop and suck in a few breaths, bracing my hands on my knees, until the familiar scent of marijuana smoke reaches me. I straighten and move toward one of the huge oak trees in the backyard, hating myself for caring, for still being drawn to him. He’s a magnet, and he filled me with shards of jagged metal so I can never, never stop going to him. When I reach the tree, I see him sitting in a rope swing, watching me approach in the dark. Fat drops of water fall from the leaves onto us, but the drizzle is kept out by the thick leaf cover. “Why’d you tell me that?” I demand. “Why do you have to keep making it worse?” “Why do you keep talking to me when you know that’s what will happen?” August asks, his voice quiet in the darkness. “I can’t help it,” I admit, the words coming out strangled. “I can’t get away from you even when you leave me alone. You’re in my head, in my blood, in my nightmares.” “I know.” August lights the joint, takes a drag, and hands it to me.

I take it with shaking fingers, relishing the dank smoke in my lungs, the way it stops the spiraling, careening thoughts. I lean against the thick, wet trunk of the tree and lay my head back, closing my eyes. Then I take another deep drag, not caring about etiquette right now, when I’m about to completely lose it if I don’t find something to calm me down. It’s either this, or I’m going to have to go find a razor and open my skin to release the pressure.. “You know the worst part about it?” I ask. “I can’t move on. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen and go about my life like I did before. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t date some nice, normal guy like Walter. I don’t know what normal is anymore. I don’t know how to function around functional people.” “I know.” “How’d you do it?” I ask, handing the joint back at last. “You think I’m going to give you advice on how to act normal when you fuck some other guy?” “You know what, fuck you,” I say, pushing off the tree. “Yes, I do want that, because you owe me that fucking much, August. Maybe the same thing happened to us both, but the difference is, I didn’t even know you existed when that happened to you. You did this to me, August. You broke me.”

“And I moved the fucking world for you trying to make it right. You threw it back in my face and told me to leave you alone. What did I do then? I respected your wishes. You’re the one who followed me out here.” “You chased away a guy who was interested.” The flame of his lighter flickers on, and he tilts his face, lighting up and taking a long, deep drag. The firelight flickers over the angular features of his face, so beautiful it’s not fucking fair. “I’m not helping you hook up with someone else,” he says through a mouthful of smoke. “I’m done granting your wishes. I’m not your fucking genie.” I remember Mr. D calling himself that in one of our first conversations. He asked for my three wishes. Now I know the price of those three wishes. Nothing in life is free, after all. “I didn’t ask for a genie,” I tell August. “I asked for advice, because as fucked up as it is, the person who did this to me is the only person I know who’s been there. And now there’s not a man on this earth who’s going to want to deal with my baggage. I’m too damaged for anyone to ever want me.” “Good.” Some stupid little part of me is so pathetic that it wishes he’d contradict me, tell me I’m wrong, that someone still could. But of course he doesn’t. He

I don't think I deserve anyone’s desire. He’s glad no one wants me, that everyone will see me as trash, the way he always did. “Then tell me how to fake it,” I growled. “Obviously you did it. Everyone still wants your dick.” “You don’t.” “I did,” I shot back. “I didn’t care about your damage until it ruined me, too.” August stands and tosses the roach into the mud. “You think it didn’t ruin me, too? You think you’re the only one who gets to regret that we ever met? That it’s not torture for me to see you, too? At least I didn’t give up. I fucking tried, Baby girl.” “Tried what? To make things right?” “Yes,” he says, his eyes full of misery. “You want to know when it’ll be over? Get it through your head, Baby girl. It’s never over. You said so yourself. You just keep going because you don’t have a choice. Stop trying to move on. You can’t.” He storms past me toward the house. I swallow hard, shaking my head. “No,” I say, turning around. He stops, the rain streaking his back, and lowers his head.

“You’re wrong,” I say, forcing the words past the ache in my throat. “It ends when someone forgives.” “And we both know that’s impossible,” he says quietly. “No,” I say. “It’s possible if you make it possible.” He doesn’t move for a minute. Rain drips through the leaves onto my face, running down my cheeks like tears. “I can’t,” he says after a minute. “I can,” I say, my throat aching as I force the words out. “I forgive you.” My eyes sting, but I don’t care. I’m doing this, even if it hurts. For him, and for me, and for this whole fucked up town. “Why would you do that?” August asks at last, his voice empty, his back still turned.

“Because holding onto this isn’t going to help anyone,” I say. “It hurts you, and more than that, it hurts me. It isn’t making me happy, and it never will. It doesn’t matter if you deserve it or even if you apologize. I will never think what you did is okay. But I can forgive you because I don’t want to carry this around anymore. I can let it go because it’s the only way to let you go.” “You’d forgive me just to get away from me?” “Yes,” I say. “There’s enough hatred in this place, without me adding more. I’ve seen what it did to you. to your brothers.. I don’t want to live like that. I don’t want to be that kind of person. I don’t want it to turn me into a monster like you.” He doesn’t say anything. I swallow past the ache in my throat. “And maybe because even though you did all those things for me, you never once asked me to forgive you.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asks after a long pause, as if he thinks he has to keep going, keep trying to earn something I’ve already given. After all, in his world, the penance never ends, either. That’s why he goes back. “I want you to move on,” I say. “I don’t want to be another basement, another bridge for you to come back to. I don’t want to be anyone’s regret. Just go. Find some normal girl, and try to make her happy, and don’t take this out on her. Stop repeating the cycle. That’s how it ends. That’s all I want.” “And you’ll forgive me, just like that.” “Yes,” I say, drawing a shaky breath. “At least, I’ll start to. I think it’ll be more of a process than a one-and-done kind of thing. But I’ll let go of the idea that I can never forgive you, and I’ll let the process begin. I’ll work on it, work to make myself better instead of making you suffer. That’s the best I can do right now.” August lifts his face to the rain and takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

I sink into the swing and watch him walk away, and I know I should feel relief because I let go of this burden and forgave, but all I feel is empty. I watch him walk up the steps and onto the porch. intern stumbles over to him, obviously drunk. He plucks the drink out of her hand, downs it, and then tosses the cup. She starts to protest, but he wraps his arms around her and kisses her. I can’t breathe. I know that kiss. I know the way it consumes you, makes you feel like the only thing he’ll ever need, like you’re more than air, more than human, more than you’ve ever been before. It makes my toes curl in my damp boots and my breath catches. I don’t blame her for raising her arms and sliding a small hand behind his neck after a minute, holding onto him while his big hands circle her little waist, making her feel small and protected. I don’t blame her for what happens next. My chest caves in slowly, but I hardly feel it. Tears blur my eyes, but I don’t look away. Not even when he draws away, takes her hand, and pulls her toward the door, and they disappear inside the house together. I tell myself what I’ve been telling myself all summer. I can’t break more than I’m already broken.

I don’t know how long I will sit there. I don’t hear the party inside, the voices, the chime when a few notifications go off on my phone, or the steady thrum of the rain. I don’t see the big house with the manicured bushes along the back, below the screened porch. I don’t smell the rain and the dirt, wet asphalt and leaves. And I don’t feel anything. The next thing I notice is someone walking across the grass toward me, his silhouette cast by the lights in the house behind him. He’s big, but I know it’s not August. I know the way August moves, the deliberate way he places his feet. Even when he gets closer, I don’t look at him. I don’t care who it is. It doesn’t matter. He pulls a crumpled plastic poncho from his pocket and lays it at the base of the tree and sits. I see the light glint off his glasses, but I’m not scared.

We sit in silence for a minute, and the sounds fill in around us. I notice that my hair is soaked, that I can feel cold water running down my scalp and into the neck of my jacket. “How’d you know I was out here?” “I always know where you are,” he says. “Call me Stalker Boy.” “I thought you were an Evil Genius Boy, or a Drug Chemist Boy, or a Psycho Boy.” “I wear many hats.” A cheer goes up in the house, and some guys start whooping and hollering. They’re probably doing keg stands or taking body shots. I don’t care. “But why are you out here?” I ask Baron. “Don’t worry, I’ll sit with August and his regret when he’s done fucking intern,” he says. “Right now, you’re more interesting.” “How do you know he’ll regret it?” “The same way I know you’re sitting here regretting whatever just went down that sent him back to her,” Baron says. He shifts against the tree to dig

something out of his pocket, and in some detached way, I hope it’s a joint. It’s just one of his fucking suckers, though. He starts unwrapping it, the crinkling plastic noises adding to the dripping rain and the party sounds inside. I push my toes against the soggy earth, making the swing move in tiny circles. “I’m not sure regret is the right word,” I say. Baron pauses with his sucker halfway to his mouth and cocks his head to one side. “Are you crying?” I wiped my cheek, but my fingers were already wet. “I don’t know. It’s raining.” Baron puts his sucker in, leans his head back against the tree trunk, and looks up into the black cloud of leaves. “I wonder that, too, sometimes. Like, how do you know if you’re really feeling the right thing, or if your brain has just told you that’s the right thing to feel, so you think you’re feeling it?” I manage a small, empty laugh. “I don’t think normal people have to ask.” “But we’re not normal, are we?” He lifts his head, and we stare at each other for a minute.

My pulse speeds up, and I have to swallow the fear rising inside me, to remind myself what I do every day. He cannot hurt me more. My voice comes out in a whisper. “No.” That may be true, but I don’t know the right thing to feel at all. I’m just drowning in all of it at once. I’m not wondering if I’m really feeling or just thinking. I’m feeling way too fucking much right now.

Anger, hurt, fear, resentment, frustration, shame, love, jealousy, regret… They hit me like a spray of bullets, all of them mangling me until I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel because they’re all mixed up in there at once. I wish it was as simple as Baron makes it sound, that my brain would just pluck out the right one and tell me that’s how I need to feel. “A normal person wouldn’t let her boyfriend go fuck some other girl right in front of her face,” Baron says, but there’s a question in his words, like he’s guessing at them. “August’s not my boyfriend.” “Does it matter what you call it?” Baron asks, studying me from behind his glasses. “You love him. Even I can see that.” “What?” I ask, willing him to take the words back, as if that will somehow make them untrue.

“What are you talking about?” “When August locked us in the basement together,” he says. “He may have wanted to test you, but I wanted it to work. Not because I wanted to fuck you, but because I saw how you were in his head, so he wasn’t thinking straight anymore. I knew he was falling for you, and I knew you were bad news.” “But I didn’t fuck you,” I say. “Not willingly.” “Yeah,” Baron says. “But even now, when you’re supposed to be the ruined plaything he tossed in the trash, he can’t stop pulling you out and playing with you.” My fingers tighten on the wet ropes of the swing. “You’re the one who told him I wouldn’t be at this party. You must have known he wouldn’t come if I was here. And you knew I’d be here. I think you’re the one fucking with both of us.” He shrugs. “Why keep you apart? It’s too late. I failed. We all failed.” “Failed at what? Protecting him from me?”

“He’s been sucked into your orbit,” he says. “You were a passing sun whose gravitational pull was strong enough to pull him out of his solar system and into yours. Now you’re stuck with him. He can’t leave you alone. But I think you know that, Jailbird. I think you knew all along that men like August don’t love twice.” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, as if I can hear his words. Somehow, maybe because he’s right and we’re more alike than I care to admit, he’s the one who always gets under my skin. No, that’s not true.

Baron doesn’t get under my skin. He peels away my layers of protection like he’s skinning me alive. And then he casually walks by, sprinkling words like acid on my raw, exposed insides. “No,” I say. “August hates me.” “Maybe,” Baron says. “But it’s the kind of hate that makes a man crazy, that makes him kill a man for hurting you, bail you out of jail at three in the morning even though he’s the one who got you thrown in, haunt the streets at night looking for your ghost when you’re dead.” “He did that?” I ask, my heart beating hard against my ribs. “What?” “Got me out of jail.”

“Who’d you think it was?” I don’t answer. I remember that night, when I texted Mr. D a hundred times begging him to bail me out. He said he’d do it in the morning, and then suddenly, I was released in the middle of the night. I thanked him for that, offered my fucking body for it. And he accepted that thanks, just like he did for pulling me out of the truck.

But it wasn’t Preston at all. It was August. August, who said he’d moved worlds for me. What else has he done that I don’t even fucking know about? “You’ll keep orbiting each other, your own little solar system with only two planets, until you stop fighting it,” Baron says. “The longer you resist it, the more damage you’ll do. Both of you.” “Not planets,” I say, sitting up straight on the swing. What was it Preston said? That on a cloudy day, when a sunflower can’t see the sun, it still follows the path. “Suns.” Baron just looks at me blankly. He doesn’t know everything. “I have to go.” I stand, and for a second, neither of us move. “Thank you,” I say, and then I cross the lawn, climb the steps, and enter the house. The party’s in full swing now. There’s a beer pong game going on in the kitchen. Dixie, Walter, some girls from the dance team, and a bunch of people I don’t

now are dancing to some eighties music under a disco ball in the foyer. I pass them and climb the stairs. I found them in the third bedroom. They didn’t even bother to lock the door. When I swing it open, August looks at me as if I’m a perfect stranger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes so completely void, as if he’s blacked-out drunk. I’m not sure he’s seeing me at all, that he can focus. He doesn’t move or react to me opening the door on them. He’s lying on his back on the bed, his head propped on his arm on the pillows, and the intern's head is bobbing up and down on his dick. I stand there holding the knob, feeling like I’m as far outside my body as he looks.

I step inside and pull the door closed and turn the lock. Then I cross the room and climb onto the bed. the intern's head pops up, and she stares at me for a second with a bleary, unfocused gaze. “Go on,” I say. “Don’t stop on account of me.” She looks confused, so I lean down, pulling my wet hair aside, and run my tongue up the side of August’s glorious cock. It’s just a dick, I tell myself. It’s not special. It’s just a blowjob. I’ve given hundreds of them. It doesn’t matter if it’s August. He’s checked out. the intern smiles. “You’re nasty,” she says, but she gets back to work, scooting down so she’s propped on one elbow.

Then she leans in and starts along the other side of his cock, running her tongue up the other side. I match my movements with hers, stroking along the outside of his cock, then the bottom, then turning our heads to work our way up with small strokes from base to tip.

I wrap my fingers around his thick shaft, lifting his cock so we can both get the head at once. August doesn’t make a sound. His tip is salty, and my tongue strokes over the soft skin of his cock and swipes intern’s tongue. For a second, we battle to get more of him, both trying to get the head of his cock into our mouth first. I pull back, because August doesn’t deserve what I can do for him, but when I see her mouth slide down over his cock, a flash of anger whips through me. I grab a fistful of her hair and shove her head down hard. Her shriek of protest is cut off by a retching sound as she gags on him. That’s what she gets for letting me walk in on her trying to please him. With a low growl, he grabs my wrist and pulls me off her and the girl pops up gasping for breath. He shoves us off the bed muttering as he stuffed his semi hard cock back into his pants and bolts out the door. The girl turned and looked at me “That went well '' I let out a snort and made my way out of the room and down the front staircase.

August’s pov

I’m sitting at the top of the back staircase when I hear footsteps behind me. And because I’m so fucking turned around right now, I actually think for a second that it’s Baby girl, even though I’m around the corner from the main hall, and she’d have to look to actually find me. Of course Baby girl’s not going to fucking seek me out.

She’s been running from me since I walked out of that swamp for the first time. Just because she walked in and stuck my dick in her mouth doesn’t mean anything except that she’s determined to finish driving me completely fucking insane, as if sending me videos of her fucking someone else didn’t do the job. Just because she pulled Lo off my dick doesn’t mean she wants to get on it. It means she’s full of shit, and despite her big promises of forgiveness if I move on, she doesn’t want me to move on with anyone else, not even someone comfortable and familiar and meaningless. She doesn’t want me to have anyone.

The sound of heels brought me back to focus, it was the intern I had pulled to give me a blow job. “What do you want?” I spat at her, as she sat down beside me tucking her skirt under her as she sat, she bit her lip looking at me before she whispers. “You’d have her, too, if you wanted her.”

I have to laugh at that, but it’s an empty, bitter sound. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” the intern girl shakes her head. “ She’d take you back. Go talk to her.” “Don’t you think I’ve fucking tried that?” “Then try something else.” She gets up and walks away, hips swaying as she vanishes into the crowd. Looking out the window I saw the lights flash on her escalade, she was trying to leave and I couldn't let her, I bolted from my spot on the stairs and out the door after her.

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill thirst #august walker #august walker fanfic #henrycavill smut #august walker fanfiction #august walker imagines #henry cavill x you

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dweetwise · 2 years

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[Felix x Élodie x Ace] Early morning dreams

These three have been on my mind lately, have a quick fic of some post-Entity shenanigans <3 Word count: 1.6k

Felix woke up slowly to the sound of a phone alarm.

It only chimed a few times before going blissfully quiet, and Felix mumbled a sleepy “Danke” before settling back against the soft bed. He blindly pawed around under the covers and relaxed with a happy sigh once he touched warm skin.

The body next to Felix moved, the bed dipping as his companion leaned over to place a kiss on his forehead. Felix hummed in satisfaction yet couldn't bring himself to open his tired eyes. He placed his hand back on her hip, basking in the affection of the soft morning –

And then Elodie slinked out of bed and Felix's hand plopped limply back down against the mattress.

Felix groggily lifted his head from the pillow. "Hm?"

Blinking sleep from his eyes, he noticed that Elodie was already in the process of getting dressed. He took a brief moment to admire the sight of her beautiful silhouette against the light streaming in through their bedroom curtains before voicing his confusion.

"Where are you going this early?” Felix asked.

She shrugged into a blouse and started buttoning it without even glancing his way. "On a business trip.”

Felix racked his tired brain for a conversation they might have had about this topic but came up empty.

"I thought your conference in Dublin wasn't until next month,” he said.

Elodie looked at him over her shoulder. "Not that kind of business trip."

Realization hit Felix like a slap in the face and he fell back onto the bed with a groan.

"Oh, stop being such a baby,” Elodie huffed. "Zarina called with a new lead. We have suspicious activity in Venezuela."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Felix pouted at her back.

"Because I knew you'd react like this," Elodie said, reaching for a cardigan. "You always hate when we investigate the Entity."

"I don't hate it," Felix protested. "I just don't want you to put yourself in danger."

He sighed and looked at the ceiling. After their escape from the Entity's realm, Felix and Elodie had started this new chapter of their lives together and Felix was happier than he could ever remember being. But whereas Felix had been eager to turn over a new leaf and settle back into the routine of a normal life with normal jobs that didn't involve being chased by murderers on the daily, Elodie hadn't been so willing to let go of the years at the hands of their otherworldly tormentor.

Which was why in addition to having a wonderful, independent woman by his side – Elodie's career in a prestigious auction house sometimes even overshadowing Felix's own success – Felix was also sharing his life with his stubborn, reckless childhood friend.

And as long as Elodie was hell-bent on tracking down every remnant of the Entity in this world and eradicating it for good, he knew that there was nothing that could stop her.

"Chéri." Elodie's voice cut through the fog of Felix's thoughts.

Now fully dressed, she sat down on the bed next to him.

"I promise, I'll be careful," she said, running a hand over Felix's duvet-covered form. "If it looks like something we can't handle, we'll retreat and call up Haddie and Mikaela for help. Maybe even Ash and his chainsaw, depending on what we find."

There was a playful smirk on her face and Felix just stared blankly.

"Because that makes me feel much better," he huffed. "Where is this so-called activity, anyway? In Caracas?"

"Oh, no, nothing quite on that scale," Elodie said. "It's just this tiny island a little way off the coast. There are murmurs among the locals, according to A– ah, according to Zarina's contact."

Felix brushed off the stumble in her voice. Sometimes, it was hard for her to keep things vague, but Felix appreciated the effort. He had enough nightmares from his own experiences and would sleep a little better not knowing exactly what horrors Elodie was throwing herself at this time.

"You'll rent a boat and scope it out? Make sure it isn't just a cartel's smuggling operation?" Felix asked.

Elodie paused. "Well…"

Felix did not like the sound of that. "What," he stated flatly.

"It's a fairly remote location," Elodie said. "We need a pilot. As well as someone who knows the language…" she trailed off.

Felix stared at her fidgeting. "You have got to be joking."

"I'm afraid not" she had the audacity to grin at him.

Felix heaved a sigh and laid his head back with his eyes closed. Yes, his reaction might have been a little dramatic at the prospect of Elodie reuniting with their old flame, but having all of this sprung on him before he'd even had his morning coffee was really not fair.

"Elodie…" Felix said.

"I know – I swear this will be our first and only mission together if you want to. It's just that he asked to help in the investigation, and his skillset could really be useful."

Felix hummed and considered the claim. He supposed Ace did always have a knack for reading people and getting wind of the latest gossip, not to mention his colorful past of piloting and picking up more languages than anyone else Felix knew.

"...And you've been moping about him again and I thought it would be a good chance to introduce him back into our lives," Elodie added way too casually.

Felix sputtered and sat up. "What!?"

"Oh, come on!" Elodie scoffed. "That flirty waiter the other night? You checked him out just as much as I did!"

"Yes, alright, so maybe I was looking. That has nothing to do with this!"

"And he just happened to look exactly like Ace?"

Felix opened his mouth to argue but paused. Now that he considered it, the waiter did have those same warm brown eyes, and his friendly customer service smile had a teasing edge to it, and his silver-streaked hair had looked vaguely familiar…

"And last month, when you were suddenly obsessed with the idea of buying a poker table?" Elodie kept going.

"Our rec room is empty!" Felix protested.

"Yes, except we both hate poker!"

"Well," Felix said. "That was just a coincidence."

"Mm-hmm." Elodie quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. "Just like you crying over that Netflix show where the gambler lost all his money?"

"He didn't mean to disappoint his daughter, he needed help!" Felix protested, getting emotional just from the thought.

"I had to google if he dies or not before you refused to watch further," Elodie deadpanned. "And then you couldn't understand why everyone was so mean to him because, and I quote, 'he deserves love too'."

Felix looked away and cleared his throat. He hadn't consciously been thinking about Ace when watching the show Elodie was talking about. But perhaps all these instances explained why Felix's hand sometimes twitched for something that wasn't there, even while his other hand was happily intertwined with Elodie’s.

"You do make a rather compelling argument," Felix relented.

Elodie grinned. "So you won't mind if I extend an invitation after the case is over?"

"Maybe," Felix said. "But what about you? Are you sure you want to do this – us, and Ace? Again?"

"Oh, mon chéri," Elodie said. "I never stopped wanting this. I've just been waiting for the two of you to pull our stupid, gorgeous heads out of your asses long enough to realize that we never should have separated."

"Ace was the one who wanted to," Felix said.

"Ah yes, a man who has spent most of his life running away might be scared of commitment," Elodie said. "Who would have guessed?"

Felix looked down and fiddled with the bedding. He never thought of it that way; he had mostly felt like the whole thing had always been a temporary thing for Ace, just a bit of fun between trials.

But if Ace had been the one to reach back out to them…

"So he called you?" Felix asked.

"He called me and made it very clear that he is in it for the long haul." Elodie winked. "The investigation, of course."

"Naturally," Felix smiled. He could vividly picture Ace hiding his words behind the curtain of whatever case they were planning together.

"Well, now that that is established…" Elodie picked up an already packed duffel bag and slung it onto the bed. "Drive me to the airport? My flight leaves in fifty minutes."

"What!?" Felix sputtered.

He scrambled out of bed and frantically looked for his clothes. They should have been leaving about an hour ago, but Elodie had apparently deemed it more appropriate to set a last-minute alarm and cram in a discussion about the future of their relationship into a single, crazy morning –

Elodie chuckled and slung the bag over her shoulder, already on her way downstairs while Felix was struggling to get his pants on the right way.

When they finally made it to the car, Elodie, instead of stressing about missing her flight like normal people, proceeded to excitedly tell Felix all about places in Münich she had apparently already planned for them to take Ace to. It was just about then that Felix realized that he may have been biting off more than he could chew by bringing in even more chaotic energy into their relationship.

But then his thoughts drifted back to the poker table. Warmth bloomed in his chest while a small smile formed on his lips.

Felix may just have a surprise of his own waiting when Elodie returned from her trip – possibly with their new partner in tow.

#felix richter #elodie rakoto #felix x elodie #riconti #felix x elodie x ace #aka my ot3 #dbd fanfic #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight

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beepbeepitsgeep · 6 months

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i used to think of romance novels when i thought of love.

a soft breeze through the hair of a young heroine, an autumn leaf falling directly between the two protagonists.

mr. darcy riding away on horseback after leaving a long, pining love letter to his miss. elizabeth bennet.

recently though, i have been imagining an ink covered hand, quaking, unable to still itself.

scars upon scars that i yearn to brush with my fingertips, heal down to the bone.

brushing a stray bang out of a green eye and jaywalking across the rest of her face with my own eyes.

asking for permission, because i no longer fear things like that. asking, permission, communication.

i envision a dark tunnel system, we meet somewhere in the middle, become dearly departed, and then stumble upon one another again.

after, we journey towards the light together. falling on top of one another, laughing and crying. holding on to each other’s hands or arms or whatever we can manage to grasp in the dim light of the dank caverns.

no matter how far away she is, i will always find my way back.

that is how i view love now.

-an ode to the woman with the vegetable medallions.

#wlw #wlw yearning #poetry #romance #i don’t think it’s a joke anymore #comphet be damned #ikea date better be soon #fuck

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chuck-clenney · 1 year

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#fbf After we applied for our marriage certificate, we walked around the corner and visited the oldest candy shop in Japan (maybe in the world), Minatoya Yurei Kosodateame Honpo (みなとや幽霊子育飴本舗). Yūrei Kosodate Ame basically means "ghost child rearing candy" in Japanese. This spot opened up around 1661 and the woman running the shop now told me that she is 20th person in her family to run the shop selling the famous bekko-ame amber candy. There is a mysterious ghost story connected to the shop that says that one night, when the owner of the shop was about to close the shop, a pale woman came to the shop and asked him to sell her candy. He gave her candy and the same thing continued for the next 6 nights. 7 days later, when he was counting his money, he realized that one of the coins had turned into a leaf, that is usually placed at graves. He thought that the woman might be the one who gave him the fake money. She came again that night and he followed her and she suddenly disappeared into one of the graves at the cemetery. Suddenly, he heard a baby crying from under the ground. He started digging and took out the baby from the coffin where he also found the body of the deceased woman. She gave birth to the baby after her death and was trying to feed the baby by buying the candy with the money made from leaves. A wild story and certainly telling of the mood of the times! They still sell the original candy that appears in the story. Also, I received some fun presents in Kyoto: goldfish-themed cookies from Yamato-Koriyama, Thai spices and a cool Kit-Kat pencil case, and a tasty Dank IPA. #京都 #京都観光 #京都グルメ #スイーツ #和菓子 #べっこ飴 #幽霊子育て飴本舗 #東山 #最古 #菓子屋 #日本 #幽霊 #japan #japanesefood #japanese #sweets #candy #ghost #ghosts #kyoto #higashiyama #oldest #candystore #amber #sweet #minatoya #oldskool #old #deepkyoto (at Kyoto, Japan) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn56Lh6ymxL/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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arwenkenobi48 · 1 year

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“Friedrich always has to go the extra mile when it comes to eccentricity,” Mephistopheles admitted. “What makes you say that?” I asked. “He’s just texted me from up a tree,” the demon replied. He showed me the text he’d received, which read: “Help! I’m stuck! Somebody save me!”

A few minutes later, we found Friedrich in the forest, clinging to the upper branches of a large oak tree. His eyes were scrunched shut and he was shaking like a leaf. “Aww, poor Friedrich,” I murmured sympathetically. “Someone needs to rescue him.” We all looked at Mephistopheles, who had been trying not to laugh at the scientist’s predicament, with overly sweet smiles.

As Friedrich held onto his branch, not daring to open his eyes, he heard a familiar singsong voice. “Hallo?” He opened one eye and saw Mephistopheles hovering in mid air, only a foot away from him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, Hans, you’ve got yourself into a real pickle this time, haven’t you?” The demon chuckled. “Oh, never mind that, verdammt,” Friedrich grumbled. “Whatever shall I do?”

Mephistopheles surveyed the situation. “Well, it looks to me like you’ll have to either climb or jump,” he said. “Don’t be ridiculous!” Friedrich yelped. “If I was meant to fly, I’d have been given a beak!” The demon held out his hand. “Come along, then,” he said. “What are you going to do?” Friedrich asked suspiciously. “I’m going to fly you down, of course,” Mephistopheles replied.

Friedrich was doubtful. “Oh, dear,” he muttered. “Must you?” “Well, unless you’d rather take the alternative,” Mephistopheles pointed out. Friedrich sighed and yielded. “Alright, you may carry me,” he gulped. Mephistopheles swept the scientist up in his arms, carrying him bridal style. As we all watched in relief, he slowly floated down to the ground as if he weighed nothing more than a feather.

“Hooray!” I cheered and everyone clapped. “Danke, Danke schön,” Mephistopheles smiled, attempting to bow graciously. “Uh, Hans?” “Ja?” Friedrich asked nervously. “You can let go of me now,” Mephistopheles chuckled. Friedrich obliged and we all set off home. “Did you see the way they held each other?” Koroviev whispered to Ratbag. “I smell a budding romance,” he wheedled in a singsong voice, the two of them giggling like schoolchildren.

#twelvefold brotherhood #Mephistopheles #dr friedrich #koroviev #ratbag the coward #little sunshine #wholesome #slice of life #f/o shenanigans #low key shipping Meph and Friedrich rn #they cute #platonic f/o

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the-gay-goblin · 3 years

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Gay nerd >:////

GAY NERD

I’ve called you this before I think but only now am I truly realizing how much of a nerd you are >:///

I am an absolute nerd and it is equal parts adorable and hilarious you are just now realizing this

#the tree goblin answers #danke for the ask leaf #Ollie!!

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lacependragon · 3 years

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So since I got so much traffic on my last post, I figured I’d update everyone. I’m in the midst of playtesting what is probably one of the largest modpacks I’ve ever messed around with. As you can see, we sit at about 465 mods, with many being content mods. I’ve included a list of all the interesting ones (I think) below.

My computer takes a little over 8gigs of RAM to run it smoothly, I give it a little more for safety, and it holds between 40-60 FPS. Dips into the 30s when genning new entities or terrain.

I’ve got magic mods, tech mods, world gen mods, biome mods, mob mods, storage mods, decoration mods, and so much more. I’ve been slowly piecing together the configs, the ore gen, and the recipe alterations. It’s definitely not perfect, but I’m having a lot of fun. I’ve played for a couple hours on survival and I found some stuff I still want to tweak, so that’s what I’m up to at the moment.

Takes about 7 minutes from launch to main menu, and about the same to load into a save. About twice that to generate a new world. But I can still watch videos and scroll Tumblr on the same computer, so I don’t really care.

For what it’s worth: no, my computer doesn’t get hot, yes it runs well, yes the fan does turn on but it’s not at full speed, and my computer is a laptop on a lap desk.

Oh, and I’ve called this modpack: Attempting to Escape the Planet of Dragons with Rockets.

By all means, feel free to reblog and ask questions/be surprised/leave tags. I really loved it last time.

Interesting Mods:

Lag Meter Dragon Mounts Legacy Abnormal's Delight Absent by Design Advanced Chimneys Addendum Additional Enchanted Miner Advanced Rocketry AI Improvements AIOT Botania Akashic Tome Alex's Mobs All the Modium Angel Ring Apotheosis Appleskin Aquaculture Archer's Paradox Architect's Palette Architectury Ars Nouveau Artifacts Astral Sorcery Atmospheric Attribute Fix Baubley Heart Canisters Bed Benefits Bedspreads Better Badlands Better Advancements Better Biome Blend Better Burning Better Dungeons Better End Forge Betterlands Better Mineshafts Better Spawner Control Better Strongholds Better Than Mending Better Tride Return Bigger Reactors Biome ID Fixer Biomes O Plenty Block Carpentry Blood Magic Botania Botany Pots Botany Trees Bountiful Baubles Bow Infinity Fix Builder's Addition Building Gadgets Buzzier Bees Oh the Biomes You Will Go Cable Tiers Caged Mobs Carry On Spice of Life: Carrot Edition Catalogue Cat Jammies Cavalry Caves and Cliffs Backport Charging Gadgets Charm Charms Cherished Worlds Chicken Chunks Chickens Shed Chipped Clay Conversion Clumps Cobble for Days Colds Enchants Colored Bricks Colytra Comforts Common Capabilities Compacter Connected Glass Construction Wand Cooking for Blockheads Copper Pot Corail Recycler Corail Woodcutter Corail Woodcutter BYG Extension Craftable Horse Armour Create Create Stuff Additions Create Addition Crock Pot Cable Tiers Culinary Construct Curio of Undying Curios Curios Quark OBP Curios Armor Stands Curios Elytra Curios Shulker Boxes Customizable Elytra Cycle Paintings Cyclic Dank Storage Darker Depths Dark Utilities Data Fixer Slayer Decorative Blocks DeLogger Demagnetize Diet Differentiate Ding Doggy Talents Double Slabs Draconic Evolution Dragon Seeker Drawer FPS Dungeon Crawl Dungeons Gear Dungeons Mobs Dungeons Plus Earth Mobs Mod Easy Hammers Easy Paxel Eidolon Elevators Emendatus Enigmatica Enchantment Descriptions Enchant With Mob The Endergetic Expansion Enderite Ender Storage Engimatic Graves Ensorcellation Entangled Entity Culling Environmental Materials Environmental Tech Expandability Extended Caves Extended Bonemeal Extra Golems Extra Storage Extreme Reactors Extreme Sound Muffler Fairy Lights Farmers Extra Foods Farmers Delight Farmers Delight Integrations Farming for Blockheads Fast Bench minus Replacement Faster Ladder Climbing Fast Furnace minus Replacement Fast Leaf Decay Fast Suite Farmers Delight Cookbook Find Me Flamboyant Flicker Fix Flux Networks Flywheel Forbidden Arcanus Endertech FPS Reducer Framed Blocks Friendly Fire FTB Backups, Chunks, Essentials, Ultimine Garden Arsenal Glassential Guard Villagers Healing Campfire Help Wanted Ice & Fire I Like Wood I Like Wood BYG Illagers Plus Illagers Wear Armor Immersive Cooking Immersive Engineering Industrial Foregoing Inspirations Inventory Essentials Inventory Tweaks Iron Chest Iron Furnaces Iron Jetpacks Item Collectors Item Zoom JEI + addons Krate KubeJS & addons Lantern Colors Lenient Creepers Light Overlay Lighting Wang Log Protection Lootr Mana and Artifice Masonry Macaw Bridges, Doors, Fences, Furniture, Lights, Paintings, Roos, Trapdoors, & Windows Mekanism Metal Barrels Mini Coal Mining Gadgets Mob Grinding Utilities Mod Name Tooltop Mooshroom Tweaks More Crafting Tables More Dragon Eggs More Villagers Morph o Tool Mouse Tweaks Mystical Agriculture & Aggradditions Nature's Aura Nature's Compass Neapolitan Nether Portal Fix No Fog NoMoWanderer No Potion Shift No Villager Death Messages Nyfs Quiver Occultism Ocean Floor Oh My Gourd Omni Organics Out of Sight Outer End Overloaded Overloaded Armor Bar Pam's Harvestcraft 2 Paraglider Peaceful Recipes Peaceful Surface Pipez PizzaCraft PneumaticCraft Repressurized Pocket STorage Potion Bundles Potion Descriptions Powah Pretty Pippes Project E Project Red Quantum Storage Quark Quark Oddities Quark O Plenty Quartz Chests Random Patches Ranged Pumps Ratlantis Rats Refined Pipes Refined Storage + addons Relics Reliquary Repurposed Structures Resourceful Bees RF Tools suite Gauges & Switches Sapience Savage and Ravage Save My Stronghold Scaffolding Drops Nearby Scuba Gear Serene Seasons Shulker Drops Two Shulkered Shulkersception Shut Up Experimental Settings Silent Gear Silent Gems Simple Magnets Simple Generators Simple Sponge Simple World Timer Simply Backpacks Simply Jetpacks Simply Light Skinned Lanterns Small Ships Smooth Boot Snad Sodium Solar Flux Reborn Sophisticated Backpacks Spark Spartan Shields Spartan Weaponry Spawn Egg Recipes Spawner Fix Starlight StartupQoL Storage Drawers Structures Compass Structuerize Supplementaries Sushi Go Crafting Swing Through Grass Tank Null Tinkers Planner Terraforged Tesseract The Undergarden The Abyss Chapter 2 Thermal Suite Time in a bottle Toast Control ToolBelt The One Probe + addons Torchmaster Towers of the Wild Trample Stopper Translocators Trash Cans Trash Slot Travel Amchors Traverse Treemendous Twiglight Forest Unnamed Animal Mod Upgrade Aquatic Upgraded Netherite Useful Railroads Valhelsia Structures Vanilla Food Pantry Vanilla Tweaks Mr. Crayfish Vehicle Mod Mry Crayfish Furniture Mod + More Furniture Villager Names Void Totem Waystones Well Behaved Mobs Wireless Chargers Wither Skeleton Tweaks Wool Tweaks woot Wormhole Wyrmroost XNet + Gases Yungs Extras

#lace speaks #minecraft #mineblr #modded minecraft #minecraft modpack

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Okay I have an idea for family man Pero

You had wrote that they the dog broke the mom's couch 😂

Were they teens/young adults? If so (& even if they weren't), how would they have reacted to finding out she was pregnant? I imagine it would have been unplanned given the way little Javi was conceived? Lol

@sharkbait77 I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to write this for you. But here is 16.8k words all about your ask because being succinct is not my strong point. In my head, reader is roughly 25 and Pero is about 29- they’re young but not super young. Still a bit of a shock to reader though.

Warnings: Children, babies, childbirth (mentions of blood/ body fluids), breast feeding, anxiety, feet, periods, smut - ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS.

Modern!Pero and the Original Broken Sofa

(Or how little Javi came to be)

You’re a mum.

A mama.

How the fuck did that happen? I mean, you know

it happened but still. Pero looks to be in a similar amount of shock as you turn your head to look at him - the 5 o’clock shadow on his chin prickling your bare shoulder as he rests it there. His lips are slightly parted as he gazes down upon his newborn son, who is cradled tightly to your chest.

This wasn’t meant to happen yet.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Mi cielo, you’re beautiful but you stink,” the twinkle in Pero’s eyes reveals what the rest of his face is desperately trying to hide as he attempts to rub off the stinking mud from your face with one hand, your mum’s new pup - Nana, the fucking Newfoundland - tugging on her lead in his other.

“Are you talking to me, or the bloody dog?” You question, grumpily reaching for your boyfriend’s hand as he tries to one-handedly haul you from the brackish pond. Clumsily clambering out - looking a little like a bog monster with twigs and mud plaited in your hair - you look up sharply on hearing an ill-concealed choke of laughter, “Stop it cabrón, or I’ll push you in there myself and you can smell as bad.”

“Lo siento, mi corazón,” his dimple flashes as he giggles openly - a sound he reserves for you alone, “For someone, who moves so gracefully when they dance, you are incredibly clumsy the rest of the time. I just don’t quite understand how you fell in and Nana didn’t.”

You stick out your bottom lip as you ponder how, having accidentally dropped the dog’s lead and chased after the escaping mutt, you ended up submerged in stinking water, “I think she corners better than me.”

“Four feet good, two feet bad?” Pero laughs before straightening his face as another dog walker walks past the pair of you. Heaven forbid anyone should catch him with a genuine smile upon his face and not a smirk of disgust.

The woodland is like an oasis of paradise despite its little pockets of dank pond water. The fresh air manages to filter out the persistent hum of traffic that punctates it everywhere else, only the distant tower blocks and skyscrapers remind you that you’re still in the city. Here, your mum’s lunatic dog, with her boundless, puppy-like energy, can run free for hours and the two of you can stop working for two minutes to remember how to just be. The sunlight trickles in through the stained glass leaves, letting in a purer light than the exhaust fume stained one you find in Central.

Nearby, on the trunk of an elderly oak tree, there is a woodpecker hunting for insects. You nudge Pero wordlessly, not wanting to break the magical quality of the moment as you watch its brilliant red crest rocking back and forth as it pecks endlessly into the ancient bark. Tiny chips of wood fall into the bed of leaf litter below, the sound swallowed quickly into the mostly empty woodland around.

After that enchanting spot, you try to take your boyfriend’s hand but he spins out of reach quickly. Frowning at him, you try again, and again but he just lurches out of the way each time.

This is war!

“Can I have a kiss?”

Still semi-wrestling Nana to walk in the same direction as you, Pero frowns for a moment before answering, “Maybe later?”

“How long is that later? Are we talking about a rest of the world later or a Spanish mañana?” you quiz him teasingly, knowing full well that he doesn’t want to kiss the walking filth bucket by his side.

“Querida, it’s an international after-a-shower later,” he chuckles, still edging further from you, his feet slightly picking up speed as the path through the woods opens out into an expansive field.

A wicked flash of mischief sparks in your eye, your feet accelerating to mimic his, “Do you not want to kiss me, mi amor?”

Nana loves this slight change in speed from the pedestrian plod she’d been forced to pace at. With a bounce and bark, she bowls forwards. All forty kilos of the daft hound wrench forward, pulling on the lead and Pero’s hand that is attached to it, making him almost fall flat on his face with the sudden movement as he bellows, “Maldito perro! Bloody dog! I swear, all the women in my life gang up on me.”

Still giving chase, you run after him laughing until your lungs hurt, “Cariño, I just want a kiss!”

“Stay away from me, bruja and talk to your mother’s dog,” Pero wheezes out between gasps from the sudden sprint he’s been forced on.

Leaves and questionable sludge fly from your body as you run after the pair of them, over the open field past several bemused dog walkers as you dramatically shout after the rapidly disappearing pair, “I just want un beso from mi amor - why are you being so mean?”

“Not mean, just prefer my weekends not covered in pond scum,” he shouts over his shoulder at you, that turn of his head becoming his literal downfall as Nana cuts in front of him and he ends up on the floor in a heap, “Hijo de puta! Son of a bitch!”

Finally catching up with a groaning Pero, still prostrate amongst the grass and wildflowers, you stand over him, smirking at his fate, “You ok down there?”

Squinting up at you against the glare of the sun, he slowly sits up, drawing his knees towards himself as he pushes his way off the ground - rolling his eyes hard, “Come on, let's get you home so you can shower and I can kiss you again.”

✪✪✪✪✪

With a towel around your hair and another tucked under your arms, you flick through the overnight bag you’ve brought with you while you stay at your mum’s. It had all been so last minute - you are house sitting Nana whilst your mum goes off on a yoga retreat with a couple of friends- but Pero and you had jumped at the chance of being somewhere other than your sweltering flat. You’d forgotten to pack so much - like your wash bag or Pero’s razor - but it is hardly as if you are in the middle of nowhere. As you pull out a pretty cotton summer dress, your hand knocks against the tissue wrapped, little present you’ve bought for Pero to enjoy, a smile unfurling across your face as you unwrap the stunning lingerie set.

Once you’re dressed, you head into the kitchen to throw together some tapas for the two of you to pick at for dinner. From the other room, you can hear the furious slam of keys coming from your boyfriend’s computer.

Not another problem at work.

The problem of being an IT security specialist means that evenings and weekends are never free from work, which often translates to him being permanently attached to his computer. As you decant the Andalusian chicken into one of your mum’s many ceramic dishes you’d collected for her on that fateful year abroad you’d spent in Seville, you then hear a softened baritone cut though the summer air, “Oh are you hungry, pequeño? Cariño, I think Nana needs feeding.”

You look up over your shoulder, away from the salad you are preparing as your ruffled, shuffling boyfriend enters the room with Nana pitter-pattering at his feet. A little grunt of appreciation spills from Pero’s lips as he sees the spread of squid, mussels, tortilla and other delectable treats set out across the table. His hand flickers out like a serpent's tongue in an attempt to surreptitiously steal a stuffed pepper without you noticing - a cheeky flash of his dimple showing upon his face as he notices you watching him amusedly, “Perhaps I need feeding too?”

“Pero, has there ever been a moment in your life where you haven’t needed feeding?” you question, shaking your head as he saunters up behind you, placing a slightly oily kiss upon your shoulder, “I shall never forget your mum’s words about her boobs the first time I met her. The supposed damage you did to them from your constant need to feed as a baby.”

A little snicker of amusement comes from across the other side of the kitchen where Pero is now leaning languidly, his long legs outstretched as his hips rest against the work surface, “I have two other sisters with similarly voracious appetites- the blame cannot solely be placed at my door.

“What is it your mum always says about me? That I have empty legs? No, hollow. Hollow legs. Anyway a growing boy needs his food. As does this puppy, where does your mother keep the dog biscuits?” Pero starts opening cupboards in search of something to satiate the hound.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll do it in a moment. You go sit down and grab some bits to eat, before you have to head back to your computer.”

Within a split second, Pero is at the table with a plate piled high and Nana sitting patiently at his feet, awaiting the food that drops from the sky. You can't help but laugh at the tableau of the man and this monstrous puppy sitting adoringly at his feet with her fluffy black chin resting patiently on his thigh in everlastingly optimistic hopefulness. Placing the salad on the table, you hear Pero mutter to Nana, “S’ok perrito, I won’t make you eat your greens.”

“I hope if we ever have kids, you’ll be a bit tougher than that,” you wag your finger at him, turning to go fill Nana’s bowl. As you place it on the floor, you hear a jumble of sounds exit Pero’s brain all at once.

“Que...Queri...Querida? Uh hmmm,” in the sounds of your boyfriend’s brain short circuiting, you laugh in the realisation of what Pero has just gotten a glimpse of as you bent over, “Okay perrito, you do not need to see any of this. You’re far too young.” Scooping Nana up in his arms, he pops her in her bed with a quick scratch of her head before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the kitchen into the front room, shutting the baby gate on the way to avoid any cold dog nose situations.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Cielito, are you ok?” You question having been half marched into the living room.

“This needs to come off,” the soft baritone begs you as you feel Pero’s fingers searching desperately around the bodice of your dress.

Giggling as his fingers stroke the material in search of a fastener, you complain, “You’re tickling me!”

“You’re not too attached to this dress are you? Ah no me importa! Oh I don’t care!” With that, he rips the material so that he can see what you've been hiding underneath. This action makes you shriek in surprise, mouth agape. Whilst he has torn many a piece of underwear in desperation of accessing you quicker, the dress tearing is a first.

When he catches your shocked expression, he pauses, “Lo siento, querida niña, pero I must see what’s underneath. I promise we will get you another dress, I just… Oh!”

For such a large, broad man, his touch is always so gentle (well, apart from that dress - RIP). Initially he just hovers near you, his fingers making tiny brushstrokes across where lace meets skin, “What … What is this for, cielo?” It is not my birthday,” his eyes dart to the side, eyebrows furrowing as he ponders, “It’s not an anniversary, either.”

“No, mi sol. No reason, you’ve just been working so hard and I thought you could do with a treat,” you stroke his stubbly face lovingly as you look up at him, “I’ve barely seen you for weeks - we might live at the same address but work has been so hectic that I think the walk earlier is the first time we’ve spent more than half an hour together without a screen open.”

As he encircles you, admiring your body from every side, his hands linger longingly as they stroke over the silken material. You enjoy every laboured breath and every tic you see in his face, “Oh querida, you always look good but …”

“Even when you wouldn’t kiss me because I had mud all over me earlier?” You teasingly question.

“Well, I still thought you were beautiful even though you were covered in mud, but this?” His eyes are wide in wonder as he catches your eye, “This is something else. I can’t find the words in Spanish, let alone in English to describe this sight before me.

“You look so beautiful. Your curves are so… mmm, so delicious,” you watch Pero bite his lip as he considers where to start, “I want to devour you, mi cielo.”

A light scratch from his nails makes you sharply inhale as he moves your hair away from your neck. As he moves closer, you can feel the small, warm huffs of his breath before he places his deliciously full lips against your silky smooth skin. As his mouth explores the vulnerable, sensitive areas of your neck - kissing, nibbling, licking - you feel your shoulders drop as all the muscles relax, knowing that for now, you have won the battle of winning Pero’s attention from his computer screen.

Pero’s hands start moving down from your shoulders, fingers tracing the length of your arms before bringing them up to trace the outline of your bra. The reverence that he applies to learning the contours of the lace makes your skin tingle all over, forcing a moan from your lips.

“Am I moving too slowly, cielo? Lo siento but a meal such as this cannot be rushed,” he growls softly in your ear.

Sliding the straps gently from your shoulders to remove the tatters of your dress, it slides to the floor in a pile of rags as he mutters, “Ah señorita, how is someone as beautiful as you, with a man such as me?”

His hands drift across your breasts with his thumbs seeking out your steadily stiffening nipples through the silky cups. Your heartbeat quickens despite the slow assault Pero makes upon your body, your breathing warm and erratic at his touch.

All this time he has been worshipping at the altar of your body, his eyes have been focussed upon the part that he is slowly unravelling. When eventually he looks up, the expression upon his face almost brings you to tears. So much softness and adoration in those burnt umber eyes, lips slightly parted with a slight upward curl that creeps in at the corner as he focuses upon you.

Bringing his hands to your hair, he tilts his head before time stops in a collision of senses as Pero leans in to brush the gentlest of kisses against your lips. The scent of sandalwood and cedar rising from his skin excites your senses as the two of you meet as one. His hands slide further around to your back where they pull you tightly against him.

Any space that may have existed between the two of you is quickly extinguished as you push yourself into him, deepening the kiss- making it the type of kiss that destroys any kind of sensible thought. The only things mattering in the moment being feeling and wanting.

In time, your kisses steady, becoming tender again. Pero pulls back momentarily to mutter through laboured breaths, “Mi chica hermosa my beautiful girl.”

Shuffling backwards until your calves hit the couch, the two of you collapse backwards in a tangle of limbs as your hands and lips continue to explore each other. As your bodies crash land into the cushions, there is a groan from the joints of the sofa, you can’t help but giggle in the moment, “Sounds like you getting out of bed in the morning, viejo.”

At that, Pero bites you playfully on your shoulder and breaks backwards from you, sitting back on his heels, straddling your hips. He strokes a wayward tendril of hair from your face before sliding his hands beneath your back, fumbling away, trying to unclasp your bra. You can’t help but giggle at this wasted effort, whispering, “Guapo, you untie it in front.”

“Mierda, I get to unwrap you like a present?” he growls as he gazes upon the ribbon resting between your breasts, “Fuuuuck.”

As his knees straddle your hips, Pero’s hands go back to tracing the lace across the cups- his touch making you want to scream in impatience. His hands gradually work their way towards the bow, a huge smile spreading across his face as he takes the silky fabric and gently tugs the ribbon undone. Your breasts spill free from the material and a lust-laden moan spills from your boyfriend’s mouth.

Eagerly bending over, Pero brings one of your breasts to his mouth, gently flicking his tongue over your nipple before sucking and squeezing the succulently tender flesh. As his mouth continues to feast upon your breasts, Pero’s hands slowly stroke away the gauzy material from your tummy allowing him access to the soft silky skin beneath making you tremble beneath his touch. His fingers tenderly stroke patterns of love before he rises up and away from you.

You lick your lips as you watch him peel off his T-shirt - drinking in the sight of his broad chest and beautifully olive skin.

“Cielito, don’t look at me like that or I will revert into being a teenage boy and cum in my pants,” he chuckles with a flush spreading through his skin as he removes his jeans.

Your sultry pout gives way to a laugh, “I can’t help it, beautiful boy - just enjoying the view!”

Moving himself back onto the sofa, Pero kneels between your legs - sliding his hands up and down the outside of your stockinged thighs. His hands stop when they reach the lacy edging at the top - a wicked sense of glee spilling through your body when you hear his breath catch in his throat. You tremble as he moves his hands to your inside thigh, instinctively shuffling your hips closer to him as if magnetised by his hands.

As Pero’s fingers gradually work their way up, your heart feels like it will break free. Internally clenching in anticipation, you finally feel his fingertips skirt over the silk as he traces the lines of you through your knickers - your legs unconsciously spreading wider, inviting him closer.

Your head spins between wanting him to rip your knickers off and allowing him to continue torturing you so slowly as he presses the rapidly dampening material into your folds. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband, you lift your hips wordlessly for him to slide your knickers off. As he does, you hear Pero suck in a sharp breath, shaking his head and mumbling thickly as he strokes the outline of the suspender belt, “Ah querida, I want this view framed. So fucking beautiful.”

You shift your arse as you desperately seek his fingers deeper rather than the tender strokes Pero is currently tracing through your tight curls. Thankfully, before you have to forcefully reroute his hands, his digits start to delve into the velvet of your pussy making you groan and arch away from the cushions - the sounds you create are entirely indecent.

“So wet for me, cielito,” Pero’s leisurely pace drives you wild as you watch him bring two soaked fingers to his mouth, tasting them as he stares deep into your eyes. Deciding it is time to stop torturing you, he grabs your hips emphatically, bringing your ass to the edge of the sofa - leaping off the cushions to kneel between your thighs.

His calloused hands gently lift your legs over his shoulders, then clasp your ass cheeks before he lowers his head in what you know is his favourite prayer. He places gentle kisses along the line of your slit, nuzzling the damp curls that run either side as you run your hands through his thick, dark hair, holding his head firmly in place. You gasp as his tongue suddenly laps at your clit and two - no, three fingers slide into your pussy as Pero rhythmically pumps his curled digits back and forth. From what feels like nowhere after his constant stroking and teasing, you are soaring high amongst the clouds - chasing that glorious high as your pussy clamps down and you desperately try to snap your hips away from his iron-like grip.

Gradually, your muscles relax and you stop trying to lever his shoulders away with your feet. As Pero slowly drags his fingers from your still fluttering walls, your eyes half open to see a smug grin upon his face, “What are you looking so pleased about?”

“I love how my touch can completely wreck you,” he growls deeply before biting your thigh and straightening up.

With all your muscles partially jelly-like, you make an awkward attempt to slide off the sofa, desperately wanting to take him in your mouth and taste him but a large palm stops your movement.

“Where do you think you’re going, hermosa?” he questions. “Turn around. Place your hands on the arm of the chair.”

You obediently turn yourself around with much needed support for your trembling limbs from Pero’s hands as he guides and manipulates your body into position. He spreads your legs wide apart, lifting your hips up to meet him and thrusts easily inside of you in one smooth stroke. A small scream of pleasure escapes your lips at the sheer intensity of the pleasure he’s pressing between your thighs.

You lift your hips in search of having his cock deeper inside of you as one of his hands grabs your waist and the other wraps itself in your hair, snapping your head back. Reaching between your legs to massage Pero’s balls, you tug and stroke them - enjoying the effect this has on him, as his thrusts become sharper, rubbing perfectly against that tender spot inside of you. Beneath your hand, the sofa arm creaks ominously as Pero’s hips snap into yours, faster and harder as he spins you spiralling closer to the pinnacle of your pleasure.

A large palm comes down and smacks your bare arse forcefully - the pain and pleasure surging through you simultaneously, edging you ever closer to that perfect finish. With each slap of your sensitive bottom, you surge forward - your arms barely able to brace against Pero’s thrusts. A final thrust from him has you flying- both literally and figuratively as your orgasm hits and the arm of the sofa separates from its body.

“Holy shit!” You scream in a bizarre mix of pleasure and terror, your body flying forward as your support slips out of reach.

Still inside of you, Pero tries in vain to catch you as your body clumsily falls forward, “Querida, are you ok?” he pants breathlessly in your ear, “Are you hurt?”

Half hanging off the edge of the sofa, shaking with laughter, you beg between amused gasps, “Not hurt but what the actual fuck?” with an awkward twist, you turn onto your back to face Pero, whose eyes are anxiously checking you over, “Did we really just break the arm of the fucking sofa?”

“Whilst fucking, we broke the fucking sofa,” Pero chuckles into your mostly upside down boobs, nuzzling and kissing into the soft, sweet flesh.

“”What are we going to do, cielo? How on Earth are we going to explain this to my mum?”

Your question is met with a pout from Pero and a small whine from the kitchen. There’s a wonderful wordless moment between the pair of you as your eyes dart towards the other room… Could you?

“I mean, my bottom is bruised black and blue from where she knocked me over in the field by the woods- we could say that was from wrestling with her,” Pero ponders, frowning as he rests his chin on your sternum, “We could accept responsibility for playing with her to the point she got over excited? Your mum doesn’t seem the type to punish after the event so Nana wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“I don’t think my mum will ask for photographic evidence of your bum,” you snort, “Oh I feel guilty blaming the dog but that’s definitely a superior choice to saying, ‘Mum, Pero and I broke your sofa from having amazing sex.’I mean, we have a pretty open relationship but that might be a step too far.”

You lie together for several long moments just simply relishing the closeness, despite being completely topsy-turvy with your head hanging over the edge of the sofa cushions. Savouring the afterglow, you stroke your fingers through Pero’s dark curls, admiring the different shades running through them. He suddenly sighs sharply, making you stroke his cheek and crane your neck to check on him, “You ok, beautiful boy?”

A small grunt meets your question from the man with his head resting between your breasts, “Mmm. Just listening to your heartbeat. Recharging. Getting my strength back.”

“Strength back for what?”

“Why, round two, mi amor”

✪✪✪✪✪

Sitting on the loo, you put the test down on the sink and wipe yourself. Checking the tissue, there’s still no sign of this fucking period. You’re now a week late and whereas you could perhaps write off a day or two of being overdue to the stress you’ve been subjected to at work, the real question of why it is late, is now eating at you.

Why the fuck are most of the symptoms of a period coming, the same as a possible early pregnancy? Achy boobs? Check. Little tummy cramps? Yup. Moodiness. Fuck. If your hands had been big enough to reach all the way around Pero’s fucking thick neck, you’d have murdered him in his sleep last night with that ruckus coming from his airways. Tiredness? Oh boy. You find yourself nodding off in meetings that could have been an email (mind you, nothing new there) and your blessed commute has become a time for naps instead of reading.

The slam of your front door shocks you from your bathroom reverie, “Qué tal, hermosa? Dónde estás?”

“On the loo.”

A small knock taps on the bathroom door making you look up from your vulnerable position, finding Pero filling the door frame - a frown upon his face, “You ok?”

You don’t answer, choosing to gesture toward the plastic stick resting upon the cool ceramic of the sink. Watching his face carefully, his usual passionate expressiveness stilled, you look for a response as a sense of fear ices your veins.

Just a nod. All you get is a nod.

“How much time is left?” he gently asks.

“I dunno. Thirty two seconds?”

“That’s pretty specific for something you said you dunno about,” he teases with a grin on his face, “There’s already an answer on it, if you want to know.”

Drawing a juddery breath, you shut your eyes as you rub the bridge of your nose - like that could help whatever that fucking stick says.

“Wh…What does it say?” You ask quietly.

“Pregnant, mi querida. You’re pregnant, my love.”

“Fuck.”

Pero takes two strides into the room dropping to his knees in front of the toilet, where you sit, sobbing into your fists. Not saying a word, he kneels there - alternately kissing your forehead and stroking your hair.

“Whatever you want to do, querida, I will back you 100% of the way,” he softly whispers.

“How could I be so stupid? Shit, I had that week of antibiotics just before we went to my mum’s- my pill would have been useless!”

“Hey, how many times have you impregnated yourself?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? My brain cannot cope with riddles right now,” you growl at Pero.

“I’m sorry - I mean, you didn’t do this by yourself. And if you remember, it was me who forgot to pack our wash bag when we stayed there - a couple of pills were missed too because of that,” Pero strokes away the tears running down your face, “I should have worn a condom- I should have thought about it. This isn’t all on you.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Cariño, it is not me who carries the pregnancy or gives birth. My body doesn’t change but no matter what you choose, I am right here beside you,” he calmly delivers, staring deeply into your bloodshot eyes, “Whatever happens, you don’t get rid of this tonto easily.”

“I was just starting to be treated like an equal at work but now they’re going to see me as some silly little girl again, who can’t get her shit together.”

“Please stop being so negative about yourself - fuck them if they judge you. Look at me,” Pero tilts your chin up but your eyes do not follow, “I said look at me, princesa. From the moment I met you, I knew that you were my person. Our lips touched and I could see my future for the first time.

“Before we met, I lived for work. Well, I’m not sure anyone would call it living - I just went from security job to security job with William, barely ever leaving my screen and certainly never speaking to anyone. I had fleeting, toxic relationships where, to be honest, I wasn’t the best boyfriend.

“Kissing you though, it all became clear. I was in a house with you, grumbling about all the idiots in the world over a glass of wine. If work does not value you, then that is their loss - it is not your problem.”

Threading your fingers through his, you shift uncomfortably upon your strange seat, “Did you see children in your future with me?”

“I’m from a family and culture who love children. I’ve always wanted them and more than anything with you but if now is not the time, then we will discuss it when you are ready. What are you thinking, hermosa?”

With your heart in your throat, you worry your lip between your teeth, “It feels so big. So overwhelming.”

Pero nods silently with a small, kind smile playing upon his lips, “Tell me, what do you see when you think of the future?”

✪✪✪✪✪

“So what were the dates of your last menstrual cycle?” the midwife kindly asks at your booking-in appointment.

“The 21st to the 26th of June this year,” you swallow hard, trying to answer the doctor’s questions and ignoring the pit of nausea in your tummy. Nerves or pregnancy - who knows- either way, there is a comforting arm around your back and your right hand is being lovingly squeezed by Pero.

“Okay, do you both live at the same address?”

“Sí, for the past two and a half years at that address and then a year together while you finished uni and a year before that in Spain,” Pero responds.

“And are you daddy?” the midwife questions Pero.

Without a moment’s hesitation, your boyfriend responds, “Yes, I am.”

“Fabulous- I have a section of notes for you to fill out here whilst I go and take some measurements of your partner,” the midwife hands a few sheets of paper to Pero, as she scoops the urine sample from the table and gestures for you to join her.

Following the midwife as she sweeps out of the room to another curtained off area, she points at a plastic coated chair for you to sit in, “Pop yourself there- I’m just going to check your blood pressure with the cuff. I have to ask you some questions away from your partner too.”

“What kind of questions?”

As the cuff tightens around your arm, the midwife looks you straight in the eyes, “I have to ask you - are you at risk of any physical, emotional or sexual violence?”

Not missing a beat, you exclaim with a snort of laughter, “God no! He looks tough but he’s soft as butter.”

“He’s never hit or coerced you in any way?”

“Never.”

“I have to ask and you need to understand that sometimes relationships change during pregnancy. The slightest sign of anything changing, I will give you a list of numbers to call.”

You nod numbly, suddenly terrified for all those put at risk by partners at such a vulnerable time. Thinking of your grumpy Spaniard as your weight and height are measured, you consider how he has been taking even more care of you than before. Pero has always been thoughtful and considerate but with all of this, everything has increased tenfold. How, as soon as you’d decided that you were on board with keeping the pregnancy, he’d run out and buy prenatal vitamins. How every morning, he’s brought you a tablet, a drink and some toast (being one of the few things you can currently keep down). When you’re being sick, he’s held your hair back and even washed it that time he wasn’t quick enough.

The thought of any less didn’t bear thinking about. Roughly a week after finding out you were pregnant, the nausea started, and seriously, fuck the person who named it morning sickness. It is more like every moment of the day sickness. Brushing your teeth sickness. Smelling someone’s coffee sickness. The world currently is awash with a riot of smells that grossly offend your olfactory senses.

Returning to the small consulting office with the midwife, you see Pero’s head snap up in your direction, his hand instinctively reaching out to you as you enter. As you sit beside him, he curls you into his shoulder - pressing his lips into your hair.

“Okay, so here are some important dates and information for you. The hospital has already generated dates and times for your ultrasounds,” the midwife passes you an appointment card across the table as you notice Pero quickly tapping away at his phone calendar, “Keep your notes with you at all times as if you need any emergency attention, all your info will be there for medical professionals. Well, I look forward to seeing you in these corridors in a couple weeks for your scan. Any questions, please do get in touch.”

Still buried in Pero’s side, you walk into the neon lit corridor away from the kindly midwife. His fingers lazily stroke your arm as you clutch the plastic folder of notes to your chest.

“Querida, I need you to come out of your head and talk to me. I know you’re struggling and it isn’t too late if you want to change your mind,” Pero’s voice gently hums in your ear.

“I can’t find the words.”

✪✪✪✪✪

The elephant in the room, or rather your womb, hasn’t changed since your initial appointment. At least today, you get to see the alien invader. Sitting in the hard plastic chairs of the ultrasound waiting area, your fingers are entwined with Pero’s - him communicating with you via a form of loving Morse code - tiny squeezes and taps telling you how much he loves and cares for you.

The technician comes out of their room and briefly nods in your direction for you to follow them. After clarifying some details, they ask you to jump up onto the examination table, “Okay, so according to your notes, you should be roughly twelve weeks now so I will be doing a trans abdominal ultrasound scan. Can you pull your top up and tuck the waistband of your trousers into your knickers, please?”

You flinch as the gel is applied to your tummy but the chill you expected never comes, “Oh! That’s warm - I was expecting it to be cold like in the films.”

“No expense spared in the NHS,” the technician winks at you. “We have gel bottle warmers - it’s the little things.”

Pero, who barely let go of your hand to sort your clothes out,is holding it tightly once again. His arm is resting upon the pillow behind your head as his fingers tenderly play with your hair. Nodding at the sonographer, he grunts, “What are we going to see today?”

“All being well,” a flush of cold runs through you at those three words. You’ve spent so long coming to terms with your decision to keep this pregnancy that you haven’t even considered that it might not have progressed in an expected manner.

“All being well, this is mainly a dating scan. So we check that the dates from your LMP match with the size and development of the embryo. We also look at the Nuchal translucency, which we analyse for Down Syndrome. It’s also to make sure that the embryo is growing in the right place and to see how many babies your partner is carrying,” the technician kindly explains with a grin that quickly drops when they see the fierce look of protection upon Pero’s face.

“Are you ready?” you nod in the direction of the technician, “Okay, so this might be a bit uncomfortable as I have to press quite hard and I know your bladder is full.”

As the probe passes over your tummy, your eyes move from the masked face of the technician to the screen to your right. Suddenly, their hand stops. “There you go.”

There is a something on the screen.

A definite something.

A something with arms, legs, a tummy and a head.

A something that has a flicker deep within their chest.

“Dios mío. Vamos a tener un hijo Oh my god, we’re going to have a baby,” Pero gasps - his face full of awe and wonder, “Look what your body has made, hermosa. It has taken a grain of sand and created a pearl. Oh my clever girl!”

A watery, teary laugh spills from your lips as you stare at the wriggling alien upon the screen - its limbs stretching and curling up, albeit the movements too tiny for you to feel yet, “Look what we made.”

“It’s all looking good here,” the technician says with a smile, “From these measurements and the dates you’ve given, you’re looking at a Spring baby - 21st of April. New beginnings and all that. You’re measuring at 12 weeks exactly right now and the baby is measuring roughly the same size as a passion fruit.”

A snort comes from Pero, “That’s apt.”

“Would you like a couple of photos? I’ve managed to get one where it looks like your baby is waving,” the technician asks as they hand you some tissue to wipe the gel off.

Pero wordlessly raises his eyebrows at you to check as you nod at the technician - tears streaming down your face, “Yes please. Do we pay for them at the front desk?”

“Yeah. We will see you in a couple of months for your twenty week scan. Congratulations to you both,” the technician reaches out, putting their hand upon your shoulder as they pass you the prints.

Walking out of the room in an awestruck silence, you thread your fingers through Pero’s as the pair of you walk silently through the brightly lit corridors of the hospital towards the exit. As the summery air hits you, you turn into Pero’s chest and sob.

“Hey, mi amor, what’s going on?” Pero envelops you in his arms.

“Everything.” Your legs feel like jelly beneath you as thoughts race through your head at 100 miles an hour.

Pero gently guides you to a nearby bench that is free from smokers, brushing at the surface before letting you sit down. An arm instantly snakes around your slightly thickened waist and you slump into his side - relieved to have somewhere stable to rest before continuing your journey.

“Talk to me, hermosa,” his voice soothes into your ear, “I know my default is to want to fix things but if you need me to just listen, I can attempt to do that too.”

“I’m so scared. Everything is swimming inside my head,” you splutter tearfully, “Like when you see everyone in films and in books, they’re instantly over the moon that they’re having a baby- even if like us, it wasn’t exactly planned.”

You spin towards him - taking his hands in yours, “And, this isn’t me regretting my decision to keep it. I just thought I’d feel different. I mean, aren’t you meant to feel a massive rush of love when you see your baby? ‘Cos all I felt was relief that there was a baby there and the whole thing wasn’t this psychosomatic acid trip.

“It’s too early to feel any flutters and for just over a week, I’ve not had any sickness. I don’t feel as tired, my boobs are bruised from where I’m constantly poking them to see if they’re still sore and that’s fucking scary because what if…” Your hands fly to your face to cover the next onslaught of tears.

“My love, I wish you spoke to me more. I know I said I’d listen and not try to fix it but there’s one bit I can explain as I know it from Gloria,” he smoothes a piece of hair behind your ear before continuing, “So whilst the lack of sickness can mean that things aren’t progressing, they can also mean that the placenta has taken over.

“Gloria was terrified of the same thing whilst she was pregnant with Esteban - apparently, she had Mama and Antonio ringing all the early pregnancy units in Andalucía until they found one that would do an early scan to check everything was fine. And now look,” Pero pulls his phone from his pocket to pull up a picture of his nephew, “Look at my preciosidad!”

The sobs rebuild themselves in your lungs at seeing the soft as butter expression that melts across Pero’s face as he regards the squishy rolls of the baby upon his screen. Rivers of snot and tears diverge across your face that no tissue or sleeve would be strong enough to withstand.

“Mierda, I was trying to make you feel better and I’ve made you cry harder,” through your tear-filled eyes, you see his forehead furrow.

Tugging the back of his neck towards you, your foreheads clash awkwardly as you pull him into a hug, “Eres mi media naranja, mi cielito. You’re my better half, my dear. You do make everything better. It’s just bloody hormones.”

Pero’s laughter explodes into the hospital car park - making several other people turn to see where the juxtaposed guffaw emanated from. Using his thumbs, he wipes your tears onto his jeans, before leaning in to kiss you.

His lips gently transfer the saltiness of your tears to yours, before pulling away slightly, “I love that you remember my abuelo’s phrase. However I am not sure that I could be described as anyone’s better anything.”

“But I’m not either. Just glad we’re each other’s half orange.”

✪✪✪✪✪

A month later, you’ve flown out to the Andalusian coast to celebrate Jimena’s 50th birthday with Pero and your mum - Nana firmly and safely ensconced in a local kennels and unable to break anymore sofas (or collarbones as she has to your poor mum). Despite your trying to convince Pero that having a baby is a pretty strong thing to do, he has decided that it is the only thing he will allow you to do. Every bag is swept from your arms and there’s a part of you that’s a little surprised that he hasn’t started feeding you.

“Oh, there’s my bag,” your Mum turns to you, “Would you be able to grab it for me sweetheart? I don’t think I can manage to pull it from the conveyor belt with my arm like this.”

“Of cour…”

“No, I will get it,” Pero growls, “You need to rest.”

“Why would you…?” your mum looks utterly confused by Pero’s abruptness as you shoot him daggers from over her shoulder.

“Sorry, let me help you,” his dark eyelashes flutter hard as Pero considers how he almost gave the secret away.

Having gathered all the luggage, Pero continues to fuss around making your mum sidle up to you, “Are you ok? He’s treating you like you’re made from glass.”

Do you want to tell her in the middle of Seville airport? Is that how she should find out that you’re pregnant? You haven’t meant to keep it a secret, but every time you try to say the words, your mouth turns to wool and the words dry up. You’ve always had a close relationship since it’s only ever been the two of you but the thought of telling her this feels utterly overwhelming.

Just nodding and looping your arm through hers, you head towards the arrivals gate. Once through customs, you see the perfectly presented Gloria, Pero’s older and much beloved sister waiting with your nephew perched upon her hip as he twirls strands of her hair between his stubby toddler fingers. On spotting Pero and you, Esteban squeals delightedly in his mum’s ear, wriggling himself free from her arms and speed toddling to be adored by the pair of you.

With Esteban up high upon Pero’s shoulders, Gloria hugs you tightly - kissing you on the cheek- before stepping back. Her head tilts as her narrowed eyes drift down to your tummy, “Are you…?” Pero shoots her a look, which thankfully Gloria comprehends as she strokes your arm, “I think we have a lot to catch up on, mi hermana.

“Tú y yo necesitamos charlar, hermanito You and I need a chat, little brother,” You can’t help but giggle at the apprehension on Pero’s face as his big sister’s finger wags in his face, “Vamos, let’s go home. Esteban, ven aquí.”

✪✪✪✪✪

“How far along are you?” Gloria’s hand excitedly reaches out to stroke your tummy as you stand together, making Esteban’s lunch.

“Seventeen and a bit weeks. ‘Ría, I’m so sorry- we wanted to tell you all in person rather than via Zoom,” you quietly try to explain.

Gloria’s face burns with a fierce joy as she hugs you again, “You are forgiven just this once. I’m so happy for you both and I will finally be an aunty. Listen, use Esteban as a shield until you are ready to tell everyone, as that’s obviously a baby bump you’re hiding under that floaty dress and not a food tummy.”

The love you get from Pero’s family is immense. From the moment he brought you home - only two weeks after meeting him - they accepted you into their fold. You became an additional daughter to Jimena and Pablo, and another sister to Elisa and Gloria. Their family home has always been a complete juxtaposition to the quiet home you grew up in - one filled with chaos, noise and love with people spilling out of every room.

As much as Pero loves hard, you can see where he gets it from. Jimena is everyone’s favourite taskmaster, mission maker and font of knowledge - organising chores, education, food and fun in a similar manner to a drill sergeant - as she not only brought up her three but also the gaggle of local cousins, waifs and strays whose parents work full time. She always ensures that each of them is always fed, loved and brought back into line by her too. As the older kids got big enough, they were expected to muck in equally.

And where Jimena is the larger-than-life local mother to everyone, Pablo - Pero’s dad - is the complete opposite. The taciturn side of your boyfriend’s nature is from his papa - preferring to offer the spotlight to his wife. The workaholic part is also from him too as all you’ve seen Pablo do is work. Work at his job in the local council, work at fixing up their house and working at sleeping so that he doesn’t drop off in the middle of another dreary public servant meeting. Whilst around the house, he always has a child sitting quietly next to him watching as he fixes something but if they bring him a book, he instantly drops whatever he is doing and reads to them - his eyes sparkling as he creates silly voices for the characters.

As a result of their upbringing, Gloria, Pero and Elisa aren’t just a trio of biological siblings but rather three of hundreds. Trying to walk quickly up the roads near the Tovar’s home is impossible as everyone has to stop and say hello, which is highly amusing to watch your grumpy boyfriend attempting to socialise with others. A series of gruff grunts and solemn faced nods to the adults but it’s with the children that he comes into his own.

Children naturally radiate towards Pero. There is a softness they see that adults fail to read - their eyes blinded by prejudice against that scar and his scowl. Children instantly see Pero for who he is - the kindest, softest man hidden behind a tough outer shell for the adult world. When the two of you return home, he is regularly press ganged into football matches, teddy bear picnics and epic sword fights against imaginary monsters. You spend hours watching him play - looking up to occasionally try to pry himself away, only to be pulled ever deeper into the intricate storylines by a pair of puppy dog eyes.

There is no doubt in your mind that he will make a fantastic daddy to your little one. The future father Pero will be a firefighter to your child’s troubles and a light to guide them upon their journey. He will be their cheerleader and defender, forever ready to laugh and play.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you’re ok? You keep zoning out. Have you been sleeping ok? Eating your veg?” your mum’s eyes search your face to try and find a sign of what’s bothering you.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Mummy. You don’t need to worry,” you smile as you pat her non-injured arm.

“Hah! I’ll never stop worrying about you - no matter how big you get. It’s the joy of being a parent,” your mum strokes your hair as she walks towards Jimena’s outspread arms.

She beckons you over next - Gloria taking her chance to walk between the pair of you, thrusting a dozy Esteban into your arms as you take your first step forward. With one arm around your neck, he buries his head into your shoulder - pretty much the mirror image of his uncle as he sleeps draped over you. Jimena narrows her eyes at her daughter, “Hey tonta, how am I meant to properly hug my other daughter if you throw your child at her?”

A series of looks pass between Pero, Gloria and you. A small nod from Pero has Gloria take a now slightly peeved Esteban from your arms.

“There’s something we need to tell you all,” Pero says as he slides his hand into yours.

An air of quiet perplexion falls upon the room as you finally find your voice, “I’m pregnant.”

An eruption of squeals, hugs and kisses fill the air as Pero and you have your cheeks pinched red with congratulations from your family members. Both mothers are in tears, Gloria is kissing smiles into Esteban’s hair, Elisa is bouncing up and down with joy and Pablo- he’s just gazing at you both proudly with shimmering eyes.

“How far along are you, preciosa?” Jimena asks, taking your hands.

“Seventeen and a half weeks,” you grimace slightly, concerned by how both she and your mum might react.

“What? But, you’re almost halfway through! Why are you two only telling us now?”

“Mama, we wanted to tell you in person. Not via the phone or Zoom,” Pero moves from your side to envelop his mum in a hug.

“My baby is having a baby,” your mum gasps between rattly breaths, “Sweethearts - why was this all a big secret?”

For want of a better way to communicate as your throat constricts once again, you shrug before balling your hands into your eyes to block the water’s pathways. Pero curls you into his chest and for a moment you shut out the noises of the room - comforting yourself by inhaling the scent of him as you bury your face into the fabric of his shirt. Whilst your face is hidden, the room thins out around you until all that remain are your parents and Pero.

Eventually, you pry your tear streaked face from Pero, although he keeps his hands upon you the entire time, “This isn’t how I expected this all to happen. It wasn’t planned or anything,” you utter to the concerned room, “I mean, that’s not to say I’ve never wanted to be a parent as I’ve always seen it as something that will eventually happen but not anytime soon. And now it is and I hate that there’s a part of me that feels like the baby has taken my choice in the matter away.

“And I know I have choices. I know I don’t have to go through with this pregnancy, but the baby is fucking perfect and I already love it so much. I just feel like I’m already failing at being a mum before our baby is even born.”

“Oh sweetheart, if you’d only said something. What you’ve just said, is exactly how I felt when I found out I was pregnant with you,” your mum confides, “I was younger than you, I spent my days drinking whiskey, triple espressos, riding motorbikes, teaching hot yoga and eating a lot of brie - all of which changed when I saw the plus sign on the stick.”

“Sí, I wasn’t anywhere near prepared for becoming a mother either, was I Pablo?” Jimena turns to her husband.

“No,” Pablo’s eyes crinkle as he chuckles in response to her question, “No, we were quite young when Gloria graced us with her presence - we weren’t married, so lots of raised eyebrows from family and friends at the time but I would say 31 years later, you did pretty amazingly.”

“Should have said that before now, tonto,” she pulls a face at her husband, “I think there is very much an image of what a mother should be - someone with their shit together, someone who has everything planned and for whom the baby is their main objective - their total be all and end all. To be honest, that’s total bullshit.”

A hearty chuckle comes from your mum across the room, “I couldn’t have put it better, Jimena. You don’t have to become all consumed with being a parent - it doesn’t replace your identity. It’s just another facet of being human.”

“I just feel like I’m a bit of a failure for not rushing to the rooftops to proclaim my joy.” The relief you feel is palpable as you finally acknowledge those feelings that have been bubbling away since that initial test.

“Mija, you do pregnancy your way - you’ve never been a shout it from the rooftops type,” Jimena smiles, “Let my boy wait on you hand and foot -as he better have been - and just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Pregnancies and babies are all different - as is the person going through them. You do you and if anyone gives you even the slightest funny look, you send them my way.”

“So this is why your clothes have all been a bit baggy…” your mum thinks aloud, “Do you feel brave enough for us to have a look at the bump?”

Pero strokes your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear before leaning forward, “You don’t have to - it’s up to you.”

“No. I think I’m finally ready,” as the words escape your lips, you blink knocking weighty, happy tears from your lashes. Pulling the skirt of your dress tight behind your back, the outline of your bump is clear for everyone to see. Jimena’s hands clasp in a wordless prayer as Pablo pats his son on the back.

Your mum hugs you one armedly, “Oh baby, it feels like yesterday that I was looking at my bump that nurtured your perfect self and now look at yours. I feel like I might explode with happiness.”

At that, Esteban toddles back into the kitchen, signing his hunger at the gathered adults. You sweep him up in your arms and throw open the fridge in search of some food for the hungry boy - a seeming speciality of the Tovar’s. Jimena sneaks up behind you as you prepare him a plate of fruit, “You’ve got this, you know. It’s more natural to you than you realise.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Laughter and chatter fills the air along the multiple dinner tables of varying heights that are lined up with military accuracy through the street in front of the Tovar’s home. Their surfaces are burgeoning with a thousand dishes, breadcrumbs and splodges of wine upon the once crisp white tablecloths - the remnants of the veritable feast for Jimena’s birthday. A multitude of mismatched chairs groan beneath the weight of full, happy tummies as the revellers enjoy the late afternoon sun of the sobremesa, sitting back amongst the wreckage of crumpled napkins and half-eaten desserts to enjoy the gossiping, jokes and love of each other’s company.

When Pero finally breaks away from the football tournament that has started alongside, he grabs a delicate etched glass next to your plate, filling it with singsong ice before taking a much needed gulp. A small trickle evades his mouth and as you reach up to brush it away, the corners of his mouth curl further. Pero catches your hand as you go to take it away, kissing your wrist then leaning forward to whisper in your ear, “Fancy a walk, hermosa?”

As you nod in agreement, your eyes sparkle excitedly at the thought of some much needed alone time with your boyfriend. Some time away from all the tías, their prodding fingers and old wives tales about pregnancy - all of the well meaning stares at your virtually non-existent bump trying to work out the gender of the alien growing inside you. Jimena, Gloria and Elisa have been fending them off making excuses as to why they need you to help. Well, Gloria and Elisa are doing that. Jimena just growls at them to back off.

Mopping his brow on a used napkin, Pero waves at his mama before signing over the heads of the tías that you were going for a walk. The wink that Jimena sends back suggests that she's happy that you make this small break for freedom. Pero holds his arm out for you to join him but as you wrap your fingers around his bicep to stand up, a tío comes over and starts to harass him as to when he will ask you to marry him. Thankfully, Pablo comes into his own and diverts the attention of the drunken sun-kissed man by talking about the prices of this year’s Rioja.

The noise gradually ebbs away as you slowly walk away from the party, the clatter of revellers and music exchanging for the distant calls of gulls and gently lapping waves. Reaching the path on the alcantilados, you both make your way down the narrow footpath towards the caleta below. As the rugged rock makes way for softer sand, your feet are grateful for the change in terrain. The cove at the foot of the cliff has sand that is the most gentle hue of gold - almost earthen and muted making it the humblest star of the scene if it wasn’t for the late September sunlight causing it to glisten and glow.

This is the beach where Pero spent his childhood - days of trying to dam the sea by building walls of sand, building dens of driftwood and uncovering the treasures hidden within the rock pools. You see him revert to that little boy as soon as his feet hit the sand - shells are squirrelled away in his pockets, along with what could be record breaking skimming stones and after knighting him with a polished piece of sea debris, you get shyly crowned with a tiara of finely woven seaweed.

The siren song of the tide calls to you as you walk ever closer to the sea lace edged shore as Pero pokes curiously at a marooned jellyfish. With your shoes long since abandoned to enjoy the remaining warmth through the soles of your feet, you step into the oncoming waves where the water cools and sticks the gauzy fabric of your dress to your skin - the oil of the food and dry, dusty heat of the day being rinsed away by the salty water. You keep walking until the water reaches your middle, cradling your tiny bump.

“How are you doing, mi sirena my mermaid?” a gruff voice questions from the shoreline.

Turning your head towards Pero, a breeze catches your hair, making it ribbon across your face. He walks a little way into the water with his hand outstretched towards you to join him. As you wade back through the water, you see a tic of hunger flash across his face, “What’s going on, guapo?”

A small smile plays upon his lips, “You’re so incredibly beautiful. I didn’t think it was possible for you to become more beautiful but everyday, as your body changes - watching your breasts and tummy swell with my baby it’s hard to keep my hands off you.”

“And my bum,” you add, grinning.

Pero frowns slightly at this, “What about your bum?”

“My bum is growing too.”

“I have no complaints,” to prove his point, he drops to his knees in the gently foaming sea and bites your bum to punctuate his sentence.

“You know the caves in the cliffs used to be everyone’s make out spot as a teenager,” he adds grinning.

“Are you trying to rediscover your youth?”

“Damn straight!” Pero virtually scrambles across the sand as he pulls you over to one of the larger caves that carve their being into the rocky monoliths.

On hearing your rapid breathing, he has the decency to look slightly ashamed, “Let’s see if we can change the reason for being out of breath, hermosa.”

He suddenly takes you by your hips, pinning you with his own against the rocky outcrop - your tummy just carving the smallest space between the pair of you. As you stare at him, he smiles at you, running his hands up your arms before placing each one around his neck. You take advantage of this by stroking the glossy dark curls at the base of his hairline, enjoying how he keens and softens into your touch.

Pero’s eyes do not falter from your face once as his large, warm hands find your thickened waist. His breathing starts to match yours as he leans in closer, brushing a soft kiss against your lips but just as you go to deepen the kiss, he pulls slightly away.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

You tug the back of his head towards you, causing your lips to crash together clumsily before you find that well known rhythm that your lips have danced many times before. His fingers claw at the material of your dress, desperately searching for traction upon your skin, trying to haul the soaked material up and away from your body as it sticks and clings to every curve. Pero groans inside your mouth when his hands finally find the soft flesh of your thighs. Pressing his weight into you, he pulls away from your mouth to catch your bottom lip in his teeth before pressing sweet kisses along the most sensitive point of your neck.

Sandwiching his thigh between yours, you fight the urge to grind down upon it.

“You feel so warm,” he breathes into your ear as your hands run up and down, stroking his broad back through his shirt as you pull yourself into him.

Groaning at the contact of your body with his, he runs his hands up your thighs blindly until he reaches your bum cheek and squeezes. You curl one of your legs around him so that he’s now holding you up against the uneven surface of the cave wall. Your hands find his face as his lips find yours in a passionate flurry of desire.

“All I can feel is how hot you are against my cock,” Pero growls into your mouth.

“They’re not just soaked from the sea either,” you breathlessly pant back.

“I want you so badly,” he mumbles thickly into your neck as the tip of his cock presses through the confines of his trousers into your soft, wet cunt.

Ripping your knickers from your sides in one move, you then hear his zip being lowered. One hand releases you as he drags the head of his cock against the sensitive soaked folds of your pussy.

Pero checks with you before going any further, “Is this what you want?”

“Fuck me, Pero,” as you growl those words at him, his cock pushes up and into you.

You can’t help but groan as he bottoms out in you, fucking you to the languid beat of the moon guided waves. After a few thrusts with your back against the wall, Pero slides out and within one smooth movement, he spins you around, placing your hands upon the craggy rocks and slams into you again. Sliding his hands under your dress, he scratches his nails up your spine until Pero’s hands come to rest upon your shoulders.

Within one smooth movement, he pulls your shoulders sharply upwards until you are completely upright, back flush to the warmth of his chest. Pero tugs at the top of your dress downwards until he finds your breasts, which he quickly releases from their satin prison. You realise that initially, he’s just watching your tits bounce as he thrusts - guiding one his hands from your waist to your breast you enjoy the groan he releases as he squeezes your nipple tightly, rolling it between his fingers. As you do this, his other hand lets go of your hair but its path surprises you. Instead of reaching for your other breast, it snakes down to your tummy. Tracing lazy patterns against the taut skin, he strokes and cradles his creation within you. The tenderness of his touch is in stark contrast to how wickedly he slams into you.

Pero’s teeth graze against your neck as the hand that was groping at your breast, slides down the front of your body, gliding effortlessly between your folds. Teasing your sensitive bud, he settles into a gently pleasing rhythm - working in harmony as your pleasure soars towards a delicious crescendo. You cry his name - the cave calling it back to you - as your fingers twist and coil in his hair.

With shorter, sharper thrusts, he barely withdraws from you as he chases his high - your echoey cries that sing his praises, brings him closer to his peak. As he finally releases inside you - filling your warm wet cunt with his sticky seed- he grabs your waist with that final rut. Beneath his fingers, a strange sensation bubbles through your tummy. Pero must have felt it too as he presses his fingers deeper into your flesh.

“Hermosa, was that your tummy rumbling or was that what I think it was?” Pero’s voice fills your ear with awe.

Tears fill your eyes as the realisation that the feeling of drunken butterflies in your tummy was in fact your baby making itself known. A drip of water trickles down your shoulder. You look up to the craggy ceiling to track its origin but on hearing the choppy breathing accompanying the droplets, you disentangle your bodies, turning to face him.

Cradling Pero’s head into your shoulder, you stroke his hair - scratching lightly into the curls as you rock him in your arms.

“I’m sorry, mi sol,” he mumbles thickly between sobs into your shoulder, “it had been a hypothetical baby until feeling it just now. I know I saw it move upon the screen but obviously it’s not my body that’s doing all the hard work of growing a human.”

“Shhhh, mi corazón. Just let those tears flow - I know you’ve been trying to hold me afloat since we found out,” you soothe into his dark curls, “You might pretend to be a machine to others but man cannot run on logic alone so let go. I’m here.”

Pero slowly pulls back up, rubbing the heels of his hands into his drenched lashes - dragging a deep breath into his lungs as he straightens up. Taking your hand, he guides you out of the cave, past the tufts of marram grass and back on to the dunes where you tug his hand to sit with you upon the dying warmth of the sand. He rests his head on your thigh as he nuzzles into your tummy - your salt patterned dress absorbing the dampness from his cheeks.

Listening to the soundtrack of the waves, you both watch the theatre playing out in the heavens above you. The sun is starting to set in the sky with vibrant golds, purples and oranges fighting their way across the most exquisite artist's canvas. It is almost as if the final rays are destined to create a work of art - one only offered to those who are open to capturing precious moments in their soul.

✪✪✪✪✪

Where the fuck is he?

“Are you ready?” the technician asks, nodding in your direction.

They must have caught how your brow furrows and your eyes flicker to and from the entrance as the sonographer walks over to the receptionist, beckoning you over.

“I think my ten o’ clock’s partner is running late - could you ensure that they are brought into room four, please?” they kindly inform the clerk.

“He’ll be the one barrelling through the door, scowling and growling. He looks scary but it’s just nerves,” you shake your head, “He’s stuck in Central as a meeting overran and then there’s been a signal failure on the tube.”

Relief floods your system as the secretary nods their understanding. You give the door one last look to see if there is any sudden appearance of Pero but other than a heavily pregnant person being ushered through by their partner, there is still no sign of him.

You try to buy a little more time by asking to use the loo. It wasn’t entirely a lie as between the weight of the baby upon your bladder and the bottle of water you’d been nervously sipping whilst you sat in the waiting room, you definitely needed to go.

“Is it ok if I use the bathroom before you start? I’m sorry- I know I should have gone before.”

The technician smiles kindly, “Of course you can. Turn right down the corridor and the third door on the left.”

Walking down the corridor, you keep repeating the instructions to yourself. Turn right down the corridor and the third door on the left. First door on the left. Second door on the left. Third door on the left - aha!

If peeing could be an Olympic sport, you feel there’s a chance you could be amongst the medalists. Whilst sitting on the loo, you also ensure that you read all the posters informing you about hotlines for domestic violence, substance addiction and support for debt management. When washing your hands, you follow the guidelines to the letter - as you turn on the tap - clearing your throat in the empty bathroom - you start singing Happy Birthday as you read down the poster.

Wet your hands.

Apply enough soap.

Rub your hands together.

Use one hand to rub the back of the other and clean between your fingers. Do the same with the other hand.

Rub the backs of fingers against your palms.

Rub the tips of your fingers on the palms of the other hand - swap and do the other side.

Rinse your hands with water.

Dry your hands completely with a disposable towel.

Use the towel to switch off the tap.

Come on, Pero. Please be there now.

As you re-enter the room, you see the technician tapping in the information into the machine as you watch the letters and numbers that form your name and date of birth appear on the screen. They look up, smiling sweetly before pulling the curtain around the bed to offer you some privacy as you sort out your clothes and clamber onto the table.

A sharp rap at the door makes both you and the sonographer jump.

“Do you reckon that’ll be your grumpy boyfriend?” they laughingly ask as they spin their chair across the floor to answer the knock.

Please be him. Please be him.

As the door is unlocked, you look up to see the broad height of Pero filling the doorway - chest heaving, hair ratty from sweat, huffing hot breaths between parted lips, shirt half untucked and loosened tie askew. In three purposeful strides, he’s cleared the room, standing by the head of the bed to press a deep, spine-tingling kiss into your lips. It doesn’t seem to matter when or where he kisses you, he always manages to take your breath away with each one.

“Lo siento, cariño. Perdóname,” Pero whispers gruffly in your ear, making the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, “I didn’t think I was going to make it. Monsters blocking my way at every turn.”

“But you’re here now,” you console, mopping an errant trail of sweat from his brow, “Thank you for trying so hard. We haven’t started yet.”

“Are you ready?” The sonographer asks, the bottle of gel poised to be squirted onto your tummy.

You nod, beaming at them as they squirt the warm lubricant onto your growing bump. Positioning the wand on your tummy with the screen tilted towards them, the sonographer moved it around a few times before tilting the screen back towards the pair of you.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got,” They turn up the volume on the side of the machine and the room is filled with a sound that beats any music you’ve ever heard before. A tiny tympanic metronome ticking away.

You close your eyes and allow the sound to wash through every inch of you as your heart swells with love at the sound your body has created. A light brush of your cheek causes you to reopen them to see the proud, tear-pricked eyes of Pero gazing down lovingly at you. Another softer kiss is pressed into your mouth before you look over towards the screen again.

“Baby’s awake,” the technician announces, “I think you’ll have a lively one on your hands as of right now, it’s almost as if they are trying to bounce off your uterine walls. Can you feel it?”

“Yeah, we first felt movement a couple of weeks ago,” you smile at the memory.

“Your placenta is in the perfect position for you to feel those early kicks. I’m not surprised you’re feeling the baby move so early. Would you like to find out the gender of the baby?”

Checking in wordlessly with Pero, whose face is painted with a soppy sweet smile, you turn back to the sonographer, “No thank you. Just glad to see that it’s a baby - it doesn't really matter what is between its legs.”

“Great stuff. Okay, so I’ll just talk you through what I’m looking at on the screen and what the measurements I’m taking mean,” the technician started pointing to things on the screen, looking back to check that you both understand, “Here we have baby’s head - you can see them yawning here. Hmmm, maybe they’ve finally worn themselves out and I can get some decent measurements now.”

You stop looking at the screen to drink in the rapturous look upon Pero’s face. His face losing the gruff grimace it usually carries as a shield against the world- he just stares at the screen with his mouth agape - the corners slightly curling up in the most innocent of smiles. Blinking hard, he reverently chuckles in your ear, “Pobrecito has my nose.”

“I love your nose. Well, until you decide to snore,” you wink, “It’s going to be in stereo soon isn’t it?”

✪✪✪✪✪

Manoeuvring your way through your narrow hallway has become something of the Krypton Factor - a labyrinthine puzzle that at eight and half months pregnant, you don’t have the energy to solve. It feels as though, if you stood sideways on with your back against one wall, your tummy would touch the other side.

“Fucking coats! How the fuck do we have so many fucking coats when it’s only two of us?” You grumble as you squeeze yourself through the hallway causing several to fall to the floor, from where you will certainly not be picking them up.

“Bienvenida a casa, querida,” You hear Pero mutter beneath his breath.

“What was that, darling?” you sarcastically shout back.

“I was just asking how your last day at work was, my love,” you look up from the chaos your tummy has caused to find Pero crossing his arms and leaning into the doorway of your living room, a mischievous grin upon his face.

“What’ve you been up to?” You narrow your eyes at the smile - how dare he find anything remotely amusing as you lug around his bloody heffalump of a child.

Pero’s dark curls shake back and forth at you, “Nothing malicious, querida - dinner’s ready when you are.”

Walking into the bedroom, the sight takes your breath away. The bedside crib has been put up and is ready to be fixed to the side of the bed with the blanket Jimena crocheted for the baby on top. Your hospital bag is packed and poised silently by the bottom of the crib. Mountainous piles of baby clothes bought by your family and friends have all been washed and folded away into baskets on top of the chest of drawers. You sit on the edge of the bed where your pjs have been laid out on the bed in readiness for your arrival home.

“Are you coming thr… Oh querida, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” clasping his large hand around the back of your head, he pulls you side on into his neck, “I just wanted to make you feel like you could totally rest until this baby decides to grace us with its presence. Maybe even read a book from your comfort pile of things to read?”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so grumpy,” you swipe at your eyes with your sleeves, “Everything hurts - my ankles feel so swollen that it almost feels like I’m walking in jelly with the amount of water retention there. I want to give an eviction notice to the baby because they are massively outgrowing their housing. I’ve just felt fidgety and grumpy all day - I don’t know what’s wrong with me. And I almost peed myself today as I didn’t realise that the loo lid had been put down in the bathroom at work as I can’t see anything below my boobs and belly.”

“You have had to put up with my grumpiness for what is it, four and a half years,” he strokes the saltiness away from your cheeks, “And I wasn’t pregnant for any of that. Just a grumpy old fool.”

He places a kiss into your hair before breaking away from your body to make a backrest from one of your pregnancy pillows. Helping you up from the bed, Pero lifts your jumper over your head and helps you pull your jersey trousers down before balling up and throwing them into the washing basket.

You pretend to give him a football commentary on getting them into the basket, “He shoots! He scores!”

Patting your tummy, he winks before adding, “I have previous…”

You hit him on the shoulder as he playfully tries to jump out of your reach, “Where do you want me, tonto?”

“Thought you’d never ask, hermosa,” Pero winks at you, to which your eyes roll so hard you almost see your optic nerve, “Get yourself as comfy as you can up here. Hey, I said as you can - I know you’re struggling, hermosa.”

Huffing and puffing your way clumsily to the middle of the bed, you nestle into the pillows Pero has arranged at the top of the bed. Squeezing out some of the lavender and rose cream from your bedside table, he takes one of your feet in his hands - rubbing the top from your toes towards your leg where he makes tiny delicious circles around your ankle. You cannot help but groan indecently as he digs his thumbs into the soles of your feet, beneath your toes.

“This is perhaps the one thing I will take away from those fucking awful Antenatal classes. How to create exquisite sounds from your partner through their feet,” Pero chuckles, smiling up at you through his eyelashes.

A sudden twinge in your tummy makes you jerk up with a start causing Pero to drop your foot in surprise, “Hermosa, are you okay? Braxton Hicks?”

“Yeah, I’m fine but no, that didn’t feel like a Braxton Hicks,” your nose scrunches as the sensation starts to subside, “It felt a bit more like period pain. I dunno, probably stood too much today and my body is complaining - either way, you’re slacking in your duties. Get back to work.”

“I’m doing this for five more minutes and then you’re eating dinner,” Pero wags his finger at you - to which you stick out your tongue and cross your eyes at him.

As he finishes up your other foot, you can’t help but smile at how his tongue pokes out between his teeth as he rubs his thumbs back and forth over your heel. Getting up, he wipes his hands on the towel hanging over the door before offering you a hand to your feet.

“Come on, let’s get some food in you,” he pats you on your bum as he nudges you in the direction of the dining table, “I made arroz al horno with lots of morcilla so you have lots of iron in you.”

“Mmm sounds good, although I’m not sure I have any room to spare even though my bump dropped yesterday,” you shout back towards the kitchen, kicking the inflated gym ball out of your way.

Ouch-

Another tightening that travels from your spine to the front of your tummy. Beneath your fingers, you feel your bump tighten and another dull ache spread through you. Looking at your watch, you realise that it’s been roughly five minutes since the first one.

Hmmm-

“You ok, cariño? You look deep in thought,” Pero places a heaped plate in front of you upon the table.

Nodding and grinning at him, you take a mouthful of food before half spitting it out as another ripples through your body.

“Querida, what is going on?” Pero’s eyes fill with concern, “Did I make it too spicy? I only put in a teaspoon of chilli flakes.”

“Just having some small twinges. Probably false labour pains,” you mention, loading up your fork with pork belly and rice.

Pero’s forehead furrows, his loaded fork poised at the side of his mouth, “How far apart?”

“Hah, never seen a forkful of food not make it to your mouth before,” you attempt to joke, dropping your teasing when you see the glower, “Roughly every five minutes but I’ve only had like three of them so it’s not time to do anything yet.”

“I’m going to ring the midwife,” Pero places his cutlery back down upon his plate, pushing his chair back from the table.

“Pero, you’re overreac…Oof!” the intensity of this one takes your breath away, making you grip the table edge until it starts to subside. “Yeah. Go ring the midwife.”

His face changes before your eyes - the concern is now mixed with a layer of excitement, as he bends over to kiss you deeply. You both take a moment just resting your foreheads against each other, Pero’s hands resting on your bump, as you muse, “You know, this might be the last time it’s just the two of us.”

✪✪✪✪✪

“Yes, labour has started but you’ve got a good while ahead of you yet, I’m afraid. You’re only 3.5cm dilated at the moment so the best idea is for you to go home, relax and try to sleep,” the midwife reassures you as she pats you on your shoulder. “When you start making a sound like you’re mooing or your waters go, come back and see us.”

Pero helps you pull your knickers back up after the exam and you can’t help but laugh and that’s it. You are giggling and contracting - desperately trying to hold your tummy as if a big laugh could suddenly expel your child. The midwife and Pero both look at you as if you’ve completely lost it so between contractions and cackles you manage to huff out, “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever put underwear on me and given the situation, it just really made me laugh!”

“Loquita,” Pero shakes his head, grinning as he slides your shoes back on.

“No, keep her laughing! Have sex if you feel up to it, lots of cuddling and go for a walk - it’ll all help that baby come Earth-side sooner,” the midwife recommends as they gather up your notes to hand them back to you.

As they whisk the curtain back, Pero leans in, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear, “You heard that - prescribed sex.”

You wallop him across his chest with the back of your hand, “Cheeky fucker.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Surrounded in a pile of pillows, you wriggle through the steadily increasing contractions - rubbing your tummy and breathing deeply. On your bedside table, Pero has laid out sweets, biscuits, a flask of tea and water. Everything except the loo, which you currently need. Doing an epic crocodile roll, you manage to spin yourself to a point where your feet hit the floor - now to just lift the top half of your body up.

“Do you need help, querida?” a voice thick with sleep mutters from the other side of the pillow nest.

“Just need a wee. Managed to get my legs down but am struggling to get my top half up.”

Pero rolls himself out of bed not too dissimilar to how you’re trying to get up. When awoken from a bleary eyed sleep, his long limbs remind you of a newborn foal with a similar amount of grace.

Having helped around the Tovar home with the endless amount of kids and when Jimena took in both hers and Pablo’s parents, Pero has a tremendous amount of time and patience for those who need him. As he gets you steady on your feet, a massive amount of pressure ripples across your tummy making you gasp and lean forward into him. As the contraction fades, you realise that you are both standing in a small puddle of water.

“Shit. Did I just pee myself? I am so sorry.”

“Hermosa, that doesn’t smell like pee. I think we should head back to the hospital,” Pero scratches the hair at the base of your neck, “Even if it was, you have nothing to apologise about.”

“Can you help me change my jammies?”

“Of course, cielito,” as he turns towards the drawers another contraction unfurls itself and forces you to your knees, “Okay, um, mierda. Um, pyjamas, bag and car.”

Having helped you into a clean, dry pair of pjs between contractions, Pero grabs your bag and the car keys and heads towards the front door to bring the car around. The door reopens only seconds later to the sounds of a cursing Spaniard.

“Pinche tonto del culo! Fucking idiot! Forgot my fucking shoes!”

✪✪✪✪✪

“Yup, 7.5cm. You have done so well to get this far at home for a first time mum,” the midwife grins at you.

“It hurts,” You breathlessly grimace through gritted teeth as your stomach twists and squeezes.

“Certainly smarts a bit, doesn’t it? But listen, afterwards there is so little you remember of this bit as otherwise, what idiot would do it again?” the midwife sets down their paperwork on the side, “I started running the water for the pool as soon as your partner rang through and it’s ready for you now, would you like to get in?”

You nod and feel Pero’s large, capable hands at the hem of your pj top, starting to peel them away from your sweat soaked skin. At the sensation of his fingers upon you, the tension seeps away from your body. Freeing you from your pyjamas, he gently guides you towards the water and albeit for the midwife, it might as well just be the two of you in that room.

Sinking into the water, the relief is almost instantaneous as gravity releases its clutches on you. Along with the gas and air, you feel yourself zoning out between the contractions. Pero quietly sits on the side of the pool, stroking whatever part he can reach of you as your body coils, twists and turns with each contraction.

✪✪✪✪✪

Getting into the pool caused everything to slow down. For three hours, you’d remained at a stubborn 8cm - steadily becoming more furious with your body for not progressing and putting that goddamn baby in your arms. The most recent check left you sobbing salty tears of frustration into the water around you.

“I have an idea - feel free to say no but I can see how much you relax when Pero touches you. What if he got into the water with you?” the midwife gently suggests.

A snotty nod from you has Pero stripping off his Henley and PJ bottoms and sliding in the water behind you. His arms wrap around you, giving you something solid to anchor on to.

“I’ve got you, hermosa. My beautiful, clever girl. I know you can do this.

“Your mum and my mama are currently watching films in your mum’s campervan out in the car park. Last time I checked on them, they were watching Casablanca and blaming their teary eyes on the love story. But I know that’s not true. They’re in here with you. Helping our baby be born.”

With those tender words uttered in your ear and the rock solid warmth of Pero against your back, something shifts inside of you. From your mouth what can only be described as a bellow breaks forth. You catch a massive grin break out across the midwife’s face, “Perfect, keep going Pero. Sweetheart, you’re transitioning. This is the last bit before you push.”

“Querida, I know I offered for you to catch up with a book in the supposed two weeks we thought we had but when the three of us go home, while you’re feeding the baby, I will read to you. We can all just get to know each other on our bed and instead of The Gruffalo, our baby can hear some magic realism instead.

“Remember how on the first night we met, you told me how you loved my constellation of freckles at the base of my throat? Well soon, we’ll get to know all the marks on our baby. Whether they have any stork kisses or birthmarks.”

✪✪✪✪✪

“¡Puje, mi cariño, puje! Push, my darling, push!”

You’re not entirely in the room as you use every last iota of energy to push your baby out. Pero’s and the midwife’s voices drift around you - in and out of focus as you travel up to the stars to collect your baby.

A hot, searing pain threatens to tear you in two as you hear the midwife’s calming words, “The head is almost out. Three more pushes and this baby will be in your arms.”

For the next five minutes you are almost stunned with the pain tearing through you. Physically and mentally, Pero supports and guides you in your ear, “Una vez más puje con fuerza, mi amor. One more big push, my love!”

With one final push, you roar, “GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Collapsing forward onto the side of the birthing tub, into your arm you whimper, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Then.

Then there is a baby crying.

Your baby is crying, clutched tightly in his daddy’s arms.

You’re not entirely sure who is crying louder - the father or his child who has just been born.

“You did it, mi amor,” Pero openly sobs as he passes you the only other piece of evidence from the broken sofa. Your baby.

A furious little boy is placed in your arms.His nose and the maker’s mark upon his lip are definitely his father’s but his eyes are yours.

“Hello baby. I’m your mami.”

✪✪✪✪✪

With all three of you dried off and some quick observations made of your son, your newly expanded family moves over to the double bed in the room. Your baby has only been held by Pero and you - the midwife unwilling to break that bond, only touching your son when absolutely necessary.

Of course, every touch of your new arrival is accompanied with a glower from Pero. In fact, you’ve noticed him frowning every time they touch you too. Even as she helped to deliver your placenta and checked for tears, you couldn’t help but giggle at the two furious Spanish boys - one howling as the other is scowling- across the room from you.

“Hermosa, I think he might be hungry,” Pero observes as he kisses your shoulder.

The midwife looks up from their paperwork, “Have you thought about how you will feed your baby?”

“I want to try breastfeeding,” you respond, “Not really sure where to start though.”

“I’ve finished here, so let’s try a breast crawl.”

You look over at Pero utterly perplexed, and the midwife adds, “Okay papi, I want you to place your baby on mami’s tummy. He should make his own way to the breast.”

Pero places the baby onto your still rounded stomach, just between your breasts - tummy to tummy, you watch as he starts nuzzling, licking and needling at your skin, desperately seeking out your nipple.

“He’s dribbling,” Pero grins proudly into the skin of your neck, “Just like his papa when it comes to food.”

“And boobs,” you chuckle as you kiss his forehead.

You both watch open-mouthed as your son mouths and wriggles his way over to your nipple - his mouth gradually opening wider and his head tilting towards it.

“Come on, chiquito. You can do it,” Pero cheers his son on quietly, “Cariño, he’s managed to squeeze some milk from you and is lapping it like a gatito.”

The midwife looks over and smiles, “That’s colostrum - it’s like full fat milk on steroids. Imagine the best milkshake from your favourite burger place with added vitamins. It replaces all the energy they lost as they deliver themselves.”

“Didn’t feel like he was helping,” you grumble.

A throaty chuckle vibrates in your hair, “You were incredible, mi reina. I’ve always known you were strong but that was incredible.”

And just like that, he latches. The strangest sensation flows through your breast - like a thousand tiny magnets have attracted the two of you together. It’s like a tapping sensation travelling through your nipple as he happily suckles from you, needling his minuscule fingers into your breast tissue.

You become aware of a trickling from your other breast, “Oh no, I’m leaking.”

“We can collect that, if you want? Daddy can then feed him later while you have a shower or sleep.” You nod gratefully at the midwife’s words, only looking up as the door shuts behind them.

“My brilliant girl. Look what you created. Sheer perfection,” Pero strokes the thick tuft of jet black hair upon the baby’s head, “Have you got any ideas about what we should name him?”

“I wondered if we should name him after your great grandad Javier, who fought against the Franco regime? The one that we found out fought alongside my Welsh great grandad.”

“Two farmers who fought fascists. A tremendous namesake and perhaps we could use your great grandpa's name - Dylan- as a middle name. Papá will be very proud,” he agrees as his lip trembles.

“Javier Dylan Tovar - that suits him perfectly,” as you mention his name, he disengages from your breast utterly milk-drunk with a sleepy, gassy smile upon his rosebud lips - his tongue still wiggling as if he was still feeding, “I think he likes it too.”

Pero brings his finger to turn your face towards him, tilting his head to kiss you deeply. As he pulls away, you hum with happiness - your eyes not quite reopening as you sink back into the pillows. Pero’s prickly chin rubs against your skin as he nuzzles into your cheek, gazing down over your shoulder at his tiny, wrinkly newborn son. Little Javier Dylan Tovar born two weeks early, who lies cradled between your breasts using your heartbeat as a lullaby.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Two cups of finest NHS tea and some biscuits for you both,” the midwife offers as they re-enter the room, “There are also two charming ladies offering us quite a spread of food in the waiting room. I think they’d love to meet the new addition but I can hold them off until you’re ready.”

“Oh, they decamped from the campervan in the car park?” Pero chuckles.

“Our mums were in the camper?” your eyes fly open at this information.

“Do you not remember? I told you when I got in the pool whilst you were delivering Javier,” he questions as you shake your head at him wide eyed.

“Nope,” you pop the p, shaking your head at your lack of memory, “I know you caught Javi, but I don’t actually remember you being in the pool with me.”

“Told you that you’d forget,” the midwife smiles kindly at you, “Now about the granny and abuela out there - want me to hold them off or are you ready for visitors?”

“Let them in,” you stroke the velvety, wrinkly skin on Javi’s back before sending a look - that look - at Pero.

Jimena strides into the room first with that look of fierce pride upon her face that you know so well, her mouth slightly twitching as she takes in the three of you lying together on the bed, “Felicidades mijos. We won’t stay long. Just needed to see that you were both ok.”

“Pero, les traje ropa limpia y hay comida aquí para los dos, Pero, I brought you clean clothes and there’s food in here for you both,” half the height of her son, Jimena seemingly towers over him, “Mijo, qué pasa?”

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he buries his head in his mum’s shoulder, “Mamá, gracias por todo.”

Ruffling and kissing her son’s hair, Jimena hugs him back as tightly, letting his tears soak into her shirt.

Your mum gradually edges her way forward, “Who’s this?”

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you - I’m your daughter,” You teasingly hold out your hand.

“I see becoming a parent hasn’t quelled the sarcastic streak,” your mum rolls her eyes at you, “Do you have a name yet?”

You nod hard at her, “This is Javier Dylan Tovar.”

“Oh, beautiful family names,” she reaches over and strokes your cheek.

“Would either of you like a cuddle?” you offer the grannies.

“Well, I already have a baby giving me a cuddle,” Jimena ruffles Pero’s curls, “I will wait until you’re out of hospital. This time is so important for you to bond as a family. We will be there when you are home.”

“Same here, baby. I popped into your home and just made sure everything is ready for you. When you’re home, Jimena and I will be ready to play the proud grannies and let you and Pero eat, shower and sleep.”

“Come on, let’s leave them to it,” Jimena pats Pero’s arms, kissing him on the forehead as she goes to grab her bag.

You feel Javi start to stir and start to edge towards your other breast as Pero tucks himself back in around you both, his breathing becoming steadier. Eyes growing heavy, you hear the midwife re-enter the room and manage to pick out some of the chatter between the two mums and nurse as you begin to drift.

“You know my couch broke when they stayed, Jimena?” You hear your mum mutter, “Did some maths the other day. Not sure the dog did it.”

A chuckle breaks out between the three of them only broken by Jimena’s voice, “Little Javier is a worthy replacement.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Little Bones 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness.

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: Another random update of a series for y’all as I toil away at drabbles in between!

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Your skin crawled as you walked to work the next morning. The memories of the night before made you cringe and tuck your chin down as you kept your eyes ahead of you. You feared if you looked around, you might summon the incessant biker from his hole.

The library was as empty as any other day and you claimed your seat at the curved desk. You booted up and sipped from your thermos, the coffee bitter on your tongue as you watched Melissa appear from the non-fiction section. She sat in her own chair and yawned as she signed on.

The monotony of Birch was sobering after the night in the dank bar. The bikers and their own little world, a microcosm of the worst types all in one place. You went about your usual tasks, there were a few returns on the cart to put back on the shelves and you walked the shelves and checked for out of order codes.

The hours slaked by like the peaks of a mountain against ancient gales. The stale lights made the days stretch to tedium and the grey without added to the sense of listlessness. Colin’s low snores escaped the back room and Melissa sorted through bent paperbacks in a far aisle to put out for the Sunday penny sale.

As the windows darkened, Colin gave his usual grumbled farewell and further mussed his wavy hair as he tried to smooth it out. It didn’t matter much as he covered it with the old faded Leafs toque and left through the automatic doors. His shadow was soon followed by Melissa as she looked forward to seeing her daughter and watching some new program on the local channel.

You were the last as you walked the aisles before final lock-up. The automatic doors were off as you checked for unlikely stragglers. You came back to the round desk and flipped off the lights for all but the entry way and the back office. You pushed open the door and locked the outside ones with a jangle of keys. As you turned back, you gripped the big key to the back door and shook your head.

You stepped through the space between the inner doors and stared at the man behind your desk. He sat in your chair, your purse sat before him on the counter as he shoved a large hand inside. You crossed your arms and watched Thor as he pulled out your coral coloured wallet and unsnapped it.

“What are you doing?” You asked harshly. “How did you get in here?”

He snickered and pulled out a card and lifted it up to look at it closely. He leaned back and flicked it with his thumb. “I knew you were a city girl.” He said.

“Get out. We’re closed.”

“Sorry, I’m late. I’m a busy man.” He slid the card back in place and searched the rest, uninterested by the few bills inside the fold and your various reward cards and outdated alumni ID.

“Late? You don’t seem the reading type. We don’t have that many audiobooks.” You neared and grabbed the other handle of your purse. “There’s an app for that now.”

Again, he laughed and dropped your wallet into the depths of your purse. He released it and pushed his shoulders back as you dragged the bag off the desk. He tilted his head and held up your phone in its shiny lavender case. He smirked as the screen lit up and he swiped it open. You never should have added the library as a trusted location.

“Hmm,” he turned it to face him and scrolled with his thumb, “I think you’re missing a number in here.”

“Give it.” You reached for the phone and he held it away from you like some annoying teenager. “Hey… Thor! Give me it. It’s mine!”

His blonde lashes flashed and he looked at you with delight. “Oooh, I love it when you say my name.”

“Stop. You can’t be in here and you certainly can’t--”

You swiped for the phone again and he caught your arm. He yanked you so hard you almost left the floor and you dropped your purse and keys. He held you over the counter as he twisted your wrist just a little.

“And who exactly is going to make me leave?”

He kept his thick fingers locked around your wrist as he searched your phone. You struggled with him but it only sent a violent jolt up to your elbow.

“I can do whatever I want and you can’t do anything to stop me. In fact, there’s no one in this town who can.” His jaw clenched and he locked your phone. “Well, kitten, I’m going to hold onto this.” He let go of you and stood as you retracted your arm and rubbed your sore wrist. “And when you want to be a good girl for me, you can come find me and ask for it nicely.”

“Ask? You’re crazy. It’s mine. You’re--” you sputtered.

You swallowed as his hand balled to a fist and his brow twitched. It was the first hint of anything but amusement. It was much more troubling, a slight tell. He was angry.

“I’ve been nice, kitten. I like you and your claws but don’t scratch too deep.” He warned as he backed away. “I’ll see my way out unless of course… you would take me up on my offer from last night.”

“Go. Keep the fucking phone.” You snarled and reached for your purse and the keys.

You stood and watched as he ran his tongue just below his teeth and turned away. He snaked his way through the back office and you heard the heavy metal door whine in his stead. You locked the inner doors and grabbed your jacket from the rack.

You went to the same door and hit the lights. You activated the security system and stepped out with a cautious look around the vacant parking lot. You locked the door and headed around the side of the brick building and out into the glow of the streetlights.

You could get a new phone, that was nothing, just a chunk out of your check. He could search your contacts, your apps, your phones, he’d find nothing but the pathetic life of a thirtysomething wash out. That wasn’t what worried you.

He was watching you. He had to be. He knew when you were alone and he knew how to get in. You might not see him but you were certain he could see you. You shivered and pulled your hate over your head and puffed out a cloud.

💀

You went home angry but slightly addled from the encounter. You watched over your shoulder the entire way home and locked your door with the tarnished chain. You found it hard to settle as you debated marching over to the bar and demanding your phone back and opening the wine you hadn’t touched since your impulsive purchase. You really hated Thor but you knew you could push him much further before he did something much worse.

You ignored your wrath and ate your dinner in front of the television before hiding under your covers and watching the snowfall until you fell asleep. Every night was as dull as the one before and the morning always came too quickly.

You woke and readied for your day with a cup of home-brewed Colombian roast and packed your lunch. You searched for your phone for two seconds before you remembered where it was. Your neck prickled as you thought of Thor with access to all your information and the barren social media accounts.

The snow was even deeper that day and you fought through the thick carpet. The library felt twice as far by the time you reached it and you were panting as you entered and shook off the powder. You took your usual spot at the usual time with your usual thermos and usual disillusion.

You whiled away the hours without the distraction of your phone. You realised how easily this man could torture you and not even be in the same place as you. You went searching in the aisles for something to do and scraped the gum off the bottom of the tables. A disgusting task but work nonetheless.

When the end of the day came, you were all too happy to go home and hide under your duvet with a tea and a sitcom. You hated this. You would go to the city and get a new phone if you had too. God, how much would that cost?

💀

The days slogged by and on your first free day, you were too tired to make the drive out of town. You resigned to your procrastination, instead taking a short walk down the main street to Babs’. Your usual order, but cinnamon instead of caramel in your latte, and a scone to enjoy at home.

The snow remained as thick as days before. You looked out the bakery window in dread as you awaited your order at the end of the counter. You still caught yourself reaching for your phone. If you waited too long, you might not even be able to make it into the city. Well, you could always order something online.

The door chimed as Steve’s girl came to the other side of the counter and placed your latte out for you. She smiled and you thanked her but her eyes rounded as you heard boots come close. You turned, barely surprised by the man who was better described as your shadow those days.

Since his visit to the library, Thor had made himself known in several instances, every day as you walked home he was outside the asp, watching. Other times, he’d be waiting by the steps of the library, mocking you silent as he pulled out your phone. You had too much pride to ask for it back and you knew that it would take more than asking.

You tried to sidestep him and he blocked your path. The foam pushed out through the hole in the plastic lid and you sighed.

“What do you want?” you hissed.

“I should ask you. I don’t know many girls these days can go days without their lifeline,” he taunted, “You know, it’s dangerous how much of ourselves we keep on these little things.”

He patted his jacket where he no doubt had your phone hidden. You looked down at your latte and thought of popping the lid off and tossing it at him. That wouldn’t be any good. You shrugged and looked past him.

“I gotta go--”

“Is there anything I can get you, Thor?” Steve’s girl eked out as if her voice could barely fit through her windpipe.

“I’ve come for something sweet but I think I found it,” he smirked, his eyes stuck to you.

“Give it up,” you scoffed and elbowed past him. He chuckled and followed you to the door as you sped up, your treads squeaking on the salt-stained floor.

“On you? Never,” he purred as you pulled the door open and he caught it behind you.

“You can break the phone for all I care,” you snarled, “just leave me alone.”

He kept up with you as flakes gathered on your scarf and you peered down the street and ran across. His boots crunched in time with yours as he lingered in your peripheral. You spun as you came to a stop on the other side and scowled.

“Jesus, I thought dogs were supposed to be obedient,” you snapped.

“I can be,” he winked and reached to brush the snow from the hair poking out from under your cap, “I’ll gladly get to my knees for you, kitten.”

You snapped at his hand and he pulled away with a surprised laugh. You gritted your teeth and took a step back.

“I won’t tell you again and I’m getting real tired of this.”

“You keep forgetting who you’re meowing at, kitten,” he stepped closer and you backed away again.

You turned and flitted away from him. You had not planned for him in your day off and you weren’t going to let him ruin it. You wanted to go home and enjoy your coffee, alone. However, that meant leading him to your front door. You stopped again.

“Go,” you pointed across the street at the Asp, the town’s marquee.

“Oh, kitten, you’re so cute,” he tugged on your scarf and you swatted him away.

“Alright, that’s it!” you smashed your cup against his chest and the hot liquid steamed as it splashed across his front and dripped down his leather jacket.

He held out his arms as he looked down at himself and slowly back to you. His blue eyes dilated as the ends of his golden hair sopped with caffeine. It was too late to apologize, too futile. You sputtered and quickly turned away.

You were thankful when you didn’t hear him behind you. You stopped and peaked back at the corner of the next side street. He watched you still and even at a distance you could see his rage.

If you hoped he’d lose interest, that optimism was dead.

💀

A snow storm stagnated the already stale town and you could guess that the highway was even worse. You could replace your sim online but that would take at least a week to arrive and with the weather, likely longer. It might be quicker to wait out the blizzard. You stayed in limbo, reluctant to pull the trigger.

You kept to your apartment for the rest of the weekend, with no reason or want to leave. On your way, you didn’t see him. You sighted a few figures through the falling powder but they were faces familiar to the streets. You kept an eye over your shoulder, glancing around every few steps.

You avoided the cafe. He might look for you there, he might even be waiting for you. You sat down at your desk but felt out of place. He could walk through those doors like he had only days before. He could taunt you and tease you. What made you so antsy was that he could do worse than that. You knew it but you’d let your temper get the best of you. A wasted latte might have cost you everything.

By the end of your shift, it was decided. You were leaving Birch. No one could know until you were gone. Not Melissa, not Colin, no one. You old all-weathers would have to get you down the highway, just to the city so you could lose yourself there until you had a real plan. Even as the snow piled higher and higher, there could be no delay. You’d waited long enough.

Paranoid, you were certain you’d be met again on your path home. The town was dead as the soft blanket covered the ground. The flakes turned to mounds and the tops of your boots let in errant clumps of snow. The store may as well been closed for the day, the library had been little different but its lethargy was expected. Even The Asp seemed to have dulled with the pale gusts.

You packed a bag. One. The apartment came furnished and you never cared much for miscellany. Anything you left behind was replaceable. You went down the back stairs and cleaned off your small Focus. Used but reliable. You were out of breath as you climbed into the driver’s seat and threw the brush in the back.

You drove carefully down the side streets, snaking around as you knew the main fair would give away your escape. You stopped at the sign that pointed to the highway ramp and wondered.

What if he had got the clue? What if you were running from nothing?

You remember the look in his eye and shivered. No, that glimmer assured you that return to your mother’s was as wise as it would be torturous. You followed the arrow and took the curve steadily with your foot planted on the gas. The traffic was slow and cautious as headlights were barely visible through the snowfall.

You gripped the wheel tightly and let out a breath. You would be gone before he knew. You’d get a new phone, a new job, a new life. Even if it was just pay-as-go, a McDonald’s visor, and your mother’s couch for a while. What good was a job in a place like Birch anyway? Just as good as your irrelevant degree.

You were startled and nearly lost control as a set of lights appeared behind you in the next lane. They were dangerously close to dinging your rear bumper as the reckless driver took a u-turn right before the upcoming barriers. You wrinkled your brow as you glared at them through the white haze. What kind of maniac was pulling shit like that in this weather?

And then, they did hit you. A nudge but enough to send you veering in the thick lines of snow. You clutched the wheel and tried to steer into it, tried to right yourself as you were knocked again. Your heart was in your throat as the engine revved and you hit your brakes, not knowing what else to do as a third collision came.

You spun out and hit the cement wall along the far lane, narrowly missing another car as it pulled ahead. You stilled, your seatbelt saving your face from a smack against the wheel, and stared down the highway as you stared at oncoming traffic. You were completely turned around on the arm.

You caught your breath and reached for your purse. Fuck, you had no phone. What was that asshole thinking? It didn’t seem like an accident.

The car that had bullied you into a crash pulled up along the barrier. You watched in the rear view as the barely visible tail lights glowed and a dark figure appeared between the car and the concrete. You squinted as the man neared, a long coat flapped around his tall figure as he held his hand to his face.

He came up beside your car as you heard his voice muffled through the glass and tapped on your window. He bent and knocked again as you shot him the finger. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind. You rolled down the window with the manual crank and growled, “what the fuck!?”

“Can I have your name, darling?” he asked in a sinisterly familiar accent.

“Screw you! You almost killed me!”

He turned his phone out as you screeched at him and quickly put it back to his ear, “that sound like her?”

A deep voice rumbled in the speaker and the dark-hair man nodded as he shielded his face from the blowing snow, “you owe me, brother.”

“Who the fuck are you?” you spat and reached to your glovebox. You grabbed the heavy flashlight and swung it at him, “get away--”

He caught with a leather-gloved hand and glared back at you. He tucked away the phone in his jacket. His nostrils flared and his green irises caught fire.

“Let’s not do this, darling,” he warned, “my brother has given me clearance to use whatever force necessary…” he pushed the button and pulled open your door as he wrenched away the metal flashlight, “and while he seems the bigger brute, I assure you his cruelty cannot match mine.”

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levi-my-beloved · 3 years

Text

Birds of a Feather

Chapter one

Pairings: Canon!Levi x F!reader

Content warnings: violence, swearing

Word count: 4K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in the Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened to be Humanity’s Strongest… and your ex.

A/N: asdfghjkl hello there. so, this has been on my brain for a while now, so i started this as just a drabble. what i thought would stay as just a drabble turned into this 22k+ multi chapter fic because i have zero self restraint or self respect. i’m currently finishing chapter 5 as this is being posted, but i want to keep chapters posted around once every two weeks so i can keep up with the workload. maybe once a week if i start feeling spicy. yeah plot twist this is actually the second time i’ve drafted this up. the first time i managed to get everything done and in order and then manages to delete the entire post with my huge disgusting thumbs. Genuinely felt like crying for a good half an hour.

This is also my first Levi fic! yay! lmk if it sucks and idk i’ll cry or something. nah, in all seriousness please send me criticism cuz i really want to improve and critiques are the best way.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

“How down, Raven?”

“Six feet.”

Within the dank confines of a stinking alleyway, two green capes marked with the Military Police insignia crept ever closer to the taller, run-down building upon which you and your little squad of Shadows were now perched. No sunlight illuminated your position. Not that you’d ever seen the sun, or know what it even looked like, but you based your guesses upon the pathetic rays shining through the grates littering the ceiling of the Underground City.

The language you used with your Shadows, coded words translated to:

‘How do you want them to be dealt with?’

‘Death.’

It was something developed by your late guardian and mentor, Viper. See, you all had aliases in The Nest, your criminal organisation. The leader was often referred to as The Raven, however your mentor preferred to use his own nickname, stemming from his own reputation.

Then come the aliases for your Shadows. Prongs was your second, a tall, stern looking man with the black mask of a stag settled across his features.

Then came Wolf, and you swore the first time you’d set eyes on him, you thought a titan had wandered into the city. He was enormous, all 6ft 6ins of him carved in hard muscle. Slicked back silver hair and a beard that to rival a bear. Similar to Prongs, a mask sat upon his face, resembling that of a snarling wolf.

Following him was Verdant, Scales and Diablo. Your power trio. Though their special talents lay in different professions, get these three together and they were borderline unstoppable. A white mask decorated with three broad maple leaves obscured Verdant’s pretty features, Scales sported a bronze half mask etched with a snake-like diamond pattern, whilst Diablo, your trained escort, had opted for something that accentuated her own gorgeous features, a mask of black leather arcing high onto her brow on the left side, whilst the right arced low by her jaw. Though you were already spoken for, you couldn’t deny the beauty of Diablo. She did wonders when prying information between the legs of a moaning MP.

To your left crouched the twins, Una and Leaf. Una was gifted her name by none other than you yourself, after seeing her accuracy with a rifle. A single shot was all it took, from any distance. She wore no mask, something you’d allowed simply because she’d complained about the sight obstruction when lining up a shot. You’d agreed, but only under the condition that she wore a low hood. Her fiercely protective brother Leaf had chewed you out for that, but you knew he meant well. Leaf was good at what he did, excellent, in fact. Which was part of the reason you kept him on as a Shadow. The larger part was that you were damn fond of him. Of all of them, in fact. You loved every single one of your Shadows. Every single damned member of The Nest, you adored. You were their leader, afterall.

A masked helmet of black leather, similar material to Diablo’s, perched snug upon your own features. The hooked beak and obsidian feathers of a raven decorated the necessity, covering your face and hair, though leaving your lower features visible. It was a rite of passage, for you especially, and it signalled the start of your leadership.

“Una, set up. Verdant, Prongs, roundabout. Wolf…” your eyes slid to the giant man on your right, a dark smile slicing across your mouth. “Heel.”

The boulder of a man visibly sagged, clearly disappointed at your orders whilst the others sprang into action. Prongs and Verdant leapt across the rooftops in separate directions whilst Una removed her rifle from her back, parting her heavy cloak to reveal rounds and rounds of bullets strapped across her body. Leaf nestled closer into her side, whilst the other four took a step back. It was obvious you’d all been at this for a very long time, despite the twins not looking a day older than sixteen. In fact, most of your squad was younger than you, save for Wolf and Prongs, who had served their respective roles twice previously.

Sitting back on your heels, you watched your team get to work, the warmth of pride blossoming in your chest. Whilst you knew Prongs and Wolf were already incredibly skilled, the rest had flourished under your leadership. It had been ten years since you’d witnessed MPs put a bullet through your mentor’s skull. Ten long years since you’d taken up leadership and expanded the reaches of The Nest. Honestly, you were pretty proud of yourself, and none more so than when you watched your Shadows do what they do best.

Taking care of unwanted visitors.

Una took aim, resting the butt of her rifle in the crook of her shoulder, staring down the makeshift scope. She would be ready to take care of the two soldiers if either Prongs or Verdant failed to eliminate their targets.

Speaking of which…

That kernel of pride ignited as your (E/C) eyes followed Verdant’s careful, calculating form dropping from the rooftops above the alleyway, in sync with Prong’s own movements. The two assassins swooped with the grace of a stooping hawk, the silver glint of metal caught your eye as they both brandished their blades, before sinking the steel into the necks of the two soldiers. You didn’t need to be closer to see they were both dead. Expert precision. Deadly accuracy. That was why these people were your hand-picked Shadows. And why you were the most formidable gang leader in the Underground City. Your little criminal organisation had expanded into something to rival the killcount of Kenny the Ripper. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

Una lowered her weapon, strapping it back in the buckles between her shoulder blades.

“Finished.” she simply stated, turning back to drop down between the shattered tiles and splintered ceiling beams that marked your entrance and exit to this lookout point.

“Rendezvous back at The Nest,” you ordered flatly, before dropping forward and into the alleyway below.

“Anything?” you ask, a brow raised behind your raven mask as you saunter over. Prongs held up two sets of blades from one of the crimson bodies now gathering dirt and grime. Useless to you as they were, but somebody would definitely find an interest in them. Verdant seemed to be struggling with the straps of whatever gear these mosquitoes used to fly around. You’d never been able to figure out how to use it, but that shit made good money when in doubt. However, your usual buyers had disappeared off the face of the city, and you’d noticed a decline in gear sales since then. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head to Verdant, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s not worth it. The thug trio haven’t been back in years. I doubt they’d return to us now,” you explain softly, prompting the girl to stop her struggles and huff defeatedly. You’re heart ached softly at the thought of him, but you pushed the feeling down.

“Here,” she muttered, handing you another rifle. It seemed to be a newer model, something of an upgrade for Una.

“You did good, Ver. I’m proud of you,” that seemed to immediately lighten the girl’s mood, her eyes shining behind her mask as her mouth widened into a toothy grin.

“Thanks Raven!” she beamed, before scampering off back to The Nest, almost forgetting to take the gun back from your outstretched hand in her haste to make it back and tell everyone she’d received a compliment from you. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence. Rather it only happened once in a blue moon…

A huffed chuckle had your head turning and eyes narrowing to your second in command.

“Can I help you?” you ask, your tone dripping with the poisonous threat of hell if he chose his next words poorly. But Prongs continued to smile ever so slightly, shaking his head.

“Not at all, Raven. It’s just, in the last few years, since you drafted her into the Shadows, she’s really come into her own,” Prongs explained simply, shrugging as she stooped to kick over the now drained corpse, hoping to find anything useful. You bristle ever so slightly. That was something you hated. Compliments. How the fuck were you supposed to respond? You tried to think back to when Viper tried to teach you simple social skills.

“Uh, yeah. She has,” you respond, keeping your features as neutral as you could as you turned away, beginning to trudge back to The Nest.

“I’m serious, Rave. You’ve done incredible things for us. You know Viper would be proud of you. I am too. But…” Prongs trailed off, clearing having something to say but not knowing how to say it.

“Go on. But what?” you pressed, wanting to hear what your second in command had to say.

“Well, don’t you think it’s a bit much? Rave, it’s been years. Eyes have started looking in our direction since those three vanished. You don’t think we should be lying low for a bit? Calming suspicions instead of rousing them?” Prongs offered gently. You knew, deep down, he was right. But some notable gang disappearing hasn’t stopped you before, and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop you now.

“I’ll talk to Scar about it,” even just the mention of your advisor, and wife’s name gave your stomach butterflies. Scarlett Obsidine, your other, and better, half. After the disappearance of a certain dark haired man, Scar was the woman who comforted you, and though you missed him dearly, your heart managed to haphazardly piece itself back together and love all over again.

“Rave, listen—“

“Let’s go,” Prongs closed his mouth, the tone of your voice stating clearly that this matter wasn’t up for discussion. Especially not with him.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“You know he’s right,” you couldn’t help but sigh when your wife’s soft tones calmed your irritated mood. Soft hands gently kneaded at the tense muscles in your shoulders, forcing them to relax as a tired moan escaped your lips. Leaning back, you peer into her shining sapphire eyes, locks of brunette framing your face as she took the sides of your cheeks in her hands and leaned down, softly pecking your lips with her own. You couldn’t help humming a smile against her mouth, reaching up to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away before you could.

“Scaaaaar…” you pout, looking up at her mischievous smirk as she winked playfully.

“(Y/N)...” Scarlett sighed, swinging her legs over your body to sink into your lap, one thumb now caressing one of the most prominent features on your face. A nasty, jagged scar ran down from the the top of your forehead, over your right eye and finishing just past your jaw bone. One (E/C) iris lighter than the other as a result of the old wound. Soft lips chase away the shadows of your past as Scarlett replaced her thumb with her mouth.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to find you dead in some alleyway because you picked a fight you couldn’t win,” a finger poked your chest as she huffed above you, feigning irritation. You roll your eyes, (E/C) landing on your gear now strung across the table. That raven helmet almost calling to you as you shook your head. Disagreeing with your wife was never a good idea, but you were feeling particularly bold this evening.

“Look. So many jobs have opened up recently. We have so many opportunities to make this life more comfortable. More jobs means more money, more money means we can afford the gate toll and actually see the world above ground. And I can finally buy you an actual ring.”. Technically, you two weren’t married. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to perform marriage ceremonies in the underground City? But, it was easier than saying you were devoted to each other in every single way.

Lightly smacking your chest, Scarlett raised herself from your lap with a hefty sigh. “One of these days (Y/N), you’re going to be captured or killed,” she said quietly, unable to meet your eyes. “And then what the hell will I do…?” Scarlett had now completely turned away from you, shoulders hunched. Running a hand down your face, you pick your sore body up from the chair, reaching her in a matter of strides.

“I can’t give this up, Scar. You know that. You knew that when you chose to be with me. You knew The Nest was always going to be my priority,” you held out your arm, hand hovering over her back, not sure whether to comfort her or let her go. The admission almost had her in tears, you could tell by the way her shoulders shook ever so gently.

“You still miss him don’t you?” It was her vulnerable, defeated tone that alerted you to the slight change of topic.

You fell silent, not really knowing how to respond. Yes, of course you missed him. You loved him more than anything. But those days are over, you knew that. You’d cried enough those following nights after his disappearance.

He was probably dead anyway.

“Of course I do,” you wouldn’t lie to her. That wasn’t fair. But you knew the truth was just as painful for her.

“Will I ever be enough? Will I ever be enough to replace him?” the sound of her voice had your heart in pieces. You loved Scarlett. You really did. But your heart wouldn’t let you love her wholly. Part of yourself will always be dedicated to that grumpy kid you’d fallen for all those years ago.

“Scar… I—”

“I know,” she whispered, stepping forward away from your outstretched grasp. “I know,” you watched as the woman you loved, and who loved you, stepped from your shared quarters, hovering in the doorway. “I’m sorry I asked,” she closed the door as she left, leaving you a frustrated, conflicted mess.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“Understood, I’ll bring them in right away. Thank you Niles,” The Commander of the MPs stood opposite Erwin, arms folded. An expression of irritation plastered on his sunken features. Erwin simply sighed, realising Niles was wanting to stay for this seemingly impromptu meeting. With a nod of his head, a cadet rushed off to find the two soldiers mentioned in their little conversation. Being Commander of the Scouts often had its perks, like having cadets around to run errands for him.

Niles cleared his throat, taking a seat on the green leather sofa within Erwin’s office. “You sure he’d help us? I mean, it wasn’t too long ago he actually decided killing you was probably a bad idea.”—he raised a thin brow, peering at Erwin with barely concealed suspicion—“I’m pretty sure the Underground City would be the last place he’d want to return.” a knock at the door cut their conversation short, both turning their heads as Erwin called;

“Enter.”

Hange was the first to make her presence known, poking her head in as she opened the door. A smile adorned the slightly dishevelled section commander, her hair sticking up in all directions. Clearly she had been in the middle of something when Erwin requested her presence.

“You asked to see us, Erwin?” her eyes sparkling with curiosity behind her glasses as she stepped through the door.

“Tch, just make it quick, I have shit to do,” the monotone voice of Levi behind her made Erwin pinch the bridge of his nose. How many times has he told him not to talk to him like that?

“Yes, come in and make yourselves comfortable.” Hange immediately took up a seat next to Niles on the sofa, Levi preferring to stand against the now closed door, arms folded. Erwin’s sharp eyes shifted to Niles, an indication for the MP Commander to speak.

“Well, no point in beating around the bush. We’ve received an anonymous tip about some criminal gang that’s been plaguing my soldiers in the Underground City.” Levi visibly stiffened at the mention of his old home. His jaw tensed in anticipation. There would be only one reason he would be called into such a discussion, and the answer was a firm no.

Without his permission, his mind flashed back to a (H/C) girl, her face etched with that ever mischievous smirk. He quelled the thoughts as quickly as he could. He needed his wits with him, and allowing his mind to wander back to what he’d left behind wouldn’t help anything. Besides, the likelihood of you being alive was close to none.

“Section Commander, I don’t suppose you would have heard of the group but Captain Levi here surely would have done. The Nest.” Niles continued, now eyeing Levi to gage his reaction. And for a man whose emotions were usually on a tight leash, this seemed to be what cracked his impenetrable walls. His eyes flew wide open, frantically searching between Niles and Erwin. They couldn’t be serious. The Nest? That was where Farlan and Isobel used to—

Shit, he really needed to keep his thoughts at bay. But what he did know was that The Nest was an impenetrable fortress of criminal activity. Trying to mess with them was suicide.

“Judging by your reaction, I’m going to assume you are familiar with them, Levi,” Erwin’s surprisingly calm tone eased the growing tension in the room. Taking a subtle breath to calm himself, Levi’s eyes narrowed to his commander.

“Yeah. I know of it. Why?” it was a rhetorical question, he already knew why, but he wanted to hear it from Erwin himself. Hange looked incredibly confused, looking between the men in the office, trying to glean something, anything, about what the hell was going on.

“The Nest? Why are they so bad?” she asked, not afraid to show how completely oblivious she is to anything that doesn’t concern titans or science. Erwin gestured to Levi.

“Levi? Care to explain? You probably know more than myself and Niles combined,” though his voice seemed kind, there was a slight edge to his deep tones. One that didn’t go unnoticed by Levi.

A heavy silence filled the room as the Captain wracked his brain for all the information he could think of regarding the organisation. It seemed like hours before he finally spoke.

“Well, you got one thing right. The Nest is a criminal organisation. A nasty one at that. Merciless bastards. Whether you’re a soldier or a citizen, they don’t give a shit. They’ll leave you a broken, bloodied mess in the street. I don’t know much about their leader. Only that he took over from the previous one around ten-ish years ago. Since then, they’ve expanded their shitty little gang and taken over an entire section of the city,” he explained, poison lacing his tone. It wasn’t that he was above the whole gang thing, oh no. It was more the state Farlan would be in before he left to meet whoever the fuck led that group of demons. He’d never seen his friend so anxious. So afraid.

“You never met him? Their leader?” Erwin inquired, lacing his hands together on the desk in front of him. Levi scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“If I had, I would tell you. But I know he’s smart. And not the good kind of smart. The kind of smart where he would always be ten steps ahead of you. He has a small group of trusted criminals surrounding him at all times, called his Shadows. They’ll be the ones to look out for,” Despite his voice sounding bored, Levi’s heart was racing. They couldn’t seriously be thinking of facing The Nest, could they? But something in the expressions of both Niles and Erwin told him he was wrong. Dead wrong.

“They’ve been picking off my soldiers. Always in the same places as well. I was going to leave it, just tell them to avoid certain areas until this tip. Their next job. We know what it is,” Niles interjected, looking down to the floor, his own mind a whirlwind.

“And you want to intercept them. The same way you did with me, right?” Levi finished through gritted teeth. This was absurd. There was no way they could pick them all off. Unless… that wasn’t the goal. Levi’s grey eyes widened slightly, realising what they wanted to do. Yep, this was total suicide. Hange clapped her hands together almost excitedly, as if she was also able to read Erwin’s mind.

“You want to capture him! The leader! Ah! This all makes so much sense now, I was starting to wonder why I was here,” the scientist mused almost to herself, before jumping to her feet. “This is the perfect opportunity to test some of the concept traps I have in mind. Obviously for titans they’d need to be much, MUCH bigger. And of course a few modifications would have to be made so they could adapt to size and body type but oooooooh this is so exciting! I’ll start right away!'' Without allowing anybody to get a word in edgeways, Hange dashed back to her lab to begin her preparations.

“Thank you Erwin, the Military Police will remember this,” Niles said, before he too was rising from his seat. Throwing Levi an unsure glance, he made his way towards the door, only to be shoved into the hallway by Levi, who promptly closed the door behind him.

“Don’t.” he simply said, turning back to Erwin who was peering at him, his expression puzzled. Levi rolled his eyes again, clearly having to clarify what he meant. “Don’t pursue them. It’s suicide,” The Commander’s expression relaxed slightly in understanding.

“We don’t have a choice, Levi. Not only are hundreds of MPs being slaughtered down there, but relationships between the Scouts and the MPs are strenuous at best. It would be in our best interests to—“

“Bullshit.”

Erwin sighed again, having to hold his tongue. Snapping at Levi now for his language would only rile up the man more.

“Levi, we already have a plan in motion. There are soldiers down there now meeting whoever gave us that anonymous tip to further discuss the job The Nest has taken. It’ll be fine, but you’re going to have to trust me.” Erwin’s eyes bore into Levi’s own, the man once again asking his Captain to trust him in a risky call he’s made. Levi’s done it so many times before, why was it so difficult now?

It took yet another pregnant silence before Levi eventually yielded.

“Fine, but don’t be surprised when we’re once again forced to retreat with our tails between our legs.” it was a savage comment, but one that Erwin didn’t take to heart as he watched the raven haired man leave. Yes, this was a risk, but all his risks so far had worked out fairly well. There was no reason why this one would fail. No reason at all.

Levi leant against the door to Erwin’s office, looking down the hallway before letting loose a long breath. Not only would he have to go toe to toe with The Raven, but he also had to face so much of his past he’d wanted to forget. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. Why did Erwin always have to gamble? It was exhausting for everyone else involved.

Folding his arms, the shorter man strode back to his own office, lost in thought the entire way. Would he see you again? Were you even alive? Did you know just how much he had missed you. Just how much he’d wanted to see you again. To hold you again.

Did you know he’d looked for you? How his heart shattered over and over again each time he found no trace of you. He’d never accepted you were gone. Always holding onto that thorn of hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d survived.

Collapsing in his chair behind his desk, Levi unlocked the bottom draw and gently pulled it out. He delicately picked out a small, ebony bird feather you’d crafted into a quill pen. Even though neither of you knew how to write, you knew back then how much he had wanted to learn despite never voicing it directly. All those nights spent copying out basic letters from discarded newspapers and wanted posters. You always had this way of reading his mind.

The smallest fond smile crept across his usually bored face. God he missed you. It had been years and he still missed you like he only lost you yesterday.

#levi attack on titan #captain levi #snk levi #levi x reader #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot x you #levi x you #levi x y/n #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you

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sor-vette · 3 years

Text

Chapter Eleven | Red Point

At the turn of a new leaf, you find yourself dancing along the knife’s edge. To keep yourself from falling over, you must ask three questions: what do they have, what do they hold dear and how far will they go to make you stay with them?

▶ w/c: 8.0k

▶ warnings: spoken threat of sexual assault, violence, murder

▶ this series’ masterlist

▶ other works

“OPEN THE FUCKING GATES!”

The cedar box in your bag bounces up and down, digging painfully in your sides with every running step. You and Jane rush to your full might, she slightly further away and hurling desperate screams towards the wooden gate that is yet to open. The road was far from easy. A steep, rocky terrain up the mountain, overcast with sneaky brambles stretching on every three steps.

You can hardly hear her pleas over the infuriated screeches of the Shrieks, hot on your tail. They were invisible, hanging in the air like scars of wavy mirage and if one looked through them, they would see the world inverted - distorted and malaligned.

Your shoes are broken and your jacket is thoroughly damp. Even as you run to a worrisome destination, your vision is blurry and wet hair hangs in your eyes as the skies have split open, pelting down large, heavy raindrops upon the mountain forest. The gate cracks open, just a smidge, enough for two people to squeeze past. Your blood curls when that shapeless terror eternally screaming for you to return back comes close enough to breathe down your neck. Jane sprints through the gate first and when you linger slightly she sinks her fingers in your sleeve. Your bag is brutally caught upwards as the Shriek begins to yank you back from Jane’s hold who now put all her weight into getting you to the other side.

They keep tugging you back and forth, more like a ragdoll than a human being and almost it seems that the Shriek will win, will drag you back to the shadows, but at the last second, the gatekeeper lets go of the doors and helps Jane to even out the score. With one mighty pull, they haul you in and all three, Jane, you and the unknown ostiary fall down, crashing face-first into the mire.

The wooden gate closes with a final, deafening slam and the Shrieks crash against it. A strange noise erupts all around, like an echo of a crackling power line and as you look up through the rain you see them circling high, high above. Throwing themselves against the translucent sheen that covers the Red Point like a dome. At long last, they leave and a disturbing silence settles around.

You pull in a stuttering breath, one you didn’t realize you held in, and squeeze the side of your stomach. It burns.

“Get off me!” a voice exclaims underneath and you find yourself roughly shoved aside, falling backwards, ass into the mud. Your whole self feels dank and filthy as if you’ve dug yourself out from underneath the soil.

“Olivia! Thank you, Olivia!” Jane climbs the tall woman like a tree, pressing grateful kisses on her face. You quickly quirk an eyebrow but let them be. Olivia hisses and pushes Jane away, her eyes glinting. She gives you perhaps one look over, which underneath the hood and the weather is hard to decipher, then she tilts back her head and yells towards the sky.

"Глеб!” [Gleb!]

You follow her line of gaze. Up into the trees, among the firm fir branches, there is a small wooden outpost, tethered to the tree and overlooking the whole of the downtrodden mountain valley. There sits a vague clothed figure that peeks through the slowly budding greenery with the occasional wind.

“Последи за воротами!” [Watch the gates!]

There’s a pause and then a husky voice irritably grumbles in response.

“Да понял, уже понял! Не ори по всему лесу!” [Got it, got it already! Don’t scream through the whole forest!]

“Let’s go,” Olivia declares though her voice is anything but either welcoming or energetic.

Feet swivelling left and right, sinking into the mud you leave the wooden door behind and Jane, even against the prospect of meeting the council, looks glad to be here. You glance back at the door, not stopping, out of fear that someone will catch you but still not averting your gaze. There’s a sour feeling in your chest, like a heap of needles gently pricking along your skin. You rub at your chest and turn to look forward - to the new danger at hand. As you do so, you come to halt, mouth parting in surprise.

Down below lies another valley and in it stretches stone ruins and narrow wooden houses. Through it flows a glistening waterfall with water so clear that you are sure if the sun would be out, all those looking into it would go blind. Tall trees, not firs, not oaks, nor any kind you know shadow lowly over the buildings that climb higher and higher up the small mounds until they lead to the last fortress standing - a stone building, spiralling tall and mighty into the air. Through the grey curtain of falling rain you cannot see much of it, but rather you feel how ominous it is. Though as you look over to your companions, their relieved and happy faces, you begin to think that it is only for you that it is so...final.

In the place where the waterfall hits there are stone peaks, the water flows slightly forward but then unexpectedly falls into a chasm. A void so deep and sharp as though some unknown force deliberately had split the ground open for it sits now on the face of the mountain like an unhealed scar on its surface. You peer into the split from the up the valley mound and only deep, unfathomable darkness greets you back. You shiver and step back from the edge.

Olivia leads you forward, fighting for every step through the mud.

“We’ll drown here before the war actually begins!” she grumbles more to herself but it was loud enough for you to hear. You freeze slightly, paling in the face and Jane sneaks a quick peek at you. She doesn’t remark on it further.

While you descend down the hill, more and more lights begin to shine as the news spreads like wildfire across the whole of Red Point. You look around in half relief, half-horror. Children shove their noses out of doors and various windows as their relatives, fellow brothers, sisters, aunts and parents, struggle to pull them back in. People who are yet to go in gather around various firepits and low hanging lanterns, playing cards, and eating leftover food, all while conversing loudly with each other. Everyone is stuffed underneath ropes carrying soaked through laundry and towering mountains of pots and pans. Somewhere even a guitar abruptly screeches to a halt, its delighted melody cut in half. This was not simply an army base or an opposition camp, this was a community.

You trek further into the mud, through the lower Red Point and you see, fairly half in half, both frightened, both curious eyes looking back. An old man hackles, sitting near one of the fires, gurgles and spits on your shoes. Jane hisses something at him, throws a warning glare and tugs you roughly along. Once you crossed the gates, she is practically glued to your side.

“Where are we going?” you ask her in a whisper, ignoring the muted insults thrown towards your group.

“I’m leading you to Jane’s house. You’re three days late and the council moved out this morning to get reinforcements,” Olivia shouts over the rain in answer and as you listen to her, for some reason you keep making eye contact with the people surrounding you. Some point at you and then withdraw their hand as if burnt, some throw obscene gestures, some look like they couldn’t care less. You’re more drawn to the friendly folk who offer small gestures of waves or discreet bows before glancing nervously around - to examine whether someone saw them. To them you offer small waves back or just nod your head, lowering eyes in greeting.

You come to a narrow bridge that leads over the chasm, connecting one piece of the cliff to the other. The waterfall falls near you and you can feel the rush of air that it creates prickling on your skin. But even standing this close it makes no noise. As it was usually, next to a waterfall, no matter how small, it would ultimately create a sound, mostly so loud you couldn’t hear others, but despite falling no less than 50 metres, it flows no louder than a mountain creek. The only sound you can hear is the disturbing creek of the wooden bridge across the chasm. While you didn’t consider yourself a person terribly afraid of heights, looking at the swaying form of what essentially was wooden planks tied with a string, you can’t help but shake in your knees, body unwilling to move.

When you look down there is no sound, no sight, nothing but an empty, dark mouth. You scuff a stone with the tip of your shoe into the opening and it disappears and creates no noise. You wait so long Jane and Olivia have to call for you and yet no sound of the rock hitting the bottom has reached your ears.

Olivia and Jane who had already crossed the bridge, seeing your sudden state of immobility, return once more. You try not to memorize the exact sway of the bridge with each of their passing bound, still, it sits right in front of your eyes.

“Just don’t look down, okay?” Jane reassures, grasping your hand. You almost flinch at the contact. It has been, give or take, thirteen days since you took flight from their house and in that time your body began to feel increasingly colder. You blamed it on the cold weather, exhaustion and constant stress of trying not to be hunted down, but Jane’s hand on you feel like a touch of boiling water. Subconsciously there is this small whining need in you to just give up, stop struggling against the fearsome tide and just return. Half of it you think belongs to them, this voice, that they’ve seeped into you like a blooming seed in the mindscape of your brain, half of it you have to admit is your own.

Fiercely stings the pain of memory, of sitting safe and warm around the dinner table, laughing at something small and just feeling wanted. Treasured even. You shake your head and return back to the land of reality. To the soaked clothing, chattering of your teeth and Jane’s gentle but scorching hands guiding you towards the bridge. You clench your jaw and will your legs to move. This was one measly bridge that these people used every day by dozens. You still had to somehow convince the entire council to give up the fight, to argue for the enemy that they seemed to loathe so much.

Olivia offers you a piggyback ride, saying she was strong enough to carry you and not drop down. You look into her face, committing every detail to a thorough inspection. She looks...ordinary. Like a girl, you would find in the middle of the class or one you’d see passing by in the park with a small dog in tow. She is tall and she looks strong and she clearly gives it all to reign in the scowl naturally worming its place on her face. You thank her all the same. You had little allies in this place. Only Jane really and about her, you, even so, had your doubts.

You pull back Jane’s hand from the crook of your elbow and cross the bridge on your own, pretending that you can’t hear every dreary echo in the plunging lightless depth.

Once you cross over, Olivia bids her goodbye.

“We expect the council to return in about hours… three and it’ll take at least an hour for them to get ready for a meeting,” she shouts as the torrent of the rain now pours completely untamed. “Until then, Jane, don’t wander anywhere else! Gleb or I will bring whatever clothing we can find.”

She yells one final goodbye and you now openly sink into the ground as it melts into large puddles against the onslaught of rainwater. Tripping and falling, you make your way to a rickety home, next to one of the large, strange trees. Jane ushers you inside but you’re no longer listening to her tour. You only replay Olivia’s last words. Four hours until the meeting. You had four hours to prepare the speech on which potentially lingered not only your life but the lives of seven others.

Jungkook listened tiredly to the snivelling and snarling of the men. Each had tried to cast a spell, a potion, any random bullshit only to end up with a broken arm for their troubles.

“You’re not going to get away with this!” The bravest one, the burly English man, judging by the accent, spat in his direction. Jungkook feigned cheer and slammed the door of the wrecked car closed. Its glass shattered.

“Well, of course not, I can’t kill you from a distance!” He agreed, dragging the man upwards by a collar, making sure he swiped his back well against the glass shards. Despite his large stature, in Jungkook’s arms, he thrashed about like a defenceless kitten.

A monster, this is what she meant, a voice whispered in his ear but he quashed it.

“So I’ll repeat again, why are you tracking her down?”

He was simply passing along, typing an apology text to Jimin and not meaning any harm to these strangers, when he heard their voices, talking to each other as they were changing spare tires on the side of the road.

Disappeared. Up the mountain. With that Jane girl.

At this Jungkook had slowed down and listened closer.

“Those two bitches are on their way to Alder Valley.”

“Ugh, why do we have to play nice? Let’s just kill her, maybe have some fun and then just slit her throat. Nice and quiet, so They won’t -”

The man then lurched forward, spitting out blood and watching in horror as he suddenly was horizontal and facing fuming Jungkook. On his face there sat a wide, psychotic smile.

“Oh, They will,” he said.

A minute later they were in the place where they now stood. Or hanged.

“Why are they going to Alder Valley?” he asked again but the man only spat and trashed in disobedient silence.

“Jungkookie, don’t play with your food,” Jin’s drawl reached his ears and with a whine Jungkook let the man carelessly crash into the pavement.

Jin was coming down the road, with a bag over his shoulder and a cap on his head. He seemed entirely relaxed. Some men begged for help, but he did not spare them a single glance.

“I have always insisted on all of us eating well,” Jungkook replied, closing the distance and on his way, stepping over a man’s hand. Its bones shattered underneath his sole. Stranger’s tortured scream rang clear in the night but there was no one with an open heart to hear.

“So that leaves these fuckers out.”

Jin took the sight in with an arched eyebrow.

“Two questions: is this you letting off some steam and is my face scratched?”

“No and no. Your beautiful face remains untarnished,” Jungkook slapped Jin's forehead lightly who flicked him away with a large, but exceedingly fond wave of hands.

“So not letting out steam? Why then?”

“They want to kill Y/N.”

Jin froze and all his pre-made lectures melted into nothingness.

“Do they, now?” He zeroed them in with a sharp glare and those who were still conscious and with a working pair of eyes began to whimper fearfully, wriggling away.

“They said she was en route to Alder Valley.”

“Huh, I’ve never heard of such a place,” Jin sucked in a breath through his teeth, “Well, at any rate, Namjoon will probably know. Let’s go.”

“Listen, when I said -”

“And you know that you’re already forgiven before you even apologize, you over-muscled dummy,” Jin ruffled Jungkook’s hair with a soft understanding smile, tugging him away, but Jungkook pulled back.

“Wait, I can’t leave yet. One of them threatened, he threatened -” Jungkook stammered, not being able to push the horrible words over his lips. Against his will, he recalled that image of you which he now feared will haunt all the nights for eternity. Just thinking about it made his stomach lurch and his throat almost give out. He did not finish the sentence, but Jin understood even so. All mercy drained from his face and he bounced leisurely among the laying men.

“Which one?” he asked calmly and Jungkook pointed with his head to the nameless bastard. His spine Jungkook had broken, but the man was still clinging to life.

“Is this him?”

Jungkook nodded.

Jin smiled brightly upon the man, who was pitifully reaching upwards with shaking hands. He placed his shoe on the top of the man’s head and then there was a wet, splurging noise. The man's fingers limply hit the ground.

Yoongi’s fists hit the table with a deafening sound, swiping at the multitude of maps covering the table. Hoseok fell back exhausted and Jimin along with Taehyung rushed over to catch him. Yoongi was seeing red, his hands steadily working up a smouldering fire before his own strength crashed too and he gripped the edge of the table, sitting down roughly to the floor.

Namjoon was still gazing out the window. Nearly thirteen days had passed. All their attempts had been unsuccessful. Shrieks did nothing, search spells did nothing, Bo Young without doubt had nothing. If you weren’t putting yourself in danger, Yoongi almost certainly would admire your guileful nature. And if it would not feel like you were stomping your pretty legs all over his heart. Not only escaping but doing it so well. The rest of them, he knew, did not share the same sentiment. They wanted, nay, demanded you back by any means necessary.

If Yoongi wasn’t using his powers, he was brooding in the corner, denying any conversation. Hoseok had worked himself up into a constant state of terror. His brief accident involving your poisoning, still fresh in his mind, fuelled the ever-present fear of death. Taehyung sat grim, tormented by frequent stomach aches and lapses in temper. Jimin looked near passing, face gaunt and eyes shining, he refused to eat. Ever so often he would get so overwhelmingly anxious he would pace for hours to no end. Jin left two days ago, in search of Jungkook who had headed out on his own. They briefly split trying to cover more area but then regrouping again once they realized it would be a considerably more trying task than they had presumed.

Namjoon mostly looked out, rubbing secretly on the amber necklace. Through it he felt the wisps of your mind, mere echoes crossing many unknown miles but at least they knew you were alive. To the rest, he did not divulge that you had taken the cedar box. Its twin amber being the beacon of hopeful light, cutting through the uncertainty. He poked at the stone once more and it glowed softly against his hands. You were...cold, he surmised. Just cold. Namjoon had little understanding of why he kept quiet about the box? Did he worry that the boys would hate you, for virtually arrogating their only weakness? No. He himself found little worry about this, no matter how grave. No doubt the rest of them were of the same belief. Because he feared that they would be too heartbroken at your apparent betrayal? Perhaps. After all, you could wield a knife straight to their throats and at most, they would tearily ask you: why? Had they not been enough? Were they truly that vile?

“Fuck,” Yoongi’s low, exhausted growl, tore Namjoon from his thoughts and away from the window. Taehyung pressed a bottle of water to Yoongi’s mouth who gulped it down, then another, then another. On the couch, Jimin was trying to keep Hoseok awake whose gaze was unfocused. Namjoon placed a bottle of Gentian infusion to his lips. Hoseok drank from it slowly, shivering at the taste. His hold on Jimin’s frame was limp but he remained awake.

“We almost got her,” Yoongi croaked, grabbing at the yellow vial from Namjoon’s hand, “we managed to catch onto her in the middle of some valley.”

“The Alder Valley,” Taehyung whispered with widened eyes, still bracing Yoongi’s back. Namjoon nodded once. The famous Alder Valley that Jungkook had overheard from a pack of rogue witches and that didn’t exist in any official maps. It was no surprise though, many witches gave many names to all things they touched and they wrote it down only on their own records, held in sworn secrecy.

“We got her, damn it! We got her! But that -” Yoongi fell silent, overcome with fury. Taehyung was gently rubbing his head along Yoongi’s nape, to calm him down. When he spoke again it was in a fearsome whisper, full of venom.

“- that Jane dragged her back and there was someone else there. We saw something like a door?”

“It was a gate,” Hoseok corrected weakly from the corner of Jimin’s elbow, “a stronghold. We didn’t see much, we were too weak to give sight to the Shriek, but there was something there. We crashed against it, but it wouldn’t budge.”

Yes, that is what Namjoon feared. You had listened to Jane and went right into the heart of the enemy. But you wouldn’t be that stupid to just go to them out of fear? No, they must have presented you with another threat, some other problem that you would be eager to resolve. Namjooon had noticed long ago, that despite all your moaning and protests of how you wanted a nice and quiet life, you rarely hesitated to sink your teeth into any looming peril, unable to simply sit idly by.

Still, it all fell too neatly. That they would leave for the Monet exhibition on the same night Jane had snuck in, only after you somehow learned of their secret, only after he had the thought of filling the bottles to give you choice, a choice that you took with yourself. How it was at the same time witches were once again brewing, crossing the lands into hiding or perhaps into gathering around the forest that you had disappeared into. How they were once again on an eve of conflict with you thrust or perhaps deliberately taken into. But by who?

The four hours passed by much faster than you would like and soon after you and Jane get washed up, you’re once again outside the safety of the house. The nearly two weeks of neverending camping had taken their toll and you had to spend no less than an hour trying to scrub off the tree sap, the mud and various filth that had built up over the course of the long and rough journey. As you laid in the old wooden basin (the plumbing in Red Point remained as it was nearly 150 years ago, as Jane provided) you looked up into the mound through the small circular window, to the House of the Wise as it was dubbed. And as the night fell over and the rain finally ceased you noticed many figures running up the hill and into the stone ruins. You sat in the tub, trying to gather something, anything to say, to begin the assuring speech but nothing came to mind. Even the quiet voice in the depths which usually was so cynical and so sure of itself as if a part of you was already looking at the present as a long past, had fallen silent. You thought back and realized it had been silent ever since you left the house. There was nothing, nothing but the rhythmic taps of the water droplets breaching the surface.

Once outside, you see that there is a great rustle. Crowds swarm around the houses with children, with bags and dishes in tow, there are even two or three dogs and a great dozen of cats straying about. They seem to be haphazardly moving to one spot. Some people in the crowd wave at you but just in time you understand that it’s to Jane and not to you, right in time before making a fool of yourself. You curiously observe as Jane whispers

“I’ll be quick,” and leaps towards the strangers. They all welcome her merrily and Jane too looks less careworn than before, even so much to say as almost relaxed. An expression you had not seen in a very, very long time. Before this whole thing started. Her friends, her true friends, ones who were not caught in an ancient scheme of doomed soulmates. You feel something lightly brush against your calf, whirling around. It is a cat. Peculiarly coloured, more looking like the fur of a fox and very affectionate. You lean down to pet it and quite willingly it pokes its nose against your palm.

“Well, at least someone likes me,” you think but then immediately follow it up with a -

“And whose fault is it that everyone hates us? Your own. Quit whining.”

You feel almost happy at the sharp tone of your own mind. By now you thought you’d lost all courage and spunk, it seems there was some left.

“Are you hungry?” you ask the cat as it keeps sniffing and prodding you. “I’m really hungry too.”

A small shadow falls over you and the cat scurries away. You turn around and come face to face with two children, no more than eight years old as they don’t reach over your navel.

“Hello,” the eldest one says, a girl in a purple cardigan. In her hands she is holding her brother by the shoulder who seems considerably timider as his eyes flicker nervously around, too scared to settle on you.

“Hello,” you answer unsure. Talking with kids was never your strong suit. Talking with kids to whom you were probably a bedtime horror story even less so.

“Do you mind signing this?” She asks and nudges her brother to pass the object that he has hidden behind his back. She passes it to you and bewildered you read on the cover.

Auntie Freya’s Bedtime Stories.

It is clearly a children’s book as evident by the bright colours and simplistic illustrations. You breeze through it and the girl helpfully supplies that the passage needed is on page 78.

So you open to page 78 and on the first page see both amusing and bemusing illustrations. In it stood seven figures, that you presumed were the Rhogyerya as the witches liked to say but they looked nothing like themselves. Yoongi had horns for one and from his nose came smoke as if he was some type of half-dragon. Hoseok was a simple silhouette of light only with entirely black eyes, Taehyung on the opposite - a dark shadow with light eyes. Jimin had wings made entirely of bones on his back, Jin was smiling but his face was disfigured with long red lines, Jungkook had something akin to canine teeth and long claws. And above them all towered Namjoon more like an omnipotent god, he stood over them all, shrouded by a golden halo and a pointy crown atop of his head.

“They don’t look anything like this at all,” you mutter and at this, the girl seems surprised.

“My dad said he once saw the Rhogyerya and that this was the exact likeness.” What a lying sack of -

“Well, your dad must have made a small mistake,” you say, placatingly. You reach for your phone which has been diligently turned off for the entirety of the trip and turn it on. 26% remaining. You doubt there was something even near electricity in Red Point. You quickly scroll to the top picture in the Gallery and with a hollow pain, you look at the seven smiling faces. The photo of New Year’s Eve. You had only recently woken up then and the boys insisted on taking a picture. To make sure you don’t disappear, they joked. But you did. You did…

You shake yourself out of the pitiful lamentations and show the photo to the unnamed siblings.

“See? This is what they look like! No horns, no shadows, just like you and me. This is Namjoon, Yoongi, Jin, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook and me, I’m Y/N, by the way,” you stretch your hand in greeting and dubiously the girl takes it. Her name was Mia and her brother was Robbie as she explained.

You glance back at the book and read the first sentence

“Among all the stories and beasts of the old, Rhogyerya, the Living dread, is by far the most famous.”

Famous, perhaps, just not to you.

“Hey, Mia, can I borrow this book?” you ask lightly and then quickly add to sell her on the deal. Haggling children was perhaps not an honourable thing to do but you were most curious about what the local culture of this Coven’s community had to say. Jane had been extraordinarily unhelpful. Mia shifts, biting at her lips.

“I’ll go back to my friend's house, sign it and return tomorrow morning, deal?”

The prospect of your signature, no matter how trivial to yourself, seems a worthy bounty and Mia agrees. Robbie shyly mutters underneath his nose to make it out for him too. You promise you’ll draw him a picture and he seems elated, chubby cheeks lighting up like a star until behind them bellows the stern voice of their mother.

It is a plump, dark-haired woman and she looks at you with narrowed, distrustful eyes. They quickly say goodbyes and scamper back. After giving them an earful and soft smack on the shoulder, she drags them away in the direction of the rest of the crowd.

By this time Jane returns and quirks a brow at the book tucked in your hands.

“Met...with the locals,” you explain, throwing a vague gesture at the moving crowd. She smiles in turn.

“Where are they going?”

“Oh...the feast,” she answers slowly, pulling you in the opposite direction, “mostly we eat in our homes, but today to boost the morale, so to speak, people decided to hold a feast. In your honour...so to speak, again.”

You didn’t think it was because they were oh so happy to welcome you here.

In the dead of the night, the ring of the small diner bell was unperturbed by sounds of energetic conversations. The small diner across the lake sat like a singular beacon in the midst of the sprawling darkness.

“Oh, look who decided to drag his ass in,” Jimin hissed and Jungkook shrunk smaller behind Jin. He gestured for Jimin to come closer who after huffing irritably at least ten times, did that.

Jin closed the doors of the diner, looking back outside. The rain was still pouring, sloshing heavily against the gravel. The large lake that in the night looked like a depth of ocean rather than a contained body of water and in the diner there sat only eight people, themselves and the poor waitress that had to endure quite possibly the oddest shift in her whole career.

They had to drag Hobi in - he passed out entirely on the way over. Namjoon then asked her to pour hot water over a single root which when made in tea was steaming thick, green vapour. They had to more or less force it down Hobi’s throat who was now, laying his head on the table, turning green into the face as Taehyung was gently rubbing his back. To top it all off they pulled out all their many maps of the local area. Yoongi insisted that if they were on the same path you had taken before he could recreate the journey but they neared no closer, staring at the browning paper.

Yoongi was groaning in his cup of coffee and next to him, with one, available hand Taehyung was errantly flipping through the local newspaper, searching for anything unusual. Jimin and Jungkook had parked by the diner, faces serious and teary-eyed. Most likely apologizing to each other for the harsh words. Yes, they all had crossed the line.

Jin came over, stealthily balancing everyone’s breakfast food. It was one in the morning and the poor waitress had to cook up a veritable feast. Jin pushed aside the papers, like the bringer of chaos that he was and Hoseok shot up, hair - a bird’s nest, disorientedly looking around with one open eye. Beneath his nose, plate after plate began to create a mountain of chea- money-saving food. French toast, omelettes with bacon and ham, waffles and pancakes with a generous lathering of syrup, along with buttered toasts and more coffee.

“Fuck why did you take the beans?” Taehyung complained, scowling at the dish as if it had offended his mother.

“Am I personally shoving them into your mouth?”

“Might as well be.”

Namjoon drank his coffee quietly, map in hand.

“Can those two stop for a second?” Yoongi grumbled, throwing a sideways glare. Sure enough, Jimin and Jungkook had now moved to exchanging soft, adoring kisses right in front of the server, who had her mouth open.

“Well, at least they made up,” Hobi mumbled, scarfing down the pancakes.

“I said they need to make up, not make out!”

“And you still need to apologize to Jimin.”

At this, Yoongi blushed and turned away, once again hiding his face in the white, tattered mug.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it at some point.”

“I miss kimchi pancakes,” Jin whispered longingly, looking over the towering food with some distaste. Though a moment later he had already consumed half of it, all while complaining that it wasn’t that good.

“Any luck?” Jimin asked, bounding alongside Jungkook towards their cramped, worryingly sticky table, hand in loving hand. That waitress was still gaping. Namjoon was convinced it would now be a permanent expression on her face.

“None!” Taehyung replied, smacking the newspaper down on the table, tempestuously biting down on the toast.

“Are you sure it was somewhere around here?”

“Well they were changing their tires on the road to here,” Jungkook shrugged grimly, “I mean it could be somewhere else, but who knows where this mysterious fucking alley is even loc-”

“You guys looking for the Alder Valley?”

They all looked back at the waitress and she seemed to fold in on herself now placed in the centre of the attention. Taehyung rose up, smoothly and gallantly and Jimin rolled his eyes at the theatrics.

“Why, yes,” he glanced down at the nametag, “Samantha.”

The young girl gave a choked-up squeal, turning red in the face.

“What a lovely name, Samantha. Did you know that it means “God has heard”? Well, God can hear me say how adorable you look today.”

Yoongi let out a thoroughly disgusted sound and Taehyung shot him a hateful glare, before smoothing his expression out into a perfect square smile. Samantha looked like she was a hair’s away from making a shrine to worship the ground Taehyung walked on.

Poor girl, Namjoon thought. All it would take was for Taehyung to bat a single eye and already she’d sell him her firstborn. It was at times like these Namjoon was grateful that Taehyung did not use it against the rest of them, the kid was far too powerful for his own greedy good. This of course brought out a question if he was this powerful, how come even that hadn’t convinced you to stay.

“You know my... companions and I are looking for this mysterious Alder Valley and you look like a good girl, so would you please explain where it could be?”

Namjoon almost stood up as Samantha looked close to straight-up dropping dead at the mention of being a “good girl”.

“Man, go easy on her,” Hoseok warned, stuffing one cheek full with Jimin’s omelette.

“Alder Valley is just up there, on the other side of the lake,” Samantha explained breathlessly, as Taehyung gazed down on her, cheek propped against his palm.

“We couldn’t find it on any maps, though.”

“That’s because Alder Valley is a local name. Only old people now call it that.”

They turned their shining eyes away from Samantha, who was only barely hanging in there, all the way to the rain-soaked mountains.

The clouds part and for a blissful, extraordinary moment bask the entire side of this world into the shimmering gold of the new evening sun. In the resurfacing daylight the House of the Wise, stands tall and proud, glistening like a castle of old fairy tales and for a second you see the majestic sight as it had been, hundreds of years ago. Dignifying, magical and out of this world. And then the sun dips again, this time for the foreseeable night and all that there is left in Red Point are ruins of the ages long passed.

Quietly, trembling inside, you and Jane ascend the spiral stairs. In the gaps of the stone, you can see the entire Red Point growing gradually smaller. It is so bright down below the light even flows to the stairway, illuminating old cobwebs and ivy vying through the foundations. Step by step you feel all hope drain your body. Your soul if you had such a thing grew cold.

You hear voices as you go higher and higher up. Loud, scornful voices broiled deep into an intense argument. You suddenly feel so stupid and so small, like an insignificant ant trying to pick a fight with a god. For a moment two voices perfectly balanced sit inside your very being.

The one that misses them, the one that was ready to forgive. They loved you and you loved them. Wasn’t it enough? Why fight it? The one that still feels humiliation and fear, though now much fainter, a mere whisp in the flowing wind.

It’s almost like you're being torn apart, unable to stand comfortably on either side.

But then you step onto the ground of a flat, roofless top of the tower and the struggle disappears. Everything disappears. The consequences of your decisions and the reality that seemed more like a lucid dream hit you all at once.

Jane leads you to the wooden chair, around which there is a half-circle with six figures sitting. You can hardly see their faces as the world grows muffled and far away, you move but you don’t register when you do it. Someone speaks but you do not hear it.

(Get yourself together.)

Yes, you chose this. You chose to be brave so now live with the fear. You choke down your frantic gasps of terror and look around.

Six they sit in front of you, aloft on graciously carved wooden chairs. Your eyes wander not to the ginger giant, not to the two old ladies who point and hiss at the sight of you, not to the twitching man by the side who looked neither young, nor old, but to the child. A child in front of you that stares you down with vicious contempt.

By the looks of it, not more than seven years old, scrawny, so thin you would think the child was being deliberately starved. Bones poke through his cheeks and knees, the clothes he has are slightly ragged and his hair is awfully cut, standing up too long in some places, other places too short to cover anything at all. He looked very frail but his gaze insisted otherwise. He’s sitting in the lap of a greying woman whose dimmed eyes are devoid of life or interest.

Above you, now in the cleared sky bright stars were shining down.

“And this is Y/N,” Jane finishes the conversation that had escaped you.

The child speaks first, through a hardened scowl.

“This,” says he, waving over you much like one would to a particularly annoying piece of dog shit in the middle of the pavement. “All for this?! All of this bloodshed, all of this pain and for what some-some wretched whore?!?”

If there was any fear left in you it’s gone in the blink of an eye. Left is only the fury and quickly dissipating arguments against hitting children.

“Shut up, Eli!” hisses the ageless man. When you look at him, he turns away. His fingers squeeze the sidearms of the chair with such force that you can hear the wood creaking all the way from your seat. He is afraid. And afraid of you.

“Why?” shouts Eli, tossing and turning in the old woman’s lap who was yet to move. You begin to slightly worry that she might not even be alive.

“Because you got no balls to face the Rhogyerya, doesn’t mean I can’t!”

“Face the Rhogyerya! Please!” One of the twin crones, dressed in black screeches back. You find their voices grating and annoying, like the yowls of circling harpies.

“As if you don’t soil yourself at the mere mention of them!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the other woman, a sister presumably, added, “how did your last act of bravery go by? Now you can’t even go to the bathroom without a helping hand!”

They exchange short, barking laughter.

Bile gnaws on your stomach. Jane stands by the side, looking at the ground, face turning grey and hands shaking. When she said Council you thought of someone wise and old, trying to protect their own but this was far from that. Just a circle of old, bitter witches, cackling in the dark of the night like living caricatures of their kind.

“Members of the council, I brought my friend here so as not to be mocked for something that she cannot change,” Jane suddenly interrupts from her corner. Frightened, yes, but in her tone, you see a resemblance of some newly formed resolution. My friend she said and not Y/N and not Rhogyerya, my friend. You find a chip of your heartache at her words.

The council throws her a look, a displeased one, save for one man. The large man sitting near the corner of an empty seat. Yes, though they were six in the count, the seats were seven. The head seat. You wonder who sits there and why they were not here.

The stout, unnamed figure, so large that even sitting down he is high above your eye level, looks down on you with a calculating gaze. He reminds you of Gabriella. There is a mane of ginger locks around his head and his eyes are that of warm green, like a summer field. He has a long red beard and among the so-called honourable council, he is the only one who does not glare at you. When you finally speak, your gaze flickers between him and Jane.

“I’ve come here for a reason,” you croak.

The entire room stills as you speak, waiting and in some cases - loathing.

“I have a proposition,” you pause and pull in a breath, steeling your resolve. If your voice shakes, they do not hear it.

“You are preparing for a war, correct?”

“That is a... widespread sentiment,” the giant speaks. His voice is loud but gentle, fatherly even.

“There is no need for one. I - I can try to reason with them to not attack if that is what you fear.”

“What do you know?!” one of the old women objects shrilly. “We have all the right to want Them dead!”

“For centuries, has our kind hid and fled from the mere sight of them, had to bend underneath their whims! Why should we not seek revenge?!” the other one continues, in a manner just as vexing.

“Have you actually lived for those centuries?” you ask, raising your brow. The hags fall silent, narrowing their grey eyes at you.

“Listen, I’m not- I’m not dictating how you should feel, I understand that they often look out for themselves at the cost of others, believe me, I understand the anger of having them to - to play with your life! But war is stupid, you must know that.”

You look into the eyes of the ginger man. He is frowning now, deep in thought.

“What do you propose?”

“A peace treaty.”

It does not go by you, the hypocritical irony of your deal. You had been so angry, so disappointed that they would make decisions for you, but were you yourself free of sin? Were you not doing the exact fucking thing.

“I can act as a negotiator between two sides,” your mouth is completely dry now, you swallow at the air.

“And what do you want in return?” Eli spits, hands crossed and his deep-seated eyes burning with a sickening shine. “For us to protect you?”

“No.”

Jane's jaw dropped open in surprise, her head whipping upwards. Yes, you wanted time and space but not at the cost of others. It was somewhere around the fifth night watching Jane fretfully sleep, tossing and turning in unease, that you decided against brandishing the witches as a shield. The small encounter with Mia only affirmed it.

“If you allow me, I’d like to stay here for a while. If they come here -’’ “When,” the ageless, neither young nor old man, interjects. He then looks nervously around, as though already seeing dark figures stretching out to kill him.

“When they come here,” you correct with a heavy thud in the heart, not knowing how you would ever face them again, after this whole mess, “I will speak with them and ask them to listen to your requests.”

“And what? Should we listen to theirs in return?” Eli’s voice reaches supersonic heights. You throw him a cold glance.

“Are those little ears of yours hard of hearing? It’s generally how that works.”

Jimin glared, watching how Yoongi outstretched his hand and from it let the flames lick at the firewood.

“If you’re hungry go to Jin,” he scoffed, from the other side of the fireplace. Both of them tried to look angry, intimidating even but it’s heavily brought down by the fact that they had blankets up to their ears and their teeth chattered.

“I’m not hungry, you asshole,” Jimin snapped back, tugging his cold nose further into the blanket.

In the back, further away from the fire Jungkook and Hoseok were unpacking and settling tents, Taehyung was “decorating” though it largely was synonymous with stealing ingredients from Jin’s stationary cooking stand. Namjoon was brooding even further away, almost entirely submerged in the shadows as he gazed across the mountain forest below. Deep, cold night sat all around them.

Jimin, perched across from Yoongi, was worried sick. While they and Jungkook made up in the diner, the younger one had broken down and through muffled tears fearfully whispered of the vision that he had. Jimin did not entirely understand Jungkook’s powers but he knew that they very rarely failed. So when Jungkook described what he saw - you were dead, torn to pieces and gone - Jimin thought he wouldn’t be able to ever breathe again. Even thinking about it now, made his breath hitch loudly. His hands burned to grasp you, to take you away and tug you neatly into safety. When he recalled the many bags of clothes he’d bought you in preparation for their “trip” to Korea, his heart bled. All he wanted was to hold you and try as he might, try as they all might, it did not happen. Jimin felt the sharp creeping sting of a panic attack bloom in his chest.

He sat and wondered, peering up into the constellations of endless stars as if asking them - were you safe? Were you hungry? Did you sleep on the damp ground, hearing the insects writhe next to your ears? Were you alive?

They did not answer.

previous ↔ next

Trivia:

This is what I have in mind when thinking of Red Point, plus the Tower. (Art by Thom Tenery. Found on ArtStation and purely for illustrative purposes.)

As we're nearing the end, the trigger warnings will certainly start being noticeable. I've been rewriting the last three chapters over and over again, it's so hard ╥﹏╥ but I'm gonna finish it no matter what!

Tag list:

@mayla548; @singukieee; @themasterbob; @ot7nem; @ilsan-seoul; @ithtefani; @meowsimpson; @littlrmills14-blog; @gingerspicetalks; @fixation-or-psychosis; @needyomnivore; @chimincubus; @channiespup

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ladyrynofsunnydale · 3 years

Text

Bo-Katan Week Day 1 / Childhood/Younger Years

Title: End of One Era, Beginning of Another

Rating: T

Summary: It’s the start of the Great Clan Wars and Bo-Katan and Satine have had to flee Mandalore. While Bo-Katan is willing to fight for her sister, Satine instead wishes to follow their parents’ belief in peace. With their parents dead, they are all the family each other has left. Is that enough to keep them together?

Author’s Note: Day 1 of Bo-Katan Week! I am so excited to be writing fanfiction again, especially about one of my favorite Star Wars characters! For Day 1 I decided to go with the alternate prompt of Childhood/Younger Years. Hope you enjoy! Mando’a translations at the bottom.

Click Here or on Keep Reading for the story!

Tagging: @bokatanweek

Ever since she’d heard the Republic had contacted them about sending Jedi guards, Bo-Katan could not keep still. As an avid student of Mandalorian military history, she knew the history between Mandalore and the Republic and their Jedi. Their war had left Mandalore a wasteland. And now they wanted to send them here to protect them? More likely they wanted to send them here to control Mandalore.

Bo stormed into Satine’s office and dramatically flung herself on one of the chairs.

“Who do they think they are?”

Satine sighed. She was sitting behind a scarred wooden desk, datapads littered around her, with the setting sun warming her back and causing her blonde hair to almost glow. Absentmindedly tugging on her long braid, she glanced up at Bo then struggled to focus back on the datapad in her hand.

“Who’re you talking about Bo?”

“The Republic! Who do they think they are, sending Jedi here?!” The anger was impressive on her ten-year-old face as she scowled at the desk, her arms crossed over her chest.

“They just reached out to us. They’re not sending any Jedi,” Satine answered, closing her eyes to rub her temples. “Just like I told you this morning.”

“But they could! What if they decide to just send the Jedi anyways? Do you know that they put a Jedi regent on Pijal for eight years?! I bet that is what they want to do here.”

“I’m old enough to not need a regent Bo.” Satine was now staring fixedly at the data pad in her hand. “And how did you hear about Pijal anyways? I thought you were supposed to be doing school work?” she glanced up at Bo, her brows pinched together. Bo shrugged, looking down at her lap.

“I did some school work. Then I got bored.”

“Of course you did,” Satine grumbled under her breath. Bo could be an amazing student. She could tell you the most obscure facts about Mandalorian history, tell you who ruled which clan when, but gods forbid you ask her to study something she wasn’t interested in.

“You know,” Bo started, looking up at Satine and sitting up straighter in her chair. “We wouldn’t need aruetii protection if we just stood up for ourselves.”

Satine put the datapad down and gave Bo a severe look.

“We’re trying to show Mandalore a new future, Bo, where everything doesn’t have to be settled by warfare.”

“But Satine!” Bo exclaimed. “They attacked first! This is defense!” Bo had always looked up to her older sister, but she never quite understood her pacifism. Once she’d been old enough to understand, she’d wanted to put on their family’s beskar’gam and take up arms against those who threatened her family. Be a true Mando’ad. She could defend Satine, she knew, even if her sister didn’t want to fight.

“Violence begets violence. It’s not the way.”

“The Protectors have weapons!” Bo said, pointing at the two Protectors currently flanking the office door.

“The Protectors are here to protect us,” Satine responded, exasperation filling her voice.

“Well I don’t need protection,” Bo said confidently. “I’m a verd. Just like Ba’buir.”

“Ba’buir died at thirty during a clan dispute!” Satine finally snapped. “And since then Mom and Buir have worked hard to show Mandalore that violence just gets good people killed!”

The room went silent as Bo went completely still, staring at her sister. Shame passed over Satine’s face.

“Well Mom and Buir are dead. So a fat lot of good that did them,” Bo said, standing up and running for the door.

“Bo!” Satine called, rounding the desk, but Bo was already gone.

“We’ll send someone after her,” one of the Protectors said, and Satine nodded and sank into the chair Bo had just vacated, her head in her hands.

Bo didn’t stop until she’d reached the storage room beside the armory. She found the darkest corner of the room and slid down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest while wiping the back of her hand against her nose and willing herself not to cry. Verda did not cry.

She didn’t know how long she sat there until there was a knock at the door and Fenn Rau stuck his head in.

Fenn was young, maybe a little older than Satine, and Bo really liked him. He was funny and was one of the few Protectors who didn’t treat her like a little girl. He’d even taught her how to shoot a blaster and don armor, behind Satine’s back of course.

“Hello, Bo-Katan,” he said, stepping into the room.

“I’m not going back,” Bo said petulantly, sniffing and wiping at her nose again. She picked up a fallen spare droid part and launched it across the room. “I hate this place!” Fenn walked in and closed the door behind him before coming to sit beside Bo, leaving about an arm’s length between them. “I just want to go home,” Bo said softly, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“I know, verd’ika,” Fenn said gently, leaning his head up against the wall. “I miss home too.”

Fenn pulled something out of one of the pouches on his belt and began messing with it. Bo lifted her head off of her knees and watched him before scooting closer.

“What is that?” she asked.

“A puzzle box. You have to align everything quite right,” he said, twisting the beskar box in his hand around, “and then,” and the box popped open.

“Ooh!” Bo exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “May I try?”

Fenn nodded, putting the box back together and twisting it a few times before handing it over. Bo eagerly took it and turned it around and around in her hands, looking at every detail, before gingerly twisting it. After a few minutes she pulled at it and…nothing happened.

“Dank farrik,” she grunted and Fenn hid a smile behind his hand.

“Language,” he said.

With her head still bowed over the box she looked up at him from under her sharp red brows.

“Haar’chak,” she deadpanned. Fenn shook his head as she went back at it. She kept at it, all her focus on the tiny box, mumbling to herself when she’d pull at it fruitlessly, until finally he heard the click and when she pulled it opened. She whooped in triumph, her yell reverberating off the walls and Fenn smiled at her proudly. Turning the pieces over in her hands she took the time to examine the inner mechanisms.

“You know, your sister didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said softly. Bo didn’t react for a few minutes, just turning the box around and around in her hands. She then sighed and reached the box back out to him.

“I know. I just…miss them.”

Fenn remained silent, staring at the box in Bo’s small hand. He reached over and closed her hand around it.

“You keep it.” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Keep it safe for me.”

Bo kept staring at the box, her eyes narrowed in thought. She then gently placed the box in one of the pouches on her belt and reached into another pouch, pulling out a leaf-shaped piece of metal. She weighed it in her hand, watching the way the light bounced off the beskar, before holding it out to Fenn.

“A trade,” she said. “I’ll keep your box safe if you keep this safe for me.”

Fenn gently reached out and took the offered leaf. Turning it over, he inspected the etchings and detail. He could see Bo-Katan’s work in it, and her initials on the back.

“When did you make this?”

“Before we left the palace. It’ll bring you luck.”

“Are you sure?” Fenn asked, meeting Bo’s eyes. She nodded resolutely. “I promise to keep it safe for you.”

Standing, he offered his hand and she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Side by side they left the storage room and headed down the hall.

Satine and Bo hugged when Fenn brought her back, but Bo didn’t bring up the Republic or the Jedi again.

A week later she stood next to Satine as they waited for Prime Minister Rogaar who’d just landed outside the compound. Her tunic was scratchy and uncomfortable and she kept pulling at it and shifting around. She didn’t know what the big deal was. She’d met Minister Rogaar before.

The compound doors opened and Minister Rogaar, flanked by a couple guards and two of his aides, walked through. He was a large man, older with gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard, with kind light blue eyes. Walking towards them he smiled widely.

“Your grace, it is so good to see you safe,” he boomed and Satine smiled back at him, inclining her head.

“It’s good to see you as well, Minister. I appreciate you coming.”

Sorrow filled the minister’s eyes as he nodded.

“Of course, my dear, of course. And Lady Bo-Katan, it is good to see you again!” he said, turning to Bo-Katan and brightening. Bo inclined her head stiffly.

“Minister.”

Rogaar looked back up at Satine and Bo noticed his smile slipped again.

“I come with some news. Shall we?” Satine nodded and began leading the way to her office when she paused and turned to Fenn, one of the Protectors behind them.

“Rau, do you mind taking Bo-Katan to the library? She has lessons she needs to attend to.”

“What?” Bo exclaimed, and all eyes turned to her. “I’m coming too!”

“No, Bo-Katan, we talked about this.”

“No YOU talked about this. I want to be a part of this too!”

“This is not something you need to concern yourself with. And you have lessons. Mom and Buir would want you to keep up your education.”

Bo opened her mouth to retort but Fenn turned her around and guided her down the hall.

“I’ve got her, your Grace,” he said.

Bo, surprisingly, allowed herself to be guided and just glared at Satine as she walked away.

“I’m sorry about that,” Satine said, leading the way again. “This all has been…tough on her.”

“And not just her, I am sure,” Rogaar said and Satine glanced away.

“It has not been easy.” Satine said and her shoulders sagged.

Bo was quiet at dinner, pushing her food around her plate. She wondered what Satine and Rogaar had been talking about and what was happening down on Mandalore. Did they discuss the Republic’s offer? They were currently discussing the weather on Concordia.

“So, Bo-Katan,” Rogaar suddenly said and Bo looked up. “I’ve heard you enjoy playing dejarik.” Bo’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! It’s the best game! Do you play?”

Rogaar nodded.

“Indeed I do, though it has been a while.”

“Can we play after dinner?” she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. Rogaar smiled at her and shrugged.

“I’d be willing,” he said, then looked at Satine. Bo quickly turned her attention to Satine too and she smiled and softened her rigid posture.

“But you have to finish your food first,” she said. Bo scarfed down her food and waited impatiently for everyone else to finish before leading the way into one of the sitting rooms where a circular dejarik board was set up in the corner. She wasted no time turning on the table and choosing her characters, Rogaar sitting across from her and choosing his own.

The game started out civilly, Bo trying to determine Rogaar’s strategy, but once she got her pieces where she wanted them she attacked ruthlessly, her face screwed in concentration. Rogaar’s look changed from one of pleasant amusement to one of intense focus as he tried to counter Bo’s increasingly aggressive moves. Satine couldn’t help but smile at how quickly Bo was taking down Rogaar’s pieces and at one point leaned down beside her.

“Hey, hey, go easy on him,” she said quietly. Bo stopped and looked up at her, an unconvinced look on her face.

“I’m ten. He’s the minister of Mandalore. He’s fine.”

Rogaar started laughing, his laughs deep and booming and Satine stood up, shaking her head, though a large smile was on her face. Finally the game was over with Bo having two pieces remaining.

“Well, my lady,” Rogaar said, chuckling and shaking his head. “I don’t believe I have ever been that soundly beaten. You are quite good.”

Bo smiled broadly at the praise then turned to look over her shoulder at Satine.

“Wanna play?”

Satine’s heart soared. Since a week ago when she’d snapped at Bo, Bo’d been standoffish to her. To be honest, she missed her sister’s fire the last few days, but she looked over to Rogaar first.

“Oh, I am quite done. She’s too good for me.” He quickly stood and vacated his seat so Satine could replace him, so she heartily agreed. Both sisters quickly went about picking their characters and Bo grinned devilishly at Satine while Satine smirked back at her.

“Oh, you’re going down Bo,” she said.

The fun game quickly devolved into a competitive sibling war.

“You can’t do that!” Bo shouted as one of Satine’s pieces took out one of Bo’s.

“Yes I can! Look, see!” Satine responded, showing Bo the piece’s stats.

“There’s no way that’s right.”

“Yeah, well, it’s on here, so…”

Bo slammed the controls and moved one of her pieces, countering one of Satine’s and trapped it against one of her other pieces.

“Hey!” Satine shouted as her piece was slammed to the board.

“I can play dirty too!” Bo said, her face screwed in concentration.

Both sisters moved pieces rapidly here, there, clashing them against each other, until Satine had one piece left and Bo’s two descended on it. As Bo’s piece picked it up and slammed it to the board, Bo stood up and let out a war whoop that had one of the Protectors stationed outside poking their head in. Satine laughed.

“Well, I concede Bo. You’ve gotten too good for me.”

Rogaar shook his head, looking over the board and at Bo’s characters’ stats.

“You did better than me!” he said.

“Don’t mess with Kryzes and dejarik, sir,” one of the Protectors said and Rogaar looked over to him.

“You couldn't have told me this before?”

Bo then yawned and Satine looked at the chronometer.

“I think we will be retiring. Thank you for a lovely evening, Minister Rogaar.”

“Good night, your Grace, my lady,” he said before Satine and Bo-Katan departed for their rooms.

Satine had just finished tying off her braid when she heard a soft knock on her door. Padding over and looking through the view hole, she saw Bo and quickly opened the door to reveal her younger sister standing there, dressed for sleep.

“May I come in?” she asked, unusually shy. Satine stepped aside and nodded, worry creasing her eyebrows. Bo stepped in and looked around, her fingers fiddling with the bottom of her sleep shirt, before meeting Satine’s eyes. “I’m sorry for being so difficult this last week,” she said and Satine had to really listen to hear every word. Satine shook her head at her little sister and led her over to her couch and sat her down.

“No, Bo, I’m sorry for snapping at you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Bo sat there quietly, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“I miss Mom and Buir.”

Satine smiled sadly and pulled Bo into a hug.

“I do too, vod’ika.”

Bo let herself be held then pulled back.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course,” Satine responded and led Bo into her room, tucking herself and Bo under the covers. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Bo.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Satine.”

A week later and Satine was in the study going over possible safe houses with Minister Rogaar when the first explosions went off. At first, she stared dumbly out the window at the blasts of light and explosions that were visible outside. Then she was being dragged to her feet and out the door by her Head of Security, Lars.

“Get her to safety,” he directed to the two Protectors that were outside the door, pulling out his blasters and preparing to block the hallway. Satine felt one of them, Ca’tra, she thought her name was, grab her arm and start to lead her towards the hangar when a sickening thought struck her and she dug her heels in.

“Bo!” she yelled. “She’s in the library!”

Lars traded a glum glance with Rogaar and Satine tried to pull herself free, but Ca’tra held her firmly.

“We have to get you to safety, your grace,” she said.

“I’m not leaving her! Bo!” she screamed futilely, fighting against the Protector. At that moment Fenn ran into the hallway, skidding to a halt, alone. “Rau! Where’s Bo?!”

“It…it was my day off.”

“Carlson is with her,” Lars finally supplied and pulled out his comm. Fenn turned to Satine.

“I’ll go get her,” he said, but Lars stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Stay with the Duchess. Carlson,” he called into his comm. “Carlson, do you read me?”

There was a beat of silence as everyone stared at the comm.

“Ay sir, I read you. We’re ok here. Bo-Katan and I are headed for the hangar.”

A sigh of relief echoed around the room.

“Jax, Riss, I want you to meet Carlson and help him bring the Lady Bo-Katan safely to the hangar,” Lars added into the comm.

“Copy that, sir,” a female voice replied and Lars turned to Satine.

“We’ll get her there safely. Go your Grace.”

Satine looked hesitantly from Lars to Fenn to Rogaar and finally nodded and let herself be led down the hallway, Rogaar and another Protector following. Fenn hesitated.

“Go with her Rau.”

“But sir,” he started to protest.

“Go. Carlson, Jax, and Riss are more than capable of getting the girl there safely. The Duchess needs you. Now go!”

Fenn nodded and with one last reluctant look towards the library he followed Satine.

The hallways around the library were filled with smoke and the too close sounds of explosions and blasterfire. Bo was letting herself be dragged down the hallway to the hanger, Carlson’s long strides covering much more ground than her small legs ever could. They were turning into the back of the compound when a thought hit her.

“Buir’s beskar’gam!” she shouted, digging her feet in and stopping.

“What?” Carlson whirled on her, confusion clear on his face through the opening in his helmet.

“I can’t leave it,” she said and tried to pull away, but Carlson held fast. Bo grunted and pulled to no avail until she finally reeled back and kicked Carlson in the shin. The shock caused him to drop Bo’s arm and she bolted. Recovering, he ran after her, but he quickly lost her in the smoke. He knew where she was heading and hoped he could cut her off and took another hallway, almost running into Jax and Riss.

“Where’s the girl?” Jax asked as she looked around.

“She took off on me. Pretty sure she’s headed for the armory.”

The three of them began to run in that direction but were met with a face full of blaster fire. They took cover and pulled out their blasters, returning fire.

“We don’t have time for this!” Riss shouted over the noise.

In the armory, Bo was quickly throwing all of her Buir’s armor into a bag. Once done she hefted it over her shoulder and grunted as it banged painfully on her back. It was heavy, but she gritted her teeth and ran. Ahead to her right she could hear blasterfire so she ran to the left, coughing as smoke entered her lungs. She tripped and almost went down but kept running until a dark shape blocked her path and she slid to a halt. An armored unfamiliar Mandalorian stepped out of the smoke and moved towards her. She dropped the bag on the ground and groped inside. Time slowed as the Mandalorian raised his blaster, then Bo raised hers, the one Fenn had taught her how to shoot, and fired, right at the unprotected part of his shoulder. The bolt struck true and he yelled, dropping his blaster and she shot again, hitting him in the leg and he dropped. Bo again picked up her bag and ran around him, not looking back.

Carlson, Jax, and Riss finally dispatched their attackers and arrived, limping in Carlson and Riss’s case, at the armory to find it empty.

“Dank farrik!” Carlson shouted, knocking over a stand and sending its contents flying. The Kryze armor was gone.

“She had to have headed back to the hanger,” Riss said and the three of them took the left hallway towards the other side of the compound. They passed one of the Mandalorian attackers shot and bleeding on the ground and Carlson finished him off.

“Does the Kryze girl have a blaster?” Riss asked as they ran down the hallway.

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Carlson shouted back, but all three looked up in alarm with the sound of rending steel and the roof caved in on them.

Bo’s lungs were burning as she ran along the hallway away from the blasterfire and explosions. She then heard a large rumbling and screeching of metal behind her and turned to see a wall of dust come from one of the hallways behind. She found herself shaking but pushed herself to move. Rounding a corner, she slid to a stop and threw herself back as she heard helmeted voices up ahead and glimpsed unfamiliar Mandalorian figures round the corner and head up the hallway, the hallway she was about to take. Panic started to take her but she bit the inside of her mouth and looked to the left, to the hallway that led to the garden. Turning that way, she hiked the bag more securely over her shoulder and mapped out in her head the path from the gardens to the hanger.

Satine was beside herself just waiting in the ship. Rogaar’s aides had joined them, but his guards had remained to help the Protectors. It had been at least twenty minutes and Fenn tried to get a hold of Lars, Carlson, anybody, but to no avail. No one answered.

“We have to go back,” she said, heading for the door, but Rogaar stopped her.

“We can’t let you do that, Duchess.”

“She’s my sister!”

“I know.” He looked over her shoulder to where she knew Fenn was standing and nodded his head. She turned and Fenn was checking his blasters and heading for their landing ramp.

“I’ll find her, I promise,” he said, but as he was stepping down onto the ramp, blasterfire emptied into the hanger, pinging off the ship, and he ducked just in time to avoid a bolt headed straight for his head. Backpedaling, he hit the button to raise the ramp.

“We have to take off,” Rogaar said, heading for the cockpit.

“No!” Satine exclaimed, running after him. “We can’t! Please!” Her voice broke and she dropped her gaze away from his pitying look.

“The garden,” Fenn supplied, his face a stony mask. “We could try getting to her through there.”

Rogaar nodded and Satine looked up with hope. He tapped the pilot’s shoulder.

“Take off and try to circle back towards the garden.”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot responded and Fenn came to stand next to Satine. His face was pale and drawn and his fists were clenched as he stared out the front viewport. Satine felt the engines fire up and the ship lift then accelerate forward to the hangar opening. They cleared it and were banking back towards the compound when a huge explosion rocked the ship and propelled it forward, throwing Satine and Rogaar to the ground, Fenn barely keeping his feet. Satine cried in dismay and when she gained her footing she ran for a side viewport and sank to her knees at the sight. The compound, her and Bo’s home for the last month, was gone. She fell forward onto her hands, heaving sobs shaking her shoulders, her voice just a long drawn out wail of pain. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned, beating her fists onto the person’s armored chest as they wrapped her in their arms and just held her. Eventually the fight left her and she sagged against their body, her breaths coming in gasps, and she sank into darkness.

Bo had just made it into the garden and was circling one of the decorative metal statues when the compound behind her exploded. She threw herself into the hollow in front of the statue and could see and feel the flames as they split around the metal, red with tinges of blue and white. When she raised her head, her ears were ringing and she could see the garden was littered with debris: pieces of the wall, roof, even furniture. She saw some movement off in the distance and looked to see a ship, their royal ship, growing fainter as it rose then disappeared into the atmosphere.

No, no, no, she repeated to herself, staring at that spot in the sky. Her stomach dropped. They left her. She sank down onto the ground and curled around the bag with her dead Buir’s armor.

Mandalore’s other moon was rising when the ringing in her ears abated and she heard the crunching of boots on the debris around her. She grasped for her blaster and blearily peaked up and saw moonlight glinting off of Mandalorian armor. She fired.

“Osik!” a male voice shouted as the blaster bolt pinged harmlessly against his beskar armor. He pulled his blaster and aimed for Bo before another man came up and pushed his arm down.

“Hold your fire!” he called. Bo, exhausted, let her arm drop. The new man was wearing Mandalorian armor as well, though his was painted blue and black with a cream-colored trident above his T-visor. He looked her over through the helmet then removed it to show a young man with an angular face, bright blue eyes, and almost white blonde hair.

“You’re the younger Kryze girl, aren’t you?” he asked, coming to kneel by her. She didn’t react. “They left you, didn’t they?” She opened her mouth to deny it, then looked off into the distance where the ship had disappeared and dropped her eyes back to the ground. Anger suddenly welled up within her and she lifted her head, her eyes flashing.

“You!” she growled. “You killed my parents! You destroyed my home!” She lifted up her blaster to shoot him, but he was on her in a second, disarming her.

“I can see you are quite unlike your sister, Lady Kryze.”

“You know nothing about my sister,” she growled, spitting at the man. He wiped the spit from his face and laughed.

“You’re right. Only that she and your parents were trying to destroy our culture. Our culture that’s made us who we are for thousands of years.” He looked at the bag beside her. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling it towards him.

“Give it back!” she screeched, launching herself at him, but the other man, the one she’d shot, grabbed her from behind. She screamed and kicked, but he held firm as the other man unzipped the bag and pulled out her Buir’s helmet, emblazoned with the Kryze symbol.

“You are quite unlike your family.” He looked over her shoulder to the man holding her. “Bring her back to camp. Get her some food, water. And watch her.”

“Let me go!” Bo shrieked as he dragged her off into the night. “Satine!”

Satine came to on an unfamiliar cot in an unfamiliar room. She looked around, panicking, and then reality came crashing back down and she curled around herself and the sobs began to wrack her shoulders again. Her sister, her baby sister, who she’d vowed to protect, was gone.

“Your grace,” Fenn Rau’s soft voice broke through her sobs, but she wouldn’t raise her head. Wouldn’t look at him. She felt the cot dip and then felt his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.” Satine only curled tighter around herself and cried harder. Finally, she felt like she ran out of tears and gently pushed herself up. Fenn was sitting beside her, his eyes red and filled with sorrow. He broke eye contact and reached for a mug off to the side. “I thought you could use this.”

Satine gingerly reached out and took the mug from his hands, bringing it under her nose to smell. It was some herbal tea, but she couldn’t tell what. She took a sip and couldn’t really taste much either.

“Thank you,” she croaked. Her throat was raw from crying. The tea helped some.

“Here, I have something else for you,” he said and reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a piece of metal. He held it out to her and she gingerly took it. It was a brooch shaped like the leaves of the Concordia tree. “Bo gave that to me a few weeks ago,” he said, and Satine found more tears as they started slipping down her cheeks again. “I think you should have it.”

Satine fingered the piece then turned it over to see the Kryze symbol hammered there along with a B and a K.

“Thank you,” she said, meeting Fenn’s eyes. He nodded and smiled sadly at her and she collapsed against his shoulder, his arms encircling her and holding her as she cried.

Aruetti- outsider

Beskar’gam – armor

Mando’ad – Mandalorian

Verd – warrior

Ba’buir – grandparent

Buir – parent (in this case, father)

Verda – warrior (plural)’

verd’ika – little warrior (fond)

Dank farrik – generic curse word

Haar’chak – damn it

Vod’ika – little sister

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum – I love you

Osik – shit

#bo katan kryze #bo-katan kryze #bo-katan #bo katan #bo-katan week #bo katan week #fanfiction #star wars #Duchess Satine #satine kryze #fenn rau

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