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parkerslatte · 5 months

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Deals With Our Devils || Chapter One

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: none

Part Summary: Y/N gets a task from the Queen of Vassuryn and ends up in the one place she has avoided for two centuries.

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•••

200 Years Later

Y/N stood guard outside Prince Floris’s bed chambers. It was typically how she spent her evenings until it was time for dinner. For most others, standing around in front of a door would be a taxing activity, but for Y/N it was the complete opposite. The door opened and there was a tap on Y/N’s shoulder and she tried to fight the smile forming on her face.

“You know I’m working,” said Y/N, adjusting the sword at her hip.

“But I’m bored,” Floris said dramatically. “And you can guard me much better from within my bedroom."

Sapphire rolled her eyes. “You know what happened last time.”

“My mother won’t even come to check on everything today, she’s too busy planning a trip,” Floris replied, stepping further out of his room. “And besides, she loves you, she wouldn't care if you were doing your job or not.”

“I still like to please,” Y/N said, looking up and down the corridor.

The Prince’s bed chambers were situated in the most beautiful part of the palace, in Y/N’s opinion. The ceiling was made from glass and was clear enough to see the evening sky. Shades of pink, purple and orange mixed together to make the most perfect sunset. There had always been something about a sunset that relaxed Y/N. It made her feet at ease.

“Well you would please me if you dropped the guard act for a moment and shared a bottle of wine with me,” Floris said. “And it just happens to be the wine you like.”

“Oh, the enchanted one?” Y/N asked, lowering her defensive position.

Floris snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”

Y/N looked down the hallway and back to Floris, who stood leaning against the door smirking. “Oh, fine. But only for ten minutes.”

“That’s what you said the last time,” Floris laughed before allowing Y/N to step into his room.

Floris’s bed chambers seemed to be a small palace within itself. The large floor to ceiling windows at the opposite end of the room opened to reveal a balcony overlooking a flowing waterfall. Y/N could hear the sound of the rushing water from where she stood. The rest of the chambers were fit for a prince. A large canopy bed resided toward the right side of the room, currently messed up from Floris’s adamant refusal to tidy it up. His excuse was always that he would sleep there again so there was no point in tidying his carefully arranged pillows only to mess it up again.

There was a seating area in front of a fireplace large enough to be its own living room, decorated with ornate furniture Y/N could only imagine having in her own chambers.Of course her own bedroom held a sense of regality but it still reminded her that she was only a guard.

Floris slumped down into an armchair near the balcony doors, the bottle of enchanted wine in his hands. “I don’t see why you need to always stand guard outside of my door, anyone wanting to kill me could easily sneak in through these doors.”

“It’s what your mother requested,” Y/N replied, taking a seat in the chair next to him. “And I abide by those rules.”

Floris rolled his eyes. “It won’t kill you to break a rule one time.”

Y/N poured the wine into two golden goblets. “Your mother has shown me so much kindness since I’ve been here. I wouldn’t wish to break any of her orders.”

Floris took a sip from his wine. “You won’t disappoint her if you take one night off.”

With a gentle hand, Floris held up the goblet of wine. Y/N had poured herself one but she hadn’t moved to pick it up from the table. Her gaze fixated on the goblet in Floris’s hand before slowly travelling up until she met his eyes. There was a hint of mischief in them, there always was. Y/N took the goblet from Floris’s hand and took a sip of it. Immediately when it hit her tongue, Y/N let out a content sigh. It tasted so good.

Floris sat back in his chair with a small smirk. “Y/N breaking rules? I like it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and took another sip of the wine. “Shut up.”

The more Y/N drank, the more relaxed she began to feel. No longer was she sitting in the chair with a straight back and rigid posture. Now she was simply sitting with Floris on the soft rug that was underneath their feet, her head resting on his shoulder. The bottle of wine was long gone and the remnants of it were in their goblets. Y/N swirled the remaining liquid around while Floris finished his off, placing the now empty goblet beside him.

“Are you going to finish that?” Floris asked, looking into her goblet at the mouthful of liquid still residing inside.

Y/N lifted her head from his shoulder. “Yes I am.” She brought the goblet up to her lips and finished off the drink, savouring every last drop.

Once both goblets were empty, Y/N and Floris slowly made their way out onto the balcony. The now cold night air hitting them. Y/N was glad that she had opted to wear her jacket that morning. Floris wasn’t so lucky as he only wore a thin white shirt, and although he could have easily gone back into his bedroom and retrieved a jacket, he only rested his head on Y/N’s shoulder and stared ahead at the waterfall.

“What do you think my mothers plans are?” Floris asked after a while of silence.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Y/N confessed.

“She had been planning this trip for months and she had never spent this long for an alliance before,” Floris explained.

Vassuryn wasn’t a well known kingdom, in fact it was rather small and easily glossed over on a map. With minimal allies and a small army, it was rather vulnerable. For the past century, the Queen had been slowly creating alliances and most of them proved to be successful within a couple of months. However, the ally she was seeking out proved rather difficult to contact for a large majority of the time. Y/N didn’t know who the ally was and neither did Floris, the queen had been quiet about the whole thing.

“She may just be having trouble,” Y/N said, trying to reassure her friend. “We don’t know who she is hoping to ally with, it could be a kingdom three times the size of Vassuryn for all we know.”

Floris sighed. “I only wish I could be of more help.”

Y/N rested her head on top of his. “I know.” She didn’t have too many words of comfort though she knew that her presence was enough of a comfort for him.

With the sun completely set, Y/N lifted her hand and whispered to Floris. “Watch this.”

Y/N concentrated on her hand before she could feel the power within her come to the surface before finally breaking free. The blue surges of power caressed her arms before falling a ball of light. Y/N simply threw it in the air and it hovered above them, casting the balcony in light. Floris lifted his head from her shoulder and looked up at the small ball of pure power.

The light cast on his handsome face, illuminating his light brown skin. Y/N had always known that Floris had looked more like his father than his mother from the portraits around the palace. The only features he seemed to have taken from his mother were her deep brown eyes and soft curve of his mouth that was a complete replica of his mothers.

“I completely forget you can do that,” said Floris.

Y/N smiled at the small ball of power. It didn’t take her much concentration to control her powers anymore, in fact it took minimal effort. Y/N was proud of how far she had come.

“I sometimes do as well,” Y/N admitted.

The two continued to sit there in a comfortable silence as the power illuminated them, sheltering them from the shadows. It wasn’t until there was a knock on the door when the power slowly flickered away until nothing remained.

“Floris,” The Queen’s voice was muffled through the door. “Is Y/N in there with you?”

Both Y/N and Floris got to their feet and entered the bedroom. Warmth immediately encased the two of them as Y/N simply waved her hand and a roaring fire grew in the fireplace. Floris opened the door and the Queen stepped inside. She was wearing a simple gown and she was void of any jewellery, except her wedding band that Y/N had never seen her without.

“Y/N,” The Queen said, thrusting a piece of parchment into her hands. “I have a task for you.”

“What task?” Y/N questioned as she slowly unfolded the parchment.

“A task which will help us gain more allies,” The Queen responded.

Y/N shared a look with Floris before she looked down at the letter in her hands. As soon as her eyes landed on the familiar writing, her heart sank.

***

Azriel’s back hit the mat as Cassian stood above him, a triumphant grin on his face. “Are you even trying?”

With a roll of his eyes, Azriel stood to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Of course I’m trying.”

“Is that why you have that distant look in your eye?” Cassian remarked.

Azriel glared. “I am focused.”

Cassian’s only response came from him sweeping his leg and knocking Azriel back down onto the mat. He huffed as he laid limp, not even trying to throw up his facade. Cassian looked down at Azriel with sympathy as he held out his hand, helping the shadowsinger to his feet.

“I know what you are feeling,” Cassian said, clapping Azriel on the shoulder. “I miss her too.”

Azriel didn’t respond as he shrugged off Cassian’s hand and stepped over to the side of the training room. It wasn’t as if Azriel felt this way all the time, he barely ever thought about her anymore. The only reason she was on his mind was because it was the two hundred year anniversary of her disappearance. The last time Azriel had felt this was exactly one hundred years ago.

Out of his family, Azriel was the one who held onto the most hope of her returning. For the days following her disappearance, he would scour all over the Night Court simply looking for any trace of her. He couldn’t focus on anything else except her, he needed to know where she was. He needed her to be safe.

However, over the years, that hope he carried in his heart gradually diminished and soon after that, Azriel stopped looking for her. Then he slowly moved on and never particularly thought about her.

“It’s been two hundred years,” Azriel said. “It shouldn’t matter anymore.”

Cassian sat down next to him. “She was still part of our family, Az. And it doesn’t help that we never knew what happened to her.”

Azriel sighed. “I still hope that nothing bad happened to her.”

“Me too,” Cassian agreed.

There was a small tap against Azriel’s mental shields and he lowered them, allowing Rhys into his mind.

“You and Cassian are needed in my office now,” Rhys spoke into his mind.

After relaying the message to Cassian, the two changed into more practical clothing and left the training room. If Rhys were to send him on a mission, Azriel would be thankful. Anything to get her off his mind today would be a blessing.

When they entered Rhys’s office, Rhys and Feyre were sitting behind his desk and there was someone sitting in the chair opposite him. While Feyre looked at Rhys with a somewhat confused expression on her face, Rhys looked as if he had seen a ghost. His body was still and his eyes hadn’t moved from the figure sitting in the chair opposite.

Cassian stepped in the room first and Azriel trailed behind him. “What did you need us for?” the shadowsinger asked.

As the figure in the chair moved their head to the two new presences in the room, time seemed to slow down. Azriel would recognise that very specific shade of hair anywhere. As the figured face turned to him, Azriel felt his heartbeat increase. His mouth was dry and he struggled to form any words the moment their eyes met. Beside him, Cassian was staring wide-eyed and, much like Azriel, was unable to form any words.

It had been two-hundred years since Azriel had last seen that face yet now looking at her, it felt like it had only been a series of months. His mouth opened and closed to try and find the words he desperately wanted to say but nothing came out. He was in a state of shock.

The door to Rhys’s office was opened once more as Mor and Amren piled in. Mor seemed out of breath as her eyes fixated on the female sitting in the chair.

“Y/N?” Mor said, the first one out of the group to speak. “Is that really you?”

Y/N rose from her chair and faced everyone. Azriel’s gaze was still fixated on her as she surveyed everyone. As soon as her eyes met Azriel’s, Y/N lingered on him for a brief moment longer, her eyes flickering down to his torso and back to his face before moving along the line to look at Cassian. Azriel folded his arms across his chest as he looked down to the floor, unable to keep looking at Y/N.

“Yes,” she finally spoke.

Her voice was the same as Azriel remembered it. It still held the melodic tone that he had spent many nights falling asleep to. Azriel didn’t even know how much he had missed that voice until this very moment.

“It’s really me.”

Taglist:

@lostinpages13 @thelov3lybookworm @mell-bell @daisydark @captainsbaby @mischiefmanagers @scooobies @a-frog-with-a-laptop @venussdovess @radishsworld @fussel9913 @luvmoo @marscardigan @lizziesfirstwife @starlumiere @melygarcias @esposadomd @azrielswhore @sleepylunarwolf

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#azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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knizuu · 12 days

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who is Petey the cat? he looks like a character id enjoy but i know exactly 0 info about him. and id like all the details please if thats okay :]c

Petey the Cat is a former[tho istg that changes sm] antagonist in Dog Man! Plus, he's been in another media too, but I think his wiki can explain that more. He's very clever and gets easily mad. > <

Sadly idk how to explain all the books because uhh im bad at that[insert SITCOM LAUGHTER]/silly. So imma copy and paste some elements :3

“Almost all of Petey's known history has been revealed in the second half of the Dog Man series, first being mentioned in a flashback from Dog Man: Lord of the FLEAS. Petey had been banned from the Critter Scouts after he had been framed for starting chaos while a staff member was absent. He later got his revenge by making a few phone calls to the Animal Rights Union, resulting the Critter Scouts getting shut down within a week. This took place before his father left, as shown by his tail tip still being round within the flashback.” Lmao childhood revenge is so sweet

“Petey was still a young kitten when his father left him and his mother. With hardly anything left, the made their way to the Happy Home Shelter, where Petey spent the rest of his childhood. Petey often had outbursts of anger and wasn't always able to handle the fact that he and his mother could not afford much. But his mother always forgave him. As Petey entered adolescence, his mother tragically passed away of an illness, leaving him orphaned for the rest of his childhood.” UUFHFHFG THIS PART STILL MAKES ME CRY *Oh ye his mom’s name is Grace-idk why I wanted to specify-/silly

In Dog Man, he’s just the bad guy until A Tale of Two Kitties-where he was planning to make a clone but ahhh your son spawns instead./silly

From there, he’s more thoughtful and determined to shy away from being a bad guy.

So ye! That’s most of what I think is needed info. Idk if I’ll ramble about him more but like I probably will idk-

[ive been stimming this entire time/positive]

#Ask #this #silly #It dont need main tags im just a silly #Nazrafer #Knizuu explains something

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oceansssblue · 3 months

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~ [MAGICAL CREATURES SERIES] – THE BAD BATCH AU (N4)

Pt2. "THE SMELL OF FIRE" HUNTER/PHOENIX!OFC

THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE HAPPENING IN THE SMALL MOON PLACED ON THE EDGES OF THE GALAXY WITH THE UNKOWN REGIONS. THEIR PEOPLE ARE RESERVED AND SECRETIVE; TRYING TO APPEAR NORMAL, THOUGH HUNTER HEAVILY SUSPECTS THEY AREN'T. HIS NOSE EASILY PICKS UP THE SMELL OF ASH AND FIRE.

WARNINGS (PT2): CHARACTERS BOUND WITH ROPE, SLIGHT DESCRIPTION OF SCARS. WE'VE GOT MOSTLY MYSTERY/TENSION AND FLUFF 💖

Link for part 1 here:

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Omega had the heart of an adventurer. It was the reason why she had bonded with Phee so fast; always looking forward to hear her interesting stories from her trips across the galaxy. The eccentric woman had told her about a few of her close calls as well. That hadn't detered Omega's dream of following her steps, of becoming some sort of explorer; yet she hadn't really visualized herself on a situation like this.

Omega had been dragged through the trees; the strange humanoid natives closing in on both of her sides. When they finally made a stop, she was pushed down to sit on the silvery ground; and even without understanding their language, the blonde girl had perfectly understood she wasn't supposed to move or resist. Scared, she tried to remain calm while the stranger with the orange eyes took a seat in the sand, in front of her. The old man played with it; fingers gently caressing the silver grains in an almost delicate, reverant way.

It was the native woman standing behind him, long arms crossed in front of her bare chest and posture fierce and self-assured, who talked to her first.

"Safe" she told her, inmediately surprising Omega with basic. "Kids true".

Omega took some seconds to try to decypher what she was trying to say. She then realized the humanoid was telling her that she had nothing to fear for now; that they had just taken her apart and away from the Batch because they believed children were more propense to being honest, easier to read.

She felt her own body slightly relaxing; and nodded in understanding. She was inmensely grateful these people spoke basic, even if with weird accents and shortened sentences.

Once the language barrier had been left behind, Omega spent the next couple of minutes answering the man's questions; explaining the circumstances that had taken them there and how the Marauder had been damaged beyond quick repairs. The orange-eyed humanoid smiled brightly with the knowledge that they had just stumbled on their small moon on pure casuality; while the red-haired woman seemed to hold some waryness still, though she accepted her explanation quietly.

The conversation extended over a little less than half an hour; the blonde girl doing her best at answering to their inquiries. The humanoid with the orange eyes had presented himself as Egan, his people's spiritual guide; while he revealed the woman's name as Alinta, the tribe's first warrior. Omega quickly pointed out each of his brother's abilities and roles; both set of burning eyes watching her closely as if trying to memorise their names in their head.

"Stay us" the old man conceeded. "Fly fix".

Omega beamed and nodded. She still felt justifiedly nervous in their presence –was there really a way to get used to their physical appearance?–, but a heavy weight had been lifted of her shoulders. They weren't going to die. They weren't in inmediate danger. These people seemed pacific, at least as long as they followed their requests; and they had not only allowed them to carry on with their lifes, but offered them a place with their tribe until Tech found a way to finish the ship's repairs. Their fate had changed drastically in mere minutes, and she was glad for the new direction of the tide.

Egan and Alinta guided her back to where they had left the rest of the Batch behind. Omega smiled brightly upon seeing them, quickly running towards them and speaking at a hundred miles per second.

"It's okay. I've just answered some questions. They do speak basic. A basic basic" she nervously chuckled, adrenaline dropping and making her feel jittery. "They have offered us to stay with their tribe until we fix the Marauder".

Echo frowned, glancing at his brothers with the corners of his eyes.

"I don't know if that's the best idea. They might say that now, but we don't really know their intentions. They could be fooling us. I don't trust them".

Hunter watched the red-haired woman smirk. While some of the other natives worked on his brother's bindings, she walked straightly towards him; not a word to be said. He tensed, feeling the energy inside of her buzzing, now that she was close to him; his muscles jumping involuntarily at the feeling of her long nails –almost claws– grazing the skin of his wrists.

"I disagree" Tech answered, gently caressing his own rope-marks now that he had been finally freed. "I believe they would have already killed us if they wanted; and considering we know nothing of this bioma, specially in terms of what is edible or not, I think accepting their help would be the most intelligent road to take".

Hunter was finally released as well; he straightened his posture, quickly beckoning Omega to his side. The native woman stepped back from him, the cut out rope still in her hands. He could still feel the lingering warmth of her fingers; smell the fire off her skin. It was a scent she shared with the rest of her tribe; though it was stronger in her, burning brighter. Calling him.

Tech politely greeted the humanoid with the orange eyes, who Omega quickly presented as the tribe's spiritual guide. The mysterious woman in front of her was introduced to them as Alinta, their warrior leader. Hunter's eyes didn't leave her neon red ones the whole time.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hunter hadn't shut the eye once throughout the whole night. He didn't trust these people; didn't have any reasons why to. They didn't either, so the clone understood the curious, carefull tip-toing around them; and the equally cautious stares of the redhead. Hunter could get why she had been introduced as the tribe's finest warrior. She was always extremely aware of her surroundings; in an intent, silent way that somehow reminded him of Crosshair.

Alinta –and everyone else, by that matter– was a complete mystery to him. Hunter studied the natives; and how they all seemed to move around Egan and her. While the humanoids definitively treated the first one with respect and held them in high regard... It was different with the woman with the red eyes. Hunter could specially identify this differences in the eyes of the children; always widening in her presence, filled with pure admiration, beaming smiles whenever they got the chance to talk to her. As if it were a privilege. Adults tended to gently nod towards her; a discrete bow that left the perceptive clone wondering. Was it just her status as a warrior that justified all that?

On the third day on the small moon –which Egan had revealed it's name to be Aodh–, Alinta spoke to him for the first time. She had been watching him for a few minutes; expression pensive as if in thought. She slowly walked towards him and took a seat besides him on the ground; back coming to rest in the tree behind them and merely leaving an inch between the two.

"You no sleep" she pointed out, firmly.

Not a question; but Hunter answered it anyway.

"I don't" he confirmed. He kept his eyes ahead, on the black-water pond where Omega was playing with other teens like her. "I'm not going to leave my family without protection during the night".

Alinta's lips tugged upwards into a faint smile. The human wasn't scared of throwing the warning straight at her, even if in very obvious numeric disadvantage. He wasn't afraid of offending her. She liked that. She was often treated with so much awe and reverence she sometimes missed someone disagreeing with her, calling her out on her mistakes and even fighting with her.

Hunter didn't need to fight her, though.

"Your family is safe" she answered, her voice as matter-of-fact as Tech's. "Always one of us up. Always us protecting".

Hunter hummed. Yeah, he had studied the rotations between them; someone always keeping watch during the night. He still didn't know what they had to be wary of.

"And who's going to protect me from you?"

Hunter's chocolate eyes turned to her red one's; and he almost shivered unconsciously when a dark, amused smile slowly showed up in the woman's face.

"No people can protect from me" she almost singed, basic sounding foreign in her accent and pronuntiation, tinted with the entonation of her mother tongue. "But I no want hurt you".

Hunter stared. Alinta was straightly telling him that she believed there wasn't a way from him –from anyone– to fight against her. To face her. And she was saying it with a smile on her face. Her small fangs, sharp claws, black markings and bright red eyes only made the comment seem like a threat.

But it wasn't. Maybe a warning, for Hunter to consider it too; that she could destroy them. That she could kill them. She just didn't want to.

Alinta stood up and looked down at him. She was always so confident; always so fierce. She felt powerful.

"If you no sleep the night, sleep now, Hunter" her red eyes flickered over his tired features and smirked teasingly. "You no look so good".

The clone could barely mask his surprise at her remark. A tingling sensation creeped up her spine at her first use of his name. He was too stunned by her cheeky, amicable pun to answer her.

Alinta chuckled and elegantly walked away.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hunter followed the woman's advice. His brother's were wide awake to protect each other and warn him if things went south during the day; so he nodded off here and there, closing his eyes and resting against a tree, or properly sleeping a few hours in in the wooden cabin Egan had assigned for them. It wasn't the comfiest of beds –barely a layered mix of furs on top of another imperfect squared piece of wood–, but Hunter was used to a soldier's life, where his body needed to find rest wherever he could, under hazard conditions.

He kept studying Alinta; and her people. As days passed by and the Batch got used to their weird new plant-base diet and cleansing themselves on the ponds, the clone sargent slowly grew used to their new situation. The aaodhi people reciprocated; slowly integrating them further in their games and conversations –the minority that spoke basic, at least– and opening to them. They were still secretive and they were still holding back something –Hunter just knew–; but they seemed to be good people, just living their quiet life on their small moon lost in the Unkown Regions.

Hunter started to discover layers on Alinta's character too. She had a strong personality; always cool and collected, a dangerous smirk ready to be shown and a carefull glint shining in her red eyes. But it all seemed to melt in the presence of the kids of her tribe. Under their admiring glances and innocent smiles, Alinta turned unusually soft; and something about such unexpected gentleness tugged at Hunter's heart.

Besides the children, the native woman only seemed to share that same softness with one other person; her father. With him, Alinta didn't stand firmly like the warrior she was; but her whole body relaxed towards him, smile turning warmer and vulnerability showing for once. Hunter didn't need to know their story to see she adored him; though he often wondered what had happened there.

Alinta's father must have had experienced something traumatic. He wasn't invalid; but anyone could see that, even in good days, too much movement was torture to him. On bad days he was barely able to take a step forward without wincing in pain; muscles clenching and teeth grinding against each other, bravely trying to cope silently with it. His grey skin –usually smooth in his species– was dry and shrivelled; old scars travelling up his legs to finish on his abdomen, with the exception of smaller deep lines carved on one elbow and the shoulder of the same side. Even if they weren't new, they still looked angry and painful. Whatever had happened, it had affected his nerves; leaving him with a chronic condition that the man tried to cover up as well as he could –perhaps for the sake of his girl–.

Hunter had more than once catched Alinta's red eyes swimming in guilt and raw heartache. She was always there to help him, offering a hand whenever he needed, insisting until he finally ushered her off with a honest little smile. She often watched his unstable walk off with a opened expresion of resigned distress; face suddenly innocent and younger and eyes looking almost lost as she looked at him.

Hunter hadn't ask their story, no; but he had deduced she was somehow partly responsible of his scars, of his present pain. He knew his father didn't blaim her, as well; it had probaby been some sort of accident, if the clone had to guess. He wondered if it had to do anything with a fire. That would explain the scars; though Hunter was terribly confused as to why everyone still smelled like that.

END OF PART 2.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

PART 3 HERE:

LET ME KNOW IF U WANT TO BE TAGGED!

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As always, reblogs are appreciated! Let me know what you think 🥰💖

Xx,

Sky.

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punchdrunkdoc · 6 months

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Part 3, Chapter 2

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 (maybe 4??) parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 3

Chapter 2

Catching Ranieri’s eye was easy. So easy that Calina's low opinion of him sank even further.

A flash of her back in her very low cut dress was all it took to hook him on the end of her line. She wound him in further with a sultry smile and a lick of her lips, and landed her catch by crossing one long leg over the other as she perched on a stool at the makeshift bar.

Mere seconds later, he was shoving his mostly-empty champagne glass on the table next to him and heading straight for her.

As he crossed the packed ballroom, Calina could see why the tabloids favoured him, with his chiseled jaw and his artfully dishevelled hair (that he probably spent an hour moulding into place).

He was objectively handsome...but to her, he resembled nothing more than a wet, flopping, floundering fish.

Easily baited and caught.

Pathetic.

God, men like him were such comically superficial creatures. It wouldn’t matter to him if she was a noble-prize winning genius, or a simpleton with barely two brain cells to rub together, he would have crossed that room regardless.

All because of the way she looked.

No, not even that. He probably wouldn’t care much about the real Calina - the woman who barely wore make-up and did little more than pull a brush through her hair in the morning.

No, he wanted the living Barbie doll that she’d styled herself as tonight, with the extensions in her hair, and the fake eyelashes, and the contoured face. He wanted a trophy. A beautiful, sexy prize that he could parade around the room to prove he was the most virile alpha at this party.

“Buonasera bellissima,” he drawled, as he finally reached her. He rested one arm on the bar behind and crowded close, his powerful cologne saturating the air between them.

Calina's smile felt more like a grimace as she returned the greeting. But he didn’t seem to notice. His own smile just got wider when she answered him in Italian, and he launched off a series of questions about where she was from.

His smile dipped slightly as ‘Eliise’ revealed her Croatian heritage, but it wasn’t enough for him to lose interest completely - especially when Calina followed up her admission by running one manicured hand down his lapel.

The touch overrode his innate xenophobia, and Calina congratulated herself on her choice of cover-story. It was clear that Ranieri was interested in her tonight, but he wouldn’t be calling her tomorrow.

She was too beneath him - hot enough to want to fuck, but not the kind of girl he could bring home to his Grandfather.

Calina’s disgust with him grew, and it took all her skills and training to hide her contempt, especially as the conversation droned on. Although calling it a conversation was overselling it. A conversation implied a back-and-forth exchange of information.

This was more like a TED Talk.

It turned out Ranieri’s enquiry about where she was from was the extent of his curiosity about her. He asked her nothing more about herself, and just launched into a spiel about himself - his background, his business ventures, his recent vacation to the Maldives, the case of wine he’d just bought from Tuscany.

It was all him, him, him.

The quintessential narcissist.

Calina played along, fluttering her fake eyelashes, laughing where expected and generally hanging on to every word as if it was the most interesting thing she’d ever heard.

All the while, internally, she was rolling her eyes with distain, and thanking the God she didn’t believe in that she’d found Matt.

Over the years, she’d encountered a lot of men like Ranieri. So many that she’d started to believe those men were typical of the male species.

But then she’d met Matt.

Matt who cared what she thought. Matt, who was genuinely interested in her life and her passions and her goals. Who asked her questions and sought her opinion and saw her as a person, and not just a beautiful face and a good figure.

She still didn’t know if there were more Matts than Ranieris in the world. It didn’t matter. She was just thankful that she’d found her Matt.

And the stark contrast with the man in front of her just made her miss him all the more. But she pushed those feelings - and all thoughts of Matt - aside to concentrate on the task at hand.

Although it didn’t really require much concentration. If catching Ranieri’s attention had been easy, keeping him engaged in ‘conversation’ was simple…and persuading him to give her a private tour of his home was child’s play.

After one drink at the bar and barely a half an hour of talking, Ranieri was leading her by the hand through the milling crowd of guests and up the stairs to the ‘off limits’ area of the party.

But that’s when the difficult part of the mission began: avoiding Ranieri’s touch.

As they crossed the threshold of his bedroom, Calina felt his hand trail down her bare back and over her ass. She forced herself not to shy away from him as he squeezed her flesh, the 'caress' bordering on painful. But nor did she lean into it. She just deflected any further touches by crossing the room to admire the art work on the wall. “Is that a real Boticelli?” she asked in Italian.

“Of course its real,” he replied, sounding affronted by her question. “My family have been patrons to the arts for centuries.”

And now you’re a patron to a mind-controlling sociopath, Calina inwardly sneered.

Ranieri came up beside her as she studied the priceless painting. He ran a hand down her arm, his fingers grazing the outer slope of her breast as he did so. “You may not be built like a Boticelli woman, but you’re just as stunning.”

Calina couldn’t decide if that was a thinly-veiled complaint about her lack of curves, or just a terrible compliment. Either way, she pasted on a smile. “Thank you,” she simpered.

Ranieri’s hand continued its path back up her arm and over her shoulder. Then he stepped closer to whisper in her ear - spelling out in graphic detail all the ways he wanted to fuck her. Calina tuned him out, but was snapped back to the moment when he bent down to press his lips to the base of her neck. That kiss was a little too close to the spot behind her ear that Matt loved to lavish attention on.

Calina flinched away on instinct.

“You want to play the shy virgin?” Ranieri murmured, holding her in place with an arm around her waist. “I can get on board with that.”

Calina turned in his arms and placed a hand on his abdomen. The touch was low, simulating a lover’s caress - but it was a precaution, in case she had to push him away suddenly.

‘Whatever it takes’ had been her constant mantra over the past month. But there was a big, fat caveat to that statement. ‘Whatever’ did not include having sex with this man. It didn’t even include kissing him. She could barely stand the touch of his hands on her skin.

Matt had kissed that skin. He had touched it and stroked it and claimed every inch of it for himself - whether he knew it or not.

She belonged to him.

And this man didn’t get to sully that.

She kept a smiled in place as she held him at arms length. “I’m not playing shy. I just thought we’d have time for another drink first. Why rush a night we’ll both never forget?”

There was a spark of irritation in his eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the real man - the one who wanted the world at his feet, and the women in it to know their place - before he pasted on his own smile. “Sure, bellissima. If you want a drink, I can get you a drink.”

He sauntered over to the tray of liquor bottles and glasses in the corner of the room and started pouring out two measures. Calina silently extracted the pre-filled syringe from her bag and approached him from behind.

“On the rocks, or-” Before he could finish his question, Calina popped the small needle into the vein in his neck and pressed down hard on the plunger.

“What the fuck!” he cried out.

Calina shoved her hand over his mouth and pushed him towards the bed in the centre of the room. The back of his knees connected with the mattress and he toppled onto the soft bedding…and was out like a light.

Calina checked his pulse - which beat strong and steady - and exhaled sharply in relief. According to Melina there was a risk of arrhythmia in 1% of people injected with this drug. But otherwise it was a safe concoction, designed to incapacitate a victim for around six hours, but leave them with memories of the missing time. The latter element was the crucial factor to prevent any suspicions from arising.

With that in mind, Calina fished out the small ear piece from her purse and fitted it in Ranieri’s ear. Then she texted Anya who was waiting in a nearby van.

Ready for transmission.

Within moments, the faint, tinny sound of Anya’s voice emerged from the device. The other Widow would spend the next hour audibly filling in the gaps for Ranieri’s subconscious, like a hypnotist planting suggestions. He would awake in the morning feeling refreshed after a wild and steamy night with ‘Eliise’ - minus the very real memory of being injected in the neck and manhandled across his room.

To complete the illusion, Calina stripped the unconscious man naked and stepped out of her underwear, leaving the scrap of fabric dangling from the bedpost like a souvenir.

Then she got to work.

———

6 days later…

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing out here?”

Calina sighed at the sound of Anya’s voice behind her. She’d thought she’d have a bit more time up here alone.

It wasn’t easy finding somewhere quiet in a house full of women, especially since she was now sharing her bedroom with Katya. They’d freed another two Widows while they were in Europe, and bed space was becoming tight in the mansion. Every room was now doubled up, and Calina felt like she was constantly tripping over people in the common areas. The lack of privacy was starting to drive her crazy.

Adding that to her conflicted feelings about what happened in Italy, her insomnia, and the fact that she missed Matt with an intensity she didn’t think was possible...it all meant that she really wasn’t much fun to be around these days.

So she’d escaped to the roof. It wasn’t quite the same as her rooftop retreat in New York, but the night sky overhead was pretty spectacular. Without the light pollution of Hell’s Kitchen, the stars were so much clearer and brighter.

But she’d give it all up in a heartbeat to be back in that polluted, concrete jungle with Matt.

“Just taking in the scenery,” Calina lied, not in the mood to explain her current emotional state.

Anya took a seat next to her, and glanced around at the view, as if trying to see the appeal. The lights of the nearby harbour twinkled in the distance and the moonlight shone off the still water in front of the house. It was nature at its most tranquil and serene.

But Anya was never much of a nature lover. She shook her head and glanced down at her tablet. “I’ve got something for you.”

Calina sat up straight. “From Ranieri’s laptop?”

The rest of the mission in Italy had gone off without a hitch. She’d cloned Ranieri’s phone, copied the hard drive of his computer and planted a tracking virus that Anya created, then slipped out of the party unnoticed with the stolen data.

Data that she hoped would justify having Ranieri’s slimy hands on her. “Please tell me you found a lead on Volkov,” she asked.

“I’m close to something,” Anya said. “Just checking a few things first. But that wasn’t what I wanted to show you.”

“What is it?”

“Melina got in touch about that serum from Daredevil that you wanted analysed. She sent through the list of components.”

“Oh,” Calina replied, struggling to hide her disappointment.

Anya tapped the screen a few times then passed Calina the device. “Here you go,” she said, getting to her feet again.

“You don’t need this?” Calina asked, holding up the tablet.

“No, that’s yours. Happy Birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“You sure?”

Calina laughed at the familiar joke. As far as she knew ‘Calina Balashova’ was her real name, but she had no idea where in Russia - or the former Soviet Union - she’d been born, or even when exactly.

The other Widows like her - the ones who’s identities had been scrubbed by the Red Room when they were stolen as infants - had decided to make a joke of it, rather than dwell on the cruelty of their situation.

Which meant every day was a potential birthday.

Calina scrolled through the list of compounds on the screen. While it wasn’t the lead she was hoping for, she was still grateful for something to do to keep her mind distracted. And if she could help Matt with his fear pheromone mystery, maybe that would go some way towards alleviating her guilt.

She’d managed to avoid kissing Ranieri last week, but she’d still allowed him to touch her, and place his lips on her skin, and whisper in her ear all the lurid, obscene things he wanted to do to her body-

Ugh!

Calina shuddered at the memory and tried to concentrate on Melina’s email. And half way down the list, she saw a chemical that gave her pause: Arsonium bromide.

It sounded familiar.

Where had she come across that term before?

She typed the name into Google and did a quick search on its properties and applications. She soon found an article describing the process of using Arsonium bromide and potassium carbonate to synthesise Navenone A - which she knew from her previous research was a type of fear pheromone secreted by sea slugs.

Was that how she knew about Arsonium bromide?

It nagged at her the rest of the night. As she grabbed a late snack from the kitchen, as she cleaned her face and changed into her pyjamas, and as she lay awake listening to Katya’s deep, slow breaths from the other side of the bed, her brain grappled with the problem.

Then it came to her.

She bolted upright in shock.

Katya woke instantly, going from deep sleep to a heightened state of alertness like a flick had been switched. “What is it? Are we under attack?”

Calina ignored her. “Holy shit,” she muttered, working through the implications of what she’d just remembered.

“Are you okay?” Katya asked. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“What? No. I’m fine, I’m just…I can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe what?”

Calina shook her head in disbelief. “It’s connected, Katya. It’s all connected.”

———

The tapping noise was getting louder.

Or, more accurately, he was getting closer to its source.

Matt had first noticed the sound while on the roof of the green and red-brick building on 10th avenue. It was a simple, 5-storey apartment complex above a laundromat…and it also happened to be the exact geographical centre of Hell’s Kitchen. For that reason, it had become a regular stopping point for him while he was out on patrol. It acted like a base, a place where he could centre himself after rushing all over the city. He could pause for a few moments, slow his racing heart and regroup, then listen to what the night was telling him.

Tonight, crouched on the parapet of that roof, he'd tuned out the white noise of the city - the roar of engines, and the buzz of electricity and the chattering hum of thousands of voices and television sets and radios - and he'd scanned the soundwave for people in need, and for criminals up to no good.

But what he'd found instead was a faint, rhythmic tapping sound coming from the riverside.

It wasn’t the frantic rattle of someone trapped and looking for help; and whilst the pattern sounded like possible morse code, it didn’t have the structure of an SOS call. But it piqued his interest anyway.

And given that the city was otherwise quiet, he'd indulged his curiosity and followed the sound. He'd traversed the concrete canopy of the city, leaping between buildings and racing across rooftops, as he'd chased down the mysterious beacon.

Until he found himself approaching the car lot on Pier 90.

As he did so, the tapping got clearer, more distinct. It was the unmistakeable hollow, ringing sound of a steel pipe being struck in sequence.

Taaaap…tap.tap. Taaaap…tap.tap.

Dash…dot.dot. Dash…dot.dot.

Definitely Morse code. He just had no idea what it meant…or who the message was intended for.

But he knew where it was coming from: high up overhead.

Matt glanced up as he honed in on the source of the sound - the large industrial crane floating just off the pier. Halfway along the jib, Matt could make out the shape of a person sitting between the steel railings, their legs dangling in the air 100 feet above the river.

Matt’s stomach lurched at the thought of them jumping into the icy cold, fast moving water below.

Dash…dot.dot. Dash…dot.dot.

Maybe the morse code was a cry for help, or a final message…either way, he needed to get up to them - fast. He started quickly scaling the steel structure, trying to keep noise to a minimum in case he spooked them.

Dash…dot.dot. Dash…dot.dot.

The sound was so loud to him now, it reverberated in his chest. He could feel the vibrations of the metal through his gloved hands, and it seemed to travel through his bones. He crept along the jib, on the opposite side from the seated morse coder. A third of the way along, he paused and took a deep breath of the air, trying to gauge more about them, but the wind was blowing the wrong way.

He inched closer, then froze as the mystery person called out to him, “Took you long enough.”

The voice was full of humour and affection - and so intimately familiar to him.

Calina.

Matt scrambled over and along the jib then squeezed into the metal cage beside her. He grasped the hand that was resting on the steel railing. After a brief moment of hesitation, she adjusted the grip and laced her fingers through his. He brought their clasped hands up to his mouth and pressed a kiss against the back of hers. “Wh-what are you doing here? What’s going on? And why are you here?”

He couldn’t hide the slight whine in his voice at the last question. But he wanted to know why was she was up in this crane, wedged into this small, uncomfortable space. Why couldn’t she be on the ground or an open rooftop, or the living room of his apartment, where he could crush her against him and hold her properly?

Where he could kiss her properly.

She laughed, the sound low and husky and tempting, and it just added to his frustration.

But at the same time…it made him happy.

The last time he’d heard from her - during that brief phone call over a week ago - she’d sounded so upset. He’d been tormented ever since, wondering what had happened to her and if she was still suffering.

It was such a relief to discover that she wasn’t.

“I’m waiting for my ride,” she answered cryptically.

Matt pretended to look around at the vast sky above and the churning water far below. “Who’s your ride? Iron Man?”

She laughed again, and he leaned into the sound. Part of him just wanted to sit here with her and bask in her presence. To hold her hand and listen to her breathe and swim in her scent. But he had far too many questions. He wanted to know everything - what she’d been up to, and where she’d been, and what had happened a week ago.

And when this would all be over and she could come home.

But he started with the most pressing issue. “How long can you stay?”

She sighed. “Not long. I wasn’t kidding about waiting for a ride. They’ll be here soon - the Widows, not the Avengers.”

“Why didn’t you come find me?”

“There wasn’t time. I hitched a ride to New York with some of my sisters - they’re chasing a lead over in Jersey, and they’re picking me up when they’re done.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “But I knew you’d be out here somewhere. I just had to lead you to me.” She tapped her wrist against the metal beam in front of her in the now-familiar code.

Dash…dot.dot. Dash…dot.dot.

“D.D. For Daredevil,” she translated. “I would have gone for ‘M.M.’, but I didn’t want to blow your cover.”

He smiled. “I appreciate it.”

He moved his hand up to inspect her wrist, trying to figure out what she was banging against the metal frame. It felt like a bulky watch strap loaded with slim cartridges. “Your Widow’s bites?"

“Yeah.”

He ran his hand up her arm - as far as he could in the cramped space - and felt the thick neoprene of her suit. “So you’re a Widow tonight.”

“I’m a Widow every night, Matt. It’s who I am.”

The teasing tone in her voice disappeared, and was replaced with hints of bitterness and resignation. He rephrased his question. “I just meant, you’re out on mission tonight.”

She shrugged. “I’m backup, in case they run into trouble.”

“The lead they’re chasing - is it to do with Volkov?”

“Hopefully. We’re following up on some intel we got hold of last week.”

“Last week…when you called me?”

———

Matt’s voice was soft, gentle…and so full of concern that it made Calina’s heart ache. She bit her lip and nodded.

“I’ve been so worried about you. Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

Her teeth pressed painfully into her lip as she warred with her conscience. She wanted to tell him about Italy, and the mission with Ranieri. She didn’t want to keep secrets from him…but she wasn’t sure how the truth would make him feel.

He already had to put up with so much by being with her. Not least this separation between them, and the uncertainty of never knowing how or when they could be together again. She didn’t want to add to it by admitting that she’d had another man’s hands on her.

And she didn’t want to keep reminding him of who she used to be. Who she still had to be, while she hunted for Volkov. She didn’t want that part of her life to infect what they had together.

She was so scared that he would wake up one day and decide she wasn’t worth it.

“Hey.” She felt his thumb brush her lip as he tried to free it from the vice of her teeth. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Just tell me you’re okay now.”

She took the 'out' he offered, glad that she didn’t have to actively lie to him. Again. “I’m as good as can be,” she replied truthfully. “I just want this to be over. I- I miss you.” She stuttered over the words, still so new to this. Still so unsure of this wonderful, delicate thing between them.

Matt showed no such hesitation. “I miss you too, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

God, she’d never get enough of hearing that - even as the affection in his voice tore at her.

She’d been spiralling with shame and guilt over the past week, and she thought seeing Matt in person would help alleviate some of those feelings. That a brief moment of being with him again would remind her of why she’d gone through with that mission in the first place - it was all so that she could find her way back to him.

But it wasn’t working.

Looking into his beautiful brown eyes, so open and full of love, the guilt just amplified within her.

She needed to get out of here. She couldn’t bear to be around him while feeling this way. She glanced at her phone. Luckily, there’d been another text from Katya in the few minutes since Matt had arrived:

On our way.

She suppressed her sigh of relief and updated Matt. “I have to go soon. But I have something for you.”

“Is it the co-ordinates to your new base with a key to the front door?”

She handed him the USB stick she’d stashed in her belt. “No, but it’s a pretty good consolation prize.”

He took the device. “What’s is it?”

“The component list of the fear pheromone. And a few other things related to the case.” She’d been so excited to share her breakthrough with him - it was the reason she’d begged to come along on this trip - but now she couldn’t seem to muster any enthusiasm to talk about chemicals and nefarious plots.

Matt didn’t seem to mind the lack of explanation. He just tightened his hold on her hand and leaned against her as much as the metal pole between them would allow while they waited for Katya and the other Widows.

Minutes later, the roar of an engine cut through the noise of the wind howling around them. Calina glanced down and spotted the speedboat racing in their direction.

“I take it that’s your ride,” Matt said.

She nodded, and let go of Matt’s hand. She used the beam above her head to pull herself to her feet and manoeuvre onto the outside of the jib. She clipped herself to the metal frame with the carabiner on her belt and checked the position of the boat below - it was now idling directly beneath her, just as planned.

The lights on the boat flashed as if to hurry her up, but Calina paused to look at Matt. He’d joined her on the outside of the railing, with nothing securing him in place but the grip of his gloved hand. He looked so strong and invincible up here, the lights of his beloved city framing him in silhouette as he balanced with ease on the swaying platform, 100 feet in the air.

A daredevil to the core.

God, she loved him so much.

“I guess this is it,” she said, her voice wavering. As much as she needed to get away from him, she hated the thought of yet another goodbye.

To make it as quick as possible, she leaned forward and kissed him on the chin, the highest point she could reach given the awkward angle. “See you soon,” she promised.

Then she jumped.

———

Matt watched Calina fall through the air, the cable connecting her to the crane whirring loudly as it unspooled from her belt. Seconds later she was barely more than a speck below him as she jerked to a stop. She disconnected from the lifeline and landed safely in the boat deck.

Matt exhaled sharply in relief. His friends had complained for years about having to watch him execute dangerous, gravity-defying stunts - and he finally knew what that felt like.

It was horrible.

But that new-found empathy didn’t stop him from following Calina down the 100-foot drop. Without a second thought, he grabbed hold of the cable still connecting to the crane, jumped off the metal ledge and started to slide down.

He used his boots and gloves to try to control his descent, but they only helped so much - the wind still whistled past him as he hurtled through the air at speed. Within moments he was on the deck, landing in a crouch on one knee to absorb some of the impact. He felt the jolt through his worn joints, and knew he would feel it tomorrow.

But it was a small price to pay. He stood up, spun a startled-looking Calina towards him and took her in his arms. “You call that a goodbye?”

Then he tipped her back and kissed her.

It was a deep kiss. A desperate kiss.

He’d felt a…distance…between them up on that crane and it had scared him. So he poured everything into the kiss. He fuelled it with weeks of loneliness and torment, and laced it with every drop of love and passion that he felt for her.

He held her firmly against him with one hand at the back of her head, and his other clamped her around the waist, as if to stop her from disappearing. But she didn’t seem to want to go anywhere. Relief flooded Matt’s system as Calina returned the embrace just as fiercely, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck and one leg coming up to hook around his thigh.

They kissed and kissed, oblivious to the icy wind on their cheeks and the rocking of the boat underfoot as it sped across the water...and the hooting and cheering from the other Widows onboard.

Although, eventually, that last noise seemed to penetrate Calina’s senses. She broke the kiss and ducked her head, and he could feel the heat radiate from her blushing cheeks. He stroked his hand over her braided hair and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

She looked up at him and shook her head. “What were you thinking?” She didn’t sound angry at his reckless abseil through the air - just a bit exasperated.

He shrugged. “It was your fault for leaving me hanging like that. So to speak.”

She squeezed him around the waist. “You’re crazy.”

He shrugged again. “Must be.”

The lights of the city were a blur as the speedboat travelled further down the river. Whoever was captaining this little ship didn’t seem inclined to slow down and drop him off on the shore. And he couldn’t blame them - he’d gatecrashed their choreographed escape, after all.

So he reluctantly broke away from Calina and grabbed his billy club out of its holster. He stroked a finger down Calina’s cheek and with a final, “Bye, sweetheart,” he launched one end of the baton up into the air. It caught on the low bridge they were passing under and he swung up behind it, off the boat and onto the walkway above.

“Show off!” he heard Calina call, her teasing voice echoing off the underpass.

He laughed in response as he jogged to the other side of the bridge. He watched the boat travel further away from him, a sole figure on the deck waving as it disappeared into the night.

It reminded him of the beginning of all this. Of watching Calina from afar as she stood on their rooftop all those months ago.

Back then, she’d been an intriguing mystery. A beautiful distraction from the darkness in his life. And while part of him had known there was something life-altering about their connection, he could never have imagined how vital she’d become to him. How much he’d grow to love and need her.

She was still intriguing. Even more beautiful and, in some ways, just as mysterious.

But now she was his.

And he was hers.

————–

What's all connected? What lead are the Widows following up in Jersey?

Find out in Chapter 3

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#daredevil #daredevil fic #tabula rasa #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock #daredevil x original female character #marvel's daredevil #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x oc

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forebodingprophet · 1 year

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Moirai || Clotho C1P4

“What on Earth happened to you?” Anastasios flinched as his mother ran over and started running her hands over him. “Are you okay? Did someone attack you?” To be fair, he should have expected this. He was covered in dirt, scrapes, and bruises, which was entirely unlike him, so of course she’d worry. “Ohhh, I told father not to send you by yourself. Even if you have the Lady with you, it’s still too dangerous.”

“Arceus, mother, I’m fine,” Anastasios insisted, trying to peel her hands off his face. “This is just…” How did one explain a few friendly scuffles with your best friend from your past life? “One of the kids in town really wanted to play, and things went a bit overboard, that’s all.” His mother frowned and looked him all over again, trying to See a lie, but not getting any. That was part of the problem in this house: lying was damn near impossible in this house. But that hadn’t been a lie. Tussling with Hikaze was very much like playing. None of it was actually serious, and neither of them generally intended any real harm to the other aside from some bruises. Still, even though there were no lies to be Seen, it didn’t look like his mother believed him. The woman heaved a sigh before finally letting him go. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to approve of how much work your grandfather gives you. It’s all just so dangerous.”

“It’s fine, mama,” Anastasios replied softly. “I want the work. It’ll help me be a good patriarch.”

“You shouldn’t have to be the patriarch just because the Lady favors you,” his mother grumbled, wrapping her arms around her son. “You can do whatever you want. You don’t have to do such a thankless job…”

“I’ll be fine, mama,” Anastasios said with an uncomfortable titter. “I want to be patriarch. No one’s forcing me. But I do have to report to pappous.”

“Just rest a bit. At least take a bath. You don’t want your pappous to see you like this do you? He’ll ask even more questions than I did.”

Anastasios gave a series of soft laughs. “This is true.” If his grandfather saw him like this, he’d think Anastasios got hurt because of his request which was completely not the case. “Tell pappous I’ll be there to see him in an hour with my report. And take this.” Anastasios brought out the Pokeball, placing it in his mother’s hands.

“Stasi, παιδί μου, what happened?” For him to use one of the family’s coveted Pokeballs must have meant that something truly serious had gone on.

“It’d take too long to explain, and I still don’t really understand everything that happened. You, me, pappous, and pateras should all talk about it later,” Anastasios replied. “Regardless of what it is though, it doesn’t look good.”

“Is Calypso okay?”

Anastasios shook his head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t find him. We’ll talk when I’m cleaned up, okay?”

“Fine, but you better make sure to tell us everything.”

“I will,” Anastasios replied. There was a lot to explain, including Hikaze. He let his mother give him a soft kiss on the cheek before sending him off.

Anastasios hissed as he cleaned his cuts and scrapes. He had more than he’d expected, but he should have known that’d happen, rolling around on the cobblestone street with Hikaze like that. It took him nearly half an hour to get clean (his hair needed some attention too- he’d be damned if he had to use scissors for any of this) and he spent another twenty minutes applying ointment and bandages to anything truly egregious. Most of the bruises were easily concealed by his clothes, but his chin, elbows, and knees made him look like he’d fallen out of a tree. Explaining this to his father and grandfather without revealing that he was, in fact, Esaias’ reincarnation was going to be a pain. Anastasios arrived in the patriarch’s office almost exactly on the hour he’d promised, his hair still damp and hanging limply around his neck and shoulders. His parents and grandfather had already gathered in the office- normally parents weren’t allowed in on these meetings, even if they were the patriarch’s children, but this was part of an agreement his mother had made them all sign when the current patriarch, Anastasios’ grandfather, had started wanting to take Anastasios along for work when he turned 8. It had been decided as soon as he was born that he’d be raised as the next patriarch, something Anastasios had never once voiced even a single complaint about, but his mother had never been a fan of the idea, especially with the number of unsettling prophecies the family had been churning out over the last several decades. Anastasios took a seat in the only unoccupied chair, laying the lengths of his hair over the back to help it finish drying.

“What happened to you? You look like you got in a fight with a Fighting-type and lost,” his father pointed out.

“I was… messing around with one of the kids in town. He looks worse than I do. Don’t worry about it,” Anastasios explained. His father was not a Seer of the house, he had married in, but his grandfather and mother would definitely See any lies he slipped in. His father looked to them for guidance, but both of them just shook their heads.

“He’s not lying,” his grandfather confirmed.

“Look, I’m a teenager, not an idiot. Most people give up on lying early in this house.”

“You never even bothered trying,” his grandfather laughed. Anastasios cringed and looked away. That was because he already knew there was no point from an early age.

“Can we just get on with the report? What I have’ll heal. It’s not a big deal,” Anastasios said, trying to change the topic.

“Sure, what’d you find?” His grandfather obviously knew he was trying to change to topic, but it was true that this subject was what they’d all gathered for.

Anastasios took a deep breath and began explaining. How no one had seen Calypso in days; how no one seemed to even care, how Anastasios had scoured the apartment, but it had been completely wiped clean of Ultrareality imprinting; and how something had been completely invisible to him and carried a Pokémon inside. One of the adults occasionally opened their mouths, as if to interject, but Anastasios would hold up a hand. Generally, this was not how one treated their parents, including Anastasios, but he sat here right now as the patriarch’s proxy, not their offspring.

“Mamá, that Pokéball I gave you earlier has what came out. The object itself shattered into dust, at least as best as I could tell. I’ve never seen a Pokémon like it, even in our library.” His mother turned the ball in her hands. “Don’t let it out. It’s incredibly hostile. It attacked as soon as it was loose. It’ll need containment and sedatives before any of the house’s Pokémon can help us interrogate it because we’re not getting anything else from Calypso’s place.”

“Are you sure? I can send someone who’s Class 10, or-” Anastasios held up a hand and cut his grandfather off.

“It wouldn’t do much good now. I know I’m only Class 6, so there’s probably some stuff I may not have been able to See, but I went back in for one more check afterwards. Ran my hands over every damn surface I could reach looking for more invisible shit, but I didn’t find anything.” He could see his mother glaring at him over his choice of language and knew she would have something to say later, but he would try to disappear before that talk could happen. Thankfully he had one more topic to distract them all with. “And even if you sent someone, that Pokémon tore half the flat to pieces. Whatever I missed may now be in complete ruins. This is too worrying to have just happened once, and there’s no guarantee that triggering the trap I did won’t prompt an enemy to come out and set a new one when they realize that the trap they set didn’t work. Everyone we have outside the house needs to check in immediately. Make them check in daily if they have to. I know they won’t like it, but one of us is missing.” Anastasios squeezed his hands together as Esaias’ memories overwhelmed him. All that pain and fear he’d encountered when dealing with this sort of thing flooded straight into Anastasios.

The patriarch sighed. “I’ll put out a call for check-ins, but I’ll give them all three days. Anyone who doesn’t get back in that time should be considered missing.”

Anastasios nodded. “Once we have that list, give it to me. I’ll continue going around to do wellness checks myself.”

“Absolutely not!” his mother snapped. “You’ve already been attacked once! Just look at yourself!”

“Mamá! I told you, this is just from playing!” he replied.

“But you never even played with the other kids in the house!” his mother retorted. “I can See that you’re not lying, but Arceus so help me, you saying you got that beaten up just playing is hard to believe!” Anastasios made a sound in the back of his throat and stiltedly averted his gaze. It wasn’t like he’d never been a big bundle of kid energy, but he’d always been far too mature for his age, so things like playing pretend and getting into fights with the other children had never been something he partook in. The moment he reconnected with Hikaze though, it was like a switch flipped, and he just couldn’t help himself. Taunting Hikaze just came so naturally to him that he definitely outed his reincarnated status to the other boy more than he would like. The feeling of an object pushing his feet apart returned his attention to the ground only to be faced with a smarmy-looking Celia.

“Urk…” The other three members of the family present immediately showed varying levels of reverence, but Anastasios just tried to nudge her back into his shadow with his foot. “Be quiet, you.” Celia ignored him and pulled herself out of his shadow before plopping herself down shamelessly in Anastasios’ lap, giving him just enough room to barely peer over her head. “I’m not a chair,” he hissed.

“Might as well be.” He had half a mind to just shove her off, but the scolding he’d get from his family would not be worth it, so he begrudgingly put up with it.

“Lady Celia, did you also wish to weigh in?” the patriarch asked.

“I have nothing more to add to this particular issue that Anastasios has not already conveyed to you,” Celia replied. “Although it was quite amusing to listen to him have to interact with something the same way I do.” Anastasios scoffed but didn’t say any more about it. “But I will say, life is about to get far more interesting. The one who made our cute little Stasi like this is a young boy named ‘Hikaze’. When we went into town, we were met with Kazuya Minegishi’s reincarnation. Kazuya was Esaias’ best friend. He, like my Stasi, still retains his past life’s memories, although he’s far less stubborn about it.” As if she could feel Anastasios scowling behind her, she followed that up with “Don’t worry, you’re still far more adorable.”

“I never asked to be anything like that,” Anastasios replied with disgust.

“So this boy beat you up?” his mother asked. While Esaias’ name was well-known in the house, Kazuya’s was only known to those who made a hobby of studying the house’s history. His name was brought up in their compulsory education, but after 1,000 years, little more was spoken about aside from the fact that he and Esaias had been close, and Celia hadn’t felt the need to encourage these lessons to be any more elaborate.

“If anything, I’m the one who beat him up,” Anastasios spat. “He looks ten times worse than I do.”

“Indeed, the one starting most of these fights was actually our cute and well-behaved Stasi,” Celia teased, completely ignoring the retaliatory tug on her cheeks that she got in return. Well, Anastasios was well-known for having a barbed tongue and not pulling his verbal punches. It wasn’t like it never happened that he angered someone to the point of physical retaliation, but against another child? And that he let himself get dragged into the actual fighting instead of just laying them out? Unheard of. “Alhough shood probapree add,” Celia began, Anastasios’ continuing assault on her face affecting her speech, “hat Hikaze was huh one who foun da hing wih da Pohemon in it.” Anastasios finally released her face to let her actually speak, but the important part was already out. Celia rubbed at her cheeks, which were now violently red. “Geez, what are you going to do if my cute little cheeks come off?”

“Think about that before you start your taunting next time,” Anastasios retorted. Celia scoffed and rolled her eyes, but continued on.

“Apparently, that Pokemon came in some strange kind of orb. I was only able to handle it briefly before Stasi so rudely took it back, but, aside from how bumpy it was, it felt like a perfect orb. Even more so than that Pokeball in your hand.” The Pokeballs of house Ofthalmós were crafted from apricots by members of the house who couldn’t technically be called artisans (there wasn’t enough demand for them to warrant having that much practice), which meant that they often had minor defects. Anastasios usually kept two or three on hand just in case one or more turned out defective.

“So this boy was able to see something that you weren’t, Stasi?” his grandfather asked.

“Yeah. If I had to guess, it was hidden from the Ofthalmós Sight specifically. The illusion that Pokemon made was elaborate enough to even warp Ultrareality, but it only had enough power to hide it from an Ofthalmós, not a normal person. Hikaze shouldn’t have any special abilities.”

“Aside from his ability to get you to act like the child you are,” Celia teased.

“Shut it, you,” Anastasios spat.

“Anastasios, you shouldn’t talk to Lady Celia that way,” his father corrected.

“Oh, if you think that’s the worst of his impudence, maybe I should tell them how you carry me around like a bag of-” Anastasios hand quickly covered her mouth, but that pretty much all but sealed his fate. He was undoubtedly going to spend the rest of the afternoon getting lectured on ‘showing the family god the proper respect’ for the rest of the afternoon.

Hikaze, on the other hand, made no effort to get home quickly, only going home juuuust in time for dinner to avoid being scolded for his state of dress. He confidently returned home with Itsu in tow covered in dirt, sweat, and blood and took his place at the table right as his parents, aunt, and uncle were dishing up.

“And where have you been, young man?” his aunt scolded.

“Oh, y’know, out and about,” Hikaze replied cheekily as he reached with a dusty hand towards one of the dishes on the table. It fell short, however, when his mother unceremoniously yoinked the dish out of his reach with a firm glare.

“Arceus, Hikaze, at least wash your hands first.”

“Oh come on, my hands are plenty clean,” Hikaze said, knowingly lying through his teeth. Both were caked with dust and dirt from rolling around in the street with Anastasios earlier.

“Wash,” his mother said sternly, pointing to the kitchen sink. Hikaze chuckled but complied, confident that he’d successfully avoided being scolded about just how messy he’d gotten. Once his hands were clean (a visible mark running around his wrists where you could see that he’d stopped washing), Hikaze trotted back over to the table and plopped himself down, taking everything in sight onto his plate while the adults all rolled their eyes. The boy ate like a Swallot.

“Oh, so I heard one of the Ofthalmós came to town today,” Hikaze’s aunt said, starting the nightly dinner gossip. That made Hikaze pause, a spoonful of food half-shoveled in his mouth.

“Right, did you happen to see them?” his mother asked. Hikaze took the spoon out of his mouth and started chewing slowly, his eyes following the conversation as it moved back and forth between his mom and his aunt while the men ate silently.

“No,” his aunt replied, sighing in disappointment. “But everyone I spoke to acted like it was such a treat. They must really be as beautiful as they say.”

“Are they famous or something?” Hikaze asked through a mouthful of food. Until now, had it not been for Kazuya’s memories, he wouldn’t have even known that family even existed. This was the first he’d heard the name since reincarnating.

“Something to that effect,” his mother replied, although the tone in her voice made it sound to Hikaze like that wasn’t actually the case. “They’re a powerful family that live nearby, and everyone in the house is said to be both beautiful and smart. It’s also said their family god is quite powerful, so you should always treat them well,” his mother explained.

Hikaze scoffed. “Just imagining her as a god of any kind is ridiculous.” His chuckling stopped, however, when a sudden silence overtook the table. The sound of utensils against plates stopped. Not even a chew or a gulp could be heard. Hikaze started up at the rest of his family and had to suppress a shudder at their stares.

“Did you meet their family god? It’s said that she rarely ventures out. What was she like?” his uncle asked. Something about the question felt… off. He’d expected to get yelled at for treating a ‘god’ that way, but instead, his usually quiet uncle seemed unusually intrigued.

“Uhhh yeah,” Hikaze replied. “That girl with the white hair, right?” He was inwardly grateful for all the experience his past life afforded him. A subtle alarm was going off in the back of his head warning him not to tell them that he knew Celia personally, and he could only attribute that to Kazuya.

“Yes,” his mother replied. “It’s said she has pure white hair and brilliant blue eyes. Some stories say she has pure white skin while others say it’s the color of ash.” Well, the truth was that both were the case, but Hikaze wasn’t about to admit that. “What was she doing out? Does she actually leave the mansion often?” Celia’s words from earlier in the day echoed in his head: there were people out to enslave the Ofthalmos. He didn’t want to believe that his family was part of that kind of group, but Hikaze got the distinct sense that he should share as little about what happened that day as possible.

“She accompanied a member of the house into town for sweets,” Hikaze replied. Immediately, he knew that was a bad lie. If his parents asked around, they would definitely find out that Anastasios had been searching for someone, not running an errand. “Umm… I guess one of them really likes to bake, so they were bringing some sweets to one of the relatives living here. The family god was rolling around demanding that she get some too.” He doubted Celia ever bothered to tone down her selfish behavior, even in public… at least he hoped that would be the case.

“Well, knowing someone from House Ofthalmos can open a lot of doors,” his mother said, reaching over the table to stroke his muddy hair (and then covertly brushing her hand off on her skirt.) “Make sure to get along with them whenever you see them.”

Hikaze ran to his room and shut the door tight behind him as soon as dinner was over, his heart hammering a mile a minute. It all felt so surreal. Itsu reached up and tugged at Hikaze’s shorts in concern. Hikaze quietly patted the little flame soldier’s head, carefully avoiding the fire.

“Sorry, just a bit freaked out,” Hikaze replied, walking over and plopping down on his bed. “That was fucking weird.” Itsu climbed onto the bed and laid down next to him, taking the exact same position and giving a squeak of affirmation. Should he tell Anastasios? But he didn’t have any proof that his parents were actually dangerous. And what if Anastasios started avoiding him because of his parents. Arceus, just the thought had Hikaze biting his lower lip. He’d always envied the connection Kazuya and Esaias had, and he wanted that. How could fate put it in front of him just to rip it away again? “Yeah, there’s no way I can tell him about this…”

#Return of the Progenitor || Sun!Verse #Anastasios #Celia #Hikaze #Moirai || Clotho #Clotho || Chapter 1

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no-droids · 3 years

Text

Kar’taylir

gif credit @sersi

Part Thirteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.8K

Warnings: language, angst and fluff, descriptions of a dead body, no real smut in this one but there is some nudity and touching, uhhh i think thats it tbh

A/N: Omg hi hi hello this was written in a week and a half so please be gentle, also I’m back on my linguistics bullshit and I can absolutely guarantee a vast majority of it is inaccurate

***

Everybody is asleep and you’re just a complete mess.

Truly. And it fucking sucks, because this should be enjoyable. This is home. You’re in hyperspace, the hull is pitch black, the baby is asleep, and Din’s breathing is slow and quiet through the darkness. Your cheek presses to his chest as it rises and falls hypnotically, you’re comfortable and safe and this would normally be a dream. But your eyes are wide open right now and you are just going through it. Spiraling in the midst of the most stable surroundings you could possibly conceive.

You suppose that this is partially your fault. You don’t know why literally any part of you expected Din would explain himself without prompting from you, but you still couldn’t work up nearly the nerve necessary to ask. Every potential question you came up with contradicted your intent, every way you tried to mentally phrase it gave off the wrong impression. How do you ask somebody if they were being serious about something without revealing anything about your own intentions? You can’t—that’s a downside of staying silent.

Din hasn’t said a single word since he urged you to leave the shooting range earlier, and he didn’t really seem like the quiet didn’t suit him, if that makes sense. Yours was awkward, it fit you wrong. You struggled for words while he easily ignored their existence altogether, able to navigate the Crest into hyperspace and exist comfortably around you without ever addressing the giant bantha in the room. Maybe that’s part of the reason you floundered so hard—he didn’t avoid you, he held the kid while you took a shower in the small fresher, and even though he was quieter around you than he’d been in awhile, he gave no indication that anything was wrong at all.

You spent that time getting clean but also formulating some sort of plan. As you bathed in actual water for the first time in a week and scrubbed your body clean, you tried to figure out at least why you were having so much trouble coming up with something to say, but even then, words evaded you. You spent the entire time staring blankly at the metal wall, at a complete fucking loss.

When you came out of the fresher with wet hair and comfortable clothing to sleep in, Din was armorless and resting in your makeshift bed on the floor, the baby tucked soundly in his crib next to him. You turned off the lights and carefully found your way under the blankets next to him in the pitch blackness, feeling him lazily reach around you and pull you to rest against his chest. His fingers gently drew circles along your arm for maybe the first few minutes while you worked up the nerve to speak. You needed to say something, this was your chance—

But then his hand soon fell to rest in one place on your shoulder and he passed out. Helmet on, not even a few minutes of your quiet breathing next to him.

So now, you’re here, just… a little ball of stress in the middle of paradise. Hours have passed, you need sleep after such a physically exhausting week but it’s like you haven’t even processed the fucking proposition he presented to you yet. You’re having trouble even thinking the words, that’s how much he’s got you fucked up.

He said… hit the target and I’ll ma…. hit the target and I’ll marrrrr…

Fuck. You stay on that loop for ages until your eyes begin to grow heavy, until you just settle on thinking about it with them closed. Slow breaths from Din under one ear, the silence of hyperspace all around you—how are you supposed to contemplate when his body is so warm? No, you can ask tomorrow, you’ll ask him tomorrow.

Eventually, you’re able to drift off into a troubled slumber, dreaming of bells made of beskar that deafen anyone who rings them.

***

You wake up what feels like two minutes later.

It’s not, but you don’t know that. You’re so warm and the second your eyes open, they start stinging and burning and tearing up like your body just wants to cry for even being awake right now. You finally got to sleep—you moan pitifully and start to turn your head further into the warm blankets, but then a gloved hand smooths your hair back and a voice whispers quiet through the darkness.

“I have to go.”

And oh, his touch is just the gentlest thing, but what he says makes your already fragile mental state want to shatter. The first words he gives you in hours and they’re the ones you loathe to hear the most.

“W-Wha? No,” you whimper and automatically reach for him, your throat starting to close up. Maker, you’re so tired, you’re so tired, you feel so fucking emotional and vulnerable right now and you’re not even awake enough to realize it. “Why?”

Din just catches your hands and brings both of them together in front of him, slowly pressing your knuckles to the cold beskar on the face of his helmet.

“I meet with Karga in three days,” he murmurs back, voice pillow-soft and barely loud enough to come through the steel under your fingers. It’s gentle and lulling and it makes you want to sleep again, but you can’t and you feel like you could burst into tears for that reason alone. “He gave me four pucks, I need four bodies.”

You can’t argue with it, the logic is perfectly sound. But you still want to, and everything inside you revolts at the thought of allowing him leave like this without fighting for more. Which means you have absolutely nothing reasonable or compelling to say to appeal to him; all you’re left with the glaring truth.

“But I don’t want you to leave,” you whisper, tightening your fingers.

And, perhaps if you were even half-conscious, you’d wince. You’d cringe at the shake in your voice, you’d remind yourself that he has to make a living, he’s said it over and over again. If you were completely awake, you’d scold yourself for being such a needy mess, but right now, all you can think about is how much you want him to stay, just this once.

After a moment, you feel the gloves carefully collect both of your hands into just one of his, and then he slowly reaches out with his free hand to cradle your jaw.

“I won’t be gone long,” Din murmurs. “I can’t be.”

Your head turns slowly in his palm, and you’re just so, so sleepy. Your voice is small and your words slur. “Stay with me.”

Quiet, and though you can’t see him, the leather continues to press so warm to your cheek. Your eyes slowly drift shut, needing him to stay exactly like this, stay right here just like this. Karga can wait, the quarry can wait, the galaxy can wait—everything else can wait when things are like this, when he’s looking down at you breathing slow into his palm.

You’re almost asleep again when you hear him say something.

But… you have no idea what he says. You hear it. You hear his voice come through the pitch black, quiet enough to sit just on top of the silence and let the mysterious words simply become a part of it, but it’s strange. Like his cadence lilts in a different way, the vowels are longer than what you’re used to, and your comprehension abruptly falters like it would if he was speaking another language altogether.

Maybe it’s just because it’s the first thing to pull you back from the edges of sleep, that has to be right. It doesn’t sound like Basic because your mind is stupid and slow right now. You need to ask him to repeat himself, but all that you can muster is the soft sound of confusion, not even able to open your eyes anymore.

His hands pull away from you and once again, you suddenly can’t decide between sleep and crying, quickly lifting and trying to reach out for him in the darkness. You can’t feel anything, it’s like he’s completely disappeared from where you assumed he’d be, except then something tiny is placed into your hands instead and it makes an unhappy little sound at being disturbed. You automatically hold the baby close to your chest and strong hands touch your shoulders, urging you to lay back down again.

“Leave the engine running, you’ll freeze if you don’t,” he mutters, quickly tucking the blankets up under your body while you close your eyes and feel the tears wet your lashes. Fuck, you’re so exhausted, you just need to sleep. “If I’m not back in sixteen hours, I’ll use my e-comm and you’ll have to fly out to me.”

He steps away from you, walks quickly and with purpose to the side of the hull, and a blast of frigid air fills the room before the door is slammed shut behind him.

***

Your head hurts.

Sparks and wires give your fingers mean, zapping reminders to pay attention every time your focus slips, but you still feel like you’re in a daze.

“Come on,” you drone, trying to use your voice to snap yourself back into the present, but the sound of it isn’t even interesting enough to pull you away. “Come on.”

Maker, you’re going fucking crazy. Is this just all an elaborate scheme to make you experience the same kind of insanity he told you he struggles with in your absence? Because you don’t like this—you hate feeling like this, you can’t concentrate on anything and even if he hadn’t instructed you to do so, you’d likely still be counting the hours of his absence.

Fourteen have passed so far, not the sixteen you’re waiting for but getting close. It’s one thing you’ve been able to accomplish. Counting. You can still count right now, so at least there’s that.

Oh, and another hoop you’ve jumped through. Understanding words. You can listen and repeat, even if you still can’t fully comprehend, but you’re getting there.

Din said… hit the target and I’ll marry you.

He said that. Yep. You’ve accepted it, you’ve accepted the words that were said. Indeed.

Okay, but now… like…

What did he mean by that? Why did he say that?

No matter how much you tell yourself he was just messing around—no matter how many times you offer up that perfectly logical answer to the burning question you’ve been sitting on, you still aren’t satisfied with it. Something keeps tugging your mind back to it, a tether constantly pulling you away from the work that’s designed to be your distraction.

You frown down at the box of machinery. Whelp, if he was serious, he’d probably immediately take the offer back after witnessing your behavior this morning. You embarrassed yourself terribly, you acted like a clingy baby in the looming shadow of unconsciousness and what’s worse, you can’t even remember what he said after you begged him to stay. It could’ve been a quiet, “Stars, pull yourself together,” for all you know.

And honestly, just… fuck these electronics. You’re at the point where you’d probably cheer on whatever brutal impact damaged them so atrociously if you weren’t also well aware that this box was very likely attached to Din’s chest when it was crushed. The magnetics are a complete mess, and you’re mostly just attempting to see how the individual components of each piece are supposed to communicate. Turning the switch on doesn’t do much at all besides make the capacitors put out heat. Not enough to shut it down or be a hazard to the housing when you close it, but enough to know that it’s going to present a problem for you at some point.

What’s more, you’re so lost in your own thoughts and busywork that you don’t see two green ears poking out over the top of the pile of armor on your temporary workstation (literally just the floor) until one of the thigh braces comes clattering down and the whole thing collapses with a ruckus.

You suddenly shove the metal box away from you in frustration and you reach for the little troublemaker with a sigh, scooping him up and getting to your feet.

“This isn’t going to work,” you grunt to him, hearing your words better for some reason when you direct them at the baby instead of talking to yourself, and his eh? allows the thoughts to come clearer and easier. No, you can’t be distracted when your distraction is just another part of your status quo, you can’t use fixing mechanics to occupy yourself because it’s what you’ve done to occupy yourself your entire life, it’s worn off at this point. You need something newer. Something that takes your entire focus to do.

Eventually, your eyes drift over to the one metal panel on the wall that you’ve rarely ever opened. One that takes up a comparatively enormous amount of space in the hull considering what you know it holds. You eye the kid in your arm, who suddenly has sneaky painted all over his expression. “You thinking what I’m thinking, demon?”

He squeaks his affirmative and you move over to the armory, pressing a few buttons before the doors slide open by themselves. Because of course Mando invested in hydraulics for the gun closet but not for the hidden cot he used to sleep on, of course.

“Maker above,” you groan as the metal slides open, needing to lift your chin to eye the enormous collection. How many fucking…? All this for just one person? What does that big one in the middle do that the others stacked strategically around it don’t? They all kill whatever you point and shoot at, you’re assuming? Are you missing something?

The baby makes a tiny sound of awe as you carefully look over your choices, not expecting nearly this many to be offered, before settling on one that looks the simplest. A sleek silver one that’s still too big for your hand but smaller than anything else on the rack.

Grabby fingers reach out for the shiny metal as soon as you remove it from the shelf and you very purposefully set it down out of his pitiful wingspan. “Nope. Now come on, gotta bundle up.”

You make your way back over to the bed and pull one of the thickest blankets up, settling it over the open shield and then situating your partner in crime in his usual spot inside. You strategically stuff and stack the fabric around him to make sure he’ll be warm enough in what you know has to be far below freezing temperatures, lifting it up over his ears and wrapping it around his neck in a loose hood. He blinks up at you with gigantic eyes and an open mouth, clearly thrilled about your willingness to go on an adventure with him this time instead of being the tall nuisance that consistently holds him back from one, and you scoff down at him as you partially close the lid on his levitating nest of blankets for extra protection. He should be warm enough, you’re not going to be outside long.

And then you pull out nearly half the amount of clothes you own and suit up in what feels like ten layers before grabbing the blaster. The swirling wind nearly shoves the heavy hull door into you as soon as you open it and—Maker.

You look back at the kid behind you for a second, wondering if it’s too late to change your mind. His expression narrows and he makes a triumphant ha! while pointing three fingers at the grey blizzard through the small open space in his crib. Try as you might, you can’t ignore a call to arms when delivered with such ferocity.

Both of you step outside and take in the view after you wrestle with the door to haul it shut. You don’t know the name of this planet but from what you can see, it’s one giant ice ball, mountainous and cold as fuck. Though, to be honest, your only indication that it’s truly cold as fuck is the continuously accumulating snow blanketing the landscape and the flurries dancing in the whipping wind. You’re too warm-blooded for climates like these—anything below room temperature and you’re freezing, you have absolutely no tolerance for cold whatsoever.

Keeping that in mind, you don’t travel far at all. Just a few steps beyond the entrance to your shelter before eyeing what appears to be a large white boulder in the distance. There’s a solid target, you figure—you’ll be able to see chunks splintering off when you hit it and the ice isn’t strong enough to bounce plasma back, you won’t have any ricochets.

Okay. Okay—safety, where’s the safety on this one? Ah, yes, okay—safety, off. Stance, find your stance. There it is. Alright, now lift. Lift, get that stupid frozen ball right in your sights, line it up. Hold. Hold. Hold.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale—

Fire.

You watch with bated breath as the bright red bolt launches from the end of the barrel and travels across the distance before melting a hole in the snow just to the right of your target.

“Mother fucker!” You yell into the frigid landscape without warning, suddenly infuriated. What’s the point of even having a sight if every gun is just gonna say fuck you no matter what? Could there be some sort of mathematical reason why you seem to be fucking atrocious at this, you wonder? Are you fucking up the angle somehow while trying to read the scope? Should you just ignore it and try to aim without thinking too hard?

Admittedly, you spend the next five minutes shooting at that stupid fucking thing, not making a single shot. It’s not been long at all, but your entire body is already trembling uncontrollably and it is just too fucking cold out here. Freezing your fucking ass off isn’t going to help your aim of course, but it’s almost just tragic at this point. Either you’ve got to accept that you’re just absolutely hopeless at this, or you’ve got to… blame the little womprat behind you for messing up your shots, yeah. It wouldn't surprise you.

As a last ditch effort, you consider trying something a bit ridiculous to see if he really is fucking with you.

“I’m firing one last shot,” you call out loudly over the sound of the bristling wind and flurries, making sure he can hear your narration from his little blanket cave behind you. “If I hit the target… I will present our demon overlord with a chunk of raw meat later for dinner.”

You give the offer a moment to sink in before raising the blaster, and then you jerk it up at the very last second while pulling the trigger. The arc of plasma quickly disappears into the gloomy skies over the top of the ice boulder, completely straight.

You switch the safety on and turn around to say something smart to him, but… well. Uh. That’s an empty crib.

Sudden panic rips through you at the sight of the wide open shield, the blanket left abandoned inside. Your head whips around in horror, wondering where the fuck he could’ve gone—but then you’re able to spot tiny footprints in the snow. Your eyes quickly follow them up and see the baby wading his way up a large hill, slow against the terrain and trying in vain to get to something at the very top.

You drop the blaster and bolt through the blizzard to get to him while calling out through the freezing air and wishing, not for the first time, that you had a name to roar and strike fear into his tiny little heart. In this case, you prefer a middle name as well.

Finally reaching him and yanking him up from the snow, you tuck him under the warmest part of your arm and open your mouth to start venting the terror from your body, but he makes a distressed noise and starts climbing. You fumble with him on your way back down, not expecting that response, but he’s so distraught and preoccupied that he’s unable to stay still, trying to find different ways of escaping your grasp and making more and more sounds to indicate something is wrong.

“What the fuck are you—” you stuff him into the shield and at least get the blankets wrapped around him before looking back and trying to spot whatever he’s still wiggling and attempting to get to. Frustrated cries start filling the icy air and… okay. “Okay,” you tell him, your breath puffing like smoke in front of you, “okay okay, we can go look, but you need to stay warm.”

You clutch the edge of his metal shield and urge it to follow you back up the snowy hill, feeling the crunch of your feet disappear further and further into it as you climb. Your outer two layers are probably soaked by now—stars, it’s so fucking cold. You know you’re not exactly the best judge, but you’ve been outside less than five minutes and you’re already worried about getting sick or frostbite, already jumpy and wanting to go back to the warmth of the hull.

But as you reach the top and look out in the distance, you can just barely make out a familiar metallic glint on the horizon.

Your heart picks up, but the baby makes another distressed sound. Not… happy, not thrilled that his dad is coming back. Some strange sort of dread begins to fill you, carefully holding the kid in his shield with one hand and looking at the bright reflection of light a little ways away just to make sure it’s…

No, it’s not moving. Not disappearing and reappearing, not catching the sunlight differently. Completely stationary in this absolutely horrendous weather.

You immediately make your way in that direction, your body deciding to outright abandon its trembling in the wake of this newfound worry. You’re suddenly sweating, way too warm. That’s Din, you recognize the glint of his armor anywhere, but why isn’t he moving?

The closer you get, the faster you move and the more you’re able to see. He’s laying facedown in the snow. There’s quite a bit of it covering the back of his cape, maybe a few inches, and… there’s also someone laying equally as lifeless behind him. Your heart is slamming now, you’re doing your best to run in the unforgiving terrain, and you finally see that it’s… a corpse, a frozen corpse is behind him with a rope tied around its ankles, clutched tight in Din’s unmoving fist as it lays against the pure white backdrop.

“Mando?” You call out, dropping to your knees as soon as you reach him. “Hey—hey, can you hear me?”

The beskar strapped to him is frozen over and feels colder than ice when you try to shake him. He doesn’t respond. He’s dead weight; you do your best to turn him over on his back, but you still get nothing from him. You shove your trembling fingers up under the helmet, and the only reassurance you have that he’s even alive comes from the petrifyingly slow pulse beating underneath. His skin is ice cold.

Shit, he’s still breathing but he’s hypothermic, you have to get him back to the Crest right fucking now.

You fumble to get in position above his head while hooking both your arms under his, before leaning everything you have into it—but fuck, he’s so heavy. You can barely lift him even just a few inches off the ground—the snow is deep, his armor makes him weigh a ton and the fabric wrapped around him is sopping wet. You try again, making a tight sound in your throat while you haul, but it’s no use.

“Fuck,” you curse, starting to panic even fucking harder. You’re gasping and breathless and getting dizzy and scared, continuing to try and find different angles to heave—

—until suddenly the burden is lifted.

You nearly fall backwards on your ass at the abrupt removal of tension, playing tug-of-war with a team that decided to give up with no warning. But it’s like it almost doesn’t even phase you; you don’t even look behind you to see the baby’s eyes closed tight in concentration, you just recover and pull with both arms, feeling Din’s body gliding easily along the snow now and leading him all the way back down the hill.

Once you get inside the Crest and shut the door to the raging blizzard behind the three of you, there’s an extended moment where you just… you don’t know what to do. You know all about how to deal with heatstroke, but this is the opposite—he either spent too long in the cold, or he exhausted himself trying to get back too quickly and then spent too long in the cold. He said he’d use his e-comm if he wasn’t back in sixteen hours—was that the cutoff? The point where the temperature outside would shut his body down and he’d need you to come get him?

Regardless, you need to warm him up. Yes, that’s your priority, and you figure the quickest and safest way to accomplish it has to be the shower in slow increments. The kid helps you move Din into the tiny fresher in the hull and then you sit on the floor with him, holding his limp body to your chest while reaching up to turn the faucet on.

Cold water sprays down and then suddenly—oof, he’s heavier than fuck again. Air leaves your lungs and your neck cranes back under the unexpected increase in pressure on top of you to see the kid climbing down from his shield, no longer focused on mentally bearing most of his father’s weight or directing his own hovering form of transportation along behind you. The baby disappears out of sight and you huff, completely trapped under Din as freezing water rains down on you.

Fuck, it’s so cold. It’s way too fucking cold for you, but your core body temperature is also mostly normal right now. Din’s isn’t, you’ll probably shock his system if you try to warm him up too quickly. So you reach up and twist the knob, keeping it at a temperature he’d probably find just the slightest bit warm while inspiring violent shudders from you.

“H-Hey, I’m gonna t-t-take this off, o-okay—” you stutter down at him, knowing damn well he isn’t conscious to hear you but giving him that reassurance on the small chance he is, and then reach with trembling fingers to work at his armor. You worry that the beskar is keeping the cold trapped the same way his clothes are, like having solid pieces of ice strapped to his body and nothing to protect him besides a few layers of soaking wet fabric.

The chestpiece comes off and you throw it blindly over your shoulder into the hull with a clang—admittedly, without thinking about where the baby is at all anymore. The pauldrons come off next, but not before you reach up and turn the heat up just the slightest bit. Your jerky limbs just want to blast it and remove the rest of his clothes in steamy hot water, but you can’t. Even though your mind is hurtling at a thousand lightyears an hour, whatever reason you have left reminds you that you have to be patient or risk losing him entirely.

Eventually you’re able to get all the armor off but you hate the way he’s breathing right now. Slow and shallow, like he just doesn’t really need the air at all but his body is still fighting for it on instinct. His chest barely moves with it even when it’s got nothing weighing it down.

“You’ll b-be okay,” you say aloud, talking to the both of you even though only one is capable of responding. “Y-Y-You’ll be o-okay—”

You reach up to inch the temperature a little higher, shivering terribly now. His body feels slightly warmer under the shower than it did with the beskar, but you know you need to keep going and take the fabric off now. Maker, it’s nearly impossible—the black clothing clings to his skin and its such a small space to maneuver, but it gives your mind and hands a clear goal to focus on while the water incrementally heats up.

Strangely, your adrenaline has been rocketing for so long that you almost lose track of time. You just keep deadly focused on your task of undressing him and slowly heating the shower, trying not to think, trying not to get in your head and bring about disaster in such a crucial set of moments.

At some point, the water is warm. Comfortably warm, and Din’s body isn’t ice cold anymore. It’s warm, too, laying back into your chest and naked besides the helmet, but he’s still not moving. No response, no matter how much mindless drabble you supply, no matter how steamy and hot the shower has become, no matter how much your own body has heated up. Your fingers have found their home under his jaw, pressed right to his pulse point and feeling it continue to beat slow and faint, but you’re starting to feel the terror set in. Real terror, the kind that makes you stupid and emotional, the kind that turns you back into a child again.

“I don’t know if it’s working,” you suddenly choke out, close to tears. He’s warm, what else can you do for him? Why is he not waking up? “I-I don’t know what to do, Din, I…”

No—no, you cannot lose your shit, not yet. You will exhaust every fucking option before you let that fear set in. He’s not waking up because he needs to recover, his body needs time to work things out in a warm, comfortable environment. He’s breathing, his heart is beating, he’s warm, and he’s still with you, so… you need to still be with him.

You turn the water off and clumsily get up, grabbing him under the arms and hauling him back into the hull. He’s still heavy but it’s so much easier than before to move him; there’s no armor weighing him down anymore besides the helmet, no cape or snow or friction to catch him, no cold to lock your muscles up. It’s slow going but you’re finally able to settle him in the warmth of your shared bed and then cover his body in the collection of blankets you’ve amassed. You stand up and peel off all your wet layers of clothing, letting them plop to the metal floor while glancing around for the kid—

—who is currently swinging from the ladder to the cockpit with one hand.

It startles you for just a moment, just long enough for you to wonder what the fuck he thinks he’s doing up there, but then you figure that if he found some way to get up there then he can surely find his way back down again.

As you quickly drop to the bed and scoot up next to Din’s limp body under the blankets, the Crest’s engine suddenly gives a low rumble below the floor and heat starts blowing through the hull vents. Again, you’re too preoccupied to even notice the gift much. You’re tugging and tucking blankets around him and up under the metallic edge of his helmet when...

Maker, you need to take this off. If the inside is wet, it’s probably keeping his head cold while the rest of him is warm from the shower. You know it’s not a light thing—you know… you know at least a fraction of what this means. You won’t look, you won’t look unless something absolutely drastic happens and it’s completely unavoidable, but you need to take his helmet off.

You catch the shoulder furthest from you and tug at his heavy body until he’s on his side, facing you on the bed.

“Din, I have to take your helmet off,” you warn him, saying it slowly and clearly. Again, just in case. “I’m not gonna look. Nobody is gonna look—” your gaze flicks behind him to eye the baby, who is now somehow on the metal ground and waddling up to you both. He blinks enormous black eyes at you, looking between you and his father huddled together under the blankets.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him very seriously, no room for negotiating. “I know you understand me.”

It takes just a few seconds before he lifts his hands up and does exactly what you say, placing his fingers over his closed eyelids and then even so much as toddling around to face the wall. You gasp in relief, clenching your eyes firmly shut and then pulling the helmet up, making sure you catch his head before it falls with one hand while tossing the beskar somewhere in the hull with the other.

Cold. His hair is soaking wet and so cold, and his head rolls slightly as you guide it to rest in the warmest part of your neck. Your hand stays attached to the back of it, wanting to transfer every single bit of warmth from your palm to him, and your eyes open to the kid’s back as your other arm wraps around Din’s bare spine.

And then all at once, you just feel… helpless. He’s in your arms but Maker, you don’t know what else you can do. The heat is blasting, you’re warm and pressed against him under multiple blankets, the engine is slowly heating the metal floor, but his breathing. Slow. Shallow. Barely able to be felt against your neck. He’s here but he’s not. And you have no way of knowing if he’s getting closer or further away from you.

Tears start coming before you even realize. But you have nothing to say. After spending the entire time talking out loud, providing reassurances, narrating, distracting yourself—you don’t have anything anymore. The silence twists you tighter, the nothing becomes inescapable, and the sudden sob that leaves you echoes hauntingly throughout the hull. You pull his limp body as close to you as possible for comfort. Wake up. Wake up.

Your vision is watery—you don’t see it. You don’t see the kid slowly turn around and take a few steps forward. You only notice he’s there when green catches in the abstract blur, but you sniff and blink quickly to clear it. It only takes a second to see the baby’s hand, extending and pressing against the blanket covering Din’s back, and you watch with wide eyes as he closes his.

And then there’s a second. A second where you dare to hope. Where you wonder if it’s even something that can be done.

The kid lowers his hand just a moment later and stumbles back a few steps, before plopping down on the ground and slowly falling backwards. You have just enough time to see his little body inhale and exhale a few times as he sleeps, and then—

—and then Din suddenly jolts in your arms, bursting with too much life after spending too many heart wrenching moments without it.

“Shhh,” you breathe, instantly tightening your grip on the back of his head so he doesn’t pull away from you in a panic and keeping it tucked into the warmest part of your neck, right where your pulse thrums fast and present. Your eyes clench tightly shut just in case and your heart bursts with pure, blinding, heavenly relief. “Shhh sh sh, stay right here, just stay right here…”

As soon as he seems to recognize your voice and figure out that he’s not dead, his body immediately starts wreaking with shivers. You squeeze him tight to you, feeling his large, quaking frame curl inwards into you for warmth, burying his own face into your neck even further and breathing shallow but quickly now, like his body actually wants the air again. You do your best to will your blood to pump faster and provide him that relief, stretching and opening your body as much as possible to give him warmth.

And then you spend the next few hours like that. Holding him, murmuring gently to him, providing him with your body heat and stars, he fucking clings to you. He presses tight to you and trembles, and you don’t even know if he’s listening, but you keep talking. Finding words for hours, and while some of them are just different ways of saying the same thing, you say them anyway.

He’s okay. The kid is okay. Everyone is okay.

Eventually, the shivering dies down until it stops altogether. Din stays in one place and goes completely limp again, but this time he continues to breathe you in, slow and deep into the crook of your neck. Fast asleep in your arms, and you thank the good fucking Maker above for the little angel passed out on the floor behind him.

***

He has to meet with Karga in two days.

After a few more hours of holding him and making absolutely sure he’s going to be alright, that’s all you can stupidly think about.

A deadline. A very quickly approaching one.

You don’t know why. But it might have something to do with the fact that you want nothing more than to climb up into the cockpit and navigate the ship off this horrid planet, and you can’t. You’re confident that the hull and blankets are warm enough by themselves to keep Din comfortable as he recovers, and you’ve also had quite a while to regroup and get your mind thinking logically again, so you’re not worried about getting up and leaving him right now, no. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that there’s a corpse outside. You know this. You know it’s there, and you know he needs it. Nobody’s gonna take his word for just saying they’re dead, much less pay him for his services; no body, no bounty. You also know it’s probably being covered with fresh snow right now, or maybe some sort of wild animal has already gotten their teeth into it, if anything can even survive out there. And you’re the only one awake. The only one capable of going to get it.

You’ve been arguing with yourself. For about an hour, you’ve been struggling with the thought. Din is soft and warm and every breath makes you focus less on the terrifying moments that occurred and more on the need to step up once again.

In the end, it’s the kid who gives you the final push. You’re not going to leave him laying on the floor like that for any longer. Not after what he did.

You take a second, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up all the way over Din’s head as it rests warm and comfortable in your neck. You’re incredibly careful to cover his face, and even while climbing out of the warm cocoon of the bed, you keep your eyes firmly shut and continue to pull the fabric even higher, making absolutely sure you’re not going to see his face on accident. You shouldn’t, you don’t think, as long as he doesn’t jerk awake and pull it down himself, but you want to take extra precaution regardless.

After quickly yanking on some clothes, you immediately make your way over to the kid and pick him up, seeing his little mouth open as he snores—and oh, you just have to. You pull him to your chest and give him the most heartfelt, thankful embrace you can while not squishing him, before setting him down in his much more comfortable hovering blanket palace and closing the lid on it.

You know you have a very clear task now, but for just a few moments longer, you do your best to stall despite the ticking clock. You start to pick up the mess in the hull—you close the fresher door, pick up Din’s discarded armor and set it in a neat pile close to the bed, place the helmet under the vent to encourage the padding inside to dry faster, and then you collect his old armor and stuff it back into one of the storage cubbies with your toolbox.

Only, an idea suddenly occurs to you as you’re putting away the chestpiece. When you open the door to the hull, you know that a blast of cold air is going to flood the ship. The engine is still heating everything inside and making sure you don’t get trapped in the snow by continuously melting it on the outside, but you don’t want Din to start shivering again.

So you grab the dented piece of electronics you were working on and flip the power switch, feeling the capacitors slowly start to heat up inside the housing. You go back over and lift the blanket near his feet just enough to tuck the metal under it, close enough to Din that he’ll feel the same amount of warmth your body was providing him but not enough to overheat.

And then you make your way over to your bag and pull on the rest of your clothes, now exhausting almost every single clean thing you own just to make another trek through the snow. You’re in the middle of pulling on your fifth pair of pants when the thought truly sinks in.

A corpse. A dead body. That you’re actually considering going out into the worst fucking weather in the galaxy to search for, haul back to the ship, and put into carbonite. Because of a fucking deadline for an occupation very much not your own, very much not chosen by you.

You quickly walk over and leave through the door on the side of the hull before you can change your mind, slamming it shut behind you.

***

Well, it’s… It’s not too terrible, you guess.

It’s been frozen out here for hours, that’s why. It’s not bloody, not gory, not demented or malformed in any way. Tranquil almost, like the creature died in its sleep in this nightmarish landscape, perfectly at peace.

You still don’t want to get anywhere close to it, but you have to. You pull a face and slowly reach out, absolutely not thinking about the literal impossibility of it playing dead and just waiting for the moment to strike, but even still… Even if there was nothing more sinister hiding underneath the surface of this scene, it’s still… existentially fucked up. The last time you were confronted with a dead body, Din had to be the one to dispose of it—you couldn’t even think about it without threatening another wave of shock to your system.

And now you’re voluntarily grabbing the rope around one’s ankles and dragging it back down the pure white slope to the Razor Crest.

It doesn’t weigh that much and its icy exterior seems to work in your favor; it slides easily along the snow as soon as you get it moving. As the ship comes back into view, you hurry to the door and you’re just about to open it when you suddenly get the feeling that you’re forgetting something…

Oh—

It takes a few moments of searching around in the freshly fallen snow, but eventually your fingers brush metal underneath and you stand, reaching behind you to tuck the blaster into your waistband. When you’re positive you’re not going to accidentally shoot a chunk of your ass off on accident, you shove open the door and pull the body inside, before locking it tight behind you and keeping the frigid winter from touching this warm, quiet safe-haven.

There. Halfway done. You almost don’t want to look in case he wakes up unexpectedly, but then you find yourself peeking over your shoulder at the silhouette of Din’s body still passed out under the blankets and you’re thankful the squeaks and slams didn’t disturb him.

And then you take just a second to wonder if this is what it must be like for him. Minus your obvious discomfort and ickiness at beginning to haul the corpse over to the carbonite chamber, it seems like it’d be reminiscent of any other time he’s brought back a dead quarry while you and the baby slept soundly. Trying to be quiet, wanting it done and over with just to get back in bed that much faster, doing everything you can to prevent anything out there from so much as breathing on anything in here.

You do your best to hold on to the loveliness of the thought, because this part is the part you’re most anxious about.

The body needs to go into this slanted upright space so you can freeze it in carbonite. And in order to do that, you have to grab it and put it there. With your hands, you have to grab it. With your hands.

You look down at its face, calm and at peace, frozen and forever etched into that expression, and something twists in your heart. If it weren’t for the kid, that could’ve been Din. If it weren’t for the kid walking barefoot through snow, fighting an uphill battle to make sure you get to him, helping you drag him back here and then overexerting himself to make sure he’d be okay, that could’ve been Din. He drives you crazy on a consistent basis, but he came through today.

Know what? If that little squirt can save a grown man’s life twice in a few hours, then the least you can do is finish this job for all three of you and fly your asses out of here.

Weirdly enough, being frozen solid allows for way better handling than the alternative. It means you don’t actually have to touch it too much; you don’t have to deal with the limpness of death, it doesn’t seem as much like a person as it does a rigid board you’re simply moving from one place to another. You can just grab the shoulders and yank and the entire fucking thing goes with it, solid and upright, naturally wanting to lean back into the chamber so you don’t even have to hold it in place. The perfect quarry for you basically, day one stuff, as easy as it could get.

Almost done, almost done—you study the key panel on the upper-right frame before eventually pressing a few buttons, and then you step back as gas freezes and solidifies the corpse in its carbonite prison.

Yes. You’re done. You already want to take another shower just from touching it for a few seconds, but that can wait. Quickly making your way up the ladder and into the cockpit, you fire up the thrusters and then navigate the ship through and beyond the swirling white atmosphere of this dreadful fucking planet, before punching in familiar coordinates to Nevarro.

***

“Din,” you murmur, making sure you have your eyes completely covered with one hand before gently easing the blanket down from his face with the other. “Din, I want you to drink some wat—”

He jerks awake so suddenly that you hear the metal canteen fall over on the floor next to you, thank the Maker its lid is on tight. You automatically reach out to steady him, pressing your free hand to his bare chest and continuing to speak calmly and gently to reassure him, but he still scrambles to take in his surroundings after sleeping longer than he probably has in weeks.

You know what he’s seeing, even though you’re blind right now. You took time to make sure everything was settled before waking him. The hull is clean with only a single light to illuminate it, the baby is still snoozing in his closed crib, his armor is stacked in a neat pile, the blaster is put away, and you retired your makeshift blanket heater box so the only thing left is you. Freshly showered, hair dripping, offering him water, and dressed in just a thin shirt with nothing else (you ran out of things to wear).

“Wh-Where’s my h-h-helmet—” is the first thing he asks, voice broken and raspy. Stars, he needs water.

“The padding inside is wet,” you quickly supply, keeping your hand tight over the bridge of your eyes to make sure his freshly conscious mind immediately understands that you have no bad intentions. “I swear I didn’t look, and I made sure the kid didn’t either. He’s sleeping now, it’s just me—I swear nobody looked, I swear.”

You might just be saying the exact same thing over and over again and admittedly, that might be putting some weird kind of suspicion on you, but you just want to make sure he knows. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. It’s important that he knows he’s safe and that everything is okay now, even if he collapsed and spent an unknown amount of time in a purgatory where nothing was.

His body trembles under your palm, waves of shudders attacking him even after hours of keeping him as warm as possible. “Are—Are we st-still on H-Ho—H-Hoth—”

“No,” you answer. “We’re in hyperspace. Everything’s okay now, I took care of it. We’ll get to Nevarro on time.”

It’s like he takes just a few extra moments, as if he’s trying extra hard to remember before responding. “But—I d-didn’t—”

“You have four bodies for Karga,” you tell him, not letting him get too lost trying to recall something that no longer poses an issue. “I took care of it. You need rest, I only woke you up to make sure you drink some water, so please—” you blindly reach your hand out for the canteen you know has to be around here somewhere, but all you feel is…

His. Catching yours.

“Y-You took c-c-care of…” His hands are trembling harder than his voice. “Sh-shit, I’m freezing, I—”

“Drink some water,” you tell him, squeezing his fingers. “I’ll go turn off the light so you can sleep more, but you need water.”

His hand feels like it doesn’t quite want to let go of yours yet, but eventually it does and you hear the sloshing of water as the metal flask is picked up with an unsteady grip. Purposefully turning your back to him and making sure he’s not in your line of sight whatsoever, you finally let your hand drop and blink your eyes open at the wall across the hull. You hear Din shakily unscrew the lid while you stand up and find the light switch, before turning around in the pitch blackness and using his loud gulps as your guide back.

Your hands and knees are barely on the blanket when you hear him toss the empty canteen to the side and grab you, pulling you down to him.

Fuck, you’re not expecting it. You fumble in the dark but he doesn’t really give your clumsiness much of a choice—Din pulls you under the blankets like he needs you, his body craving that warmth even though his skin doesn’t feel cold at all. He hooks a strong forearm around your tummy, keeping your back pressed tight to his chest while the rest of him curls to fit every part of you, and you have to adjust the blankets yourself.

It’s not even a few seconds after you settle into position when his trembling hands jerk down to grab your shirt and yank it up. You quickly scramble to help him get you as naked as he is, feeling his palms drag greedily across the heat of your tummy and breasts before you’ve even finished wiggling the fabric over your head. The shirt lands somewhere in the darkness and you’re squeezed back against him, your hands landing on his forearms as they wrap around your waist and he clings shamelessly to you.

“You…” Din’s body still shivers every once in a while but the heat and closeness allows his voice to even out just a bit. He clears his throat and swallows, tucking his head and burying his face in your hair before trying again. “You brought back the qu-quarry?”

“Yes,” you confirm, confident in your reassurance but gentle at the same time. “It’s in carbonite.”

All you can feel or hear in response is his breathing. His heart beating steady and strong against your back.

And then Din’s arms suddenly squeeze you tight—tight. He lets out a low shaky exhale against the back of your shoulder and presses his lips to your skin. “Sweet girl.”

And he says just… so much with those two words. Slow and purposeful, the steadiest thing you’ve heard from him in hours. But the two biggest competing emotions you hear tugging at his vocal cords are gratitude and apprehension. Like he already knows that it couldn’t have been easy for you. Like he’s not taking it lightly.

You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to talk about anything that happened in the past few hours, not right now. “It’s okay. Please.”

This time his silence seems to be on the brink, as if he wants to say more but the extra plea you put on the end makes him hold onto his words, at least for now.

“How d-did you find me?” He asks instead, scooting his legs up enough that yours actually go with him. Cradled in his naked body, radiating heat so he can recover, pressed so close to him that you feel like gravity itself would be pushing you into his lap if the world weren’t sideways.

“The kid,” you tell him. “We were goofing around outside and he dragged me ov—”

It’s like he’s still so cold that even just the surprise of hearing you say that makes his whole body lock down and convulse a few times against your back. “You were wh-what?”

“I was practicing,” you openly admit to him, feeling like the earlier events already occurred a lifetime ago and you have no reason for being shy about it anymore. In fact, you’re glad you were there, being terrible at shooting. The alternative is unthinkable. Though, something tells you also improbable, having a little supernatural sidekick who cares so deeply for him. “I raided your armory. We weren’t outside for more than five minutes before I wanted to go back in, but then he found you.”

And you think he’s going to get after you, for some reason. Seems about on par, you figure—going outside for even just a few minutes on a planet whose name you now remember is colloquial slang for hell, even if it’s the only reason he’s not an icicle right now.

But he’s just quiet. Breathing. So you just relax into him, thinking that’s the end of it. You take a few deep breaths in through your nose and just… rest. In the near perfect silence of hyperspace you used to find haunting, but now only find comfort in. It reminds you of him.

“Did you hit the target?” He asks you quietly, and at first you scoff, about to ask if he’s kidding. No, of course you didn’t hit the…

Only, after a remarkable delay, hearing him phrase it that way suddenly makes your stomach decide to drop and do a fucking somersault on the ground out of absolutely nowhere.

Everything comes flooding back. The conflict you used to think was the most pressing thing, the one that kept you awake and your thoughts scrambled for hours. It feels like it was ages ago. An entire lifetime has passed since that happened, you might’ve forgotten it altogether if he didn’t decide to ask that very simple question in a very specific way.

“I…” you mumble in response, your heart suddenly pounding. “Not… not yet.”

Okay, that’s a good answer. It’s the truth and you’re giving nothing away by saying that. So now what is he going to say? What is he going to say? You spoke your piece, it’s his turn now, that’s how conversations work. Well typically, that’s how conversations work—but with Din… you probably should’ve known.

He falls back into silence almost immediately, appearing to accept your answer just the way it is without anything else to add. You feel his heart continue to beat strong against your back, but there’s something too tense about his stillness that doesn’t imply he’s relaxing anymore. His body goes slightly taut, but not from the lingering chill in his bones.

He’s going to make you ask him, you realize. He’s waiting until you confront him about his choice in words at the shooting range. Which means he wasn’t just joking around. He wasn’t just messing with you.

“Din…” you whisper uncertainly, and his face suddenly finds its way into the crook of your neck as soon as the word leaves your mouth, arms tightening up around you. You spent forever trying to find the words to even bring this up, and here he is, already knowing exactly what you’re asking just by the tone of your voice. Still, you ask anyway, sounding small and so unsure of yourself in the darkness. “Why did you say that? On Tatooine, why did you…”

Din’s chest expands against your back with a long, slow breath, and then he lets it out against your neck, hot enough to raise goosebumps all over your body.

“I… don’t know,” he admits, voice muffled and quiet, but it’s not… casual. Not like he’s brushing you off or indicating he doesn’t want to talk about it, but like it’s actually a complete fucking mystery to him, just as much as it is to you. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know…” you repeat slowly.

“You had said something,” he mutters, shifting just a bit behind you. His palm slides up your bare tummy, stopping in the warm spot just under the swell of your breast. “Earlier that day. I thought about it, and then I just… s-said it.”

You? Said something that made him ask that?

“What?” You blurt out, genuinely startled and having no fucking clue. “What did I say?”

“Something about…” He gives the smallest shudder from behind you, and you don’t actually know if this one is from the cold. “Not wanting anyone else to know me the way you do.”

Your heart rapidly kicks up and you flush, hating how unbelievably possessive your own words sound coming out of his mouth. “Oh shit, I… I didn’t mean for that to be… that sounds so bad, Din, I swear I didn’t mean for it to—”

He cuts you off by clutching you tighter, burying his face deeper into your neck and breathing out shakily. “Tell me you meant every word.”

You blink a couple of times in the pitch black before sighing, letting go of any charade or front you think about putting up for him to save some dignity. “I meant it.”

Because it’s the truth. You said it when you were caught off guard, throwing it out to him along with other mindless drabble that came from a place that was very real. You don’t like the way you phrased it, but you meant it. You do mean it. Every word.

If there weren't so many things still left unsaid right now, you might actually worry he fell asleep on you. Din loosens up considerably after you admit it, letting go of more tightness you didn’t even know was inside him. His head slowly drops from the crook of your neck to the back of it and he breathes hot air on your nape, quiet for a long time.

And, you suppose you’d actually be okay with it if that was the end of the conversation. There are, of course, millions of things left to ask. But he doesn’t know the answers, just as much as you’re left clueless about the questions. You’re not expecting him to elaborate anymore, and if he’s waiting for you to ask, he’ll be waiting a long time. Soon your eyes close and you almost feel yourself beginning to drift. It’s been such a rough day today and to just be here in his arms, it’s more than enough for you.

But then his low baritone comes through the darkness.

“In Mando’a,” Din’s voice suddenly whispers against your skin, “the verb, kar’taylir… it means to know. Su kar’tayli, you know, kaysh kar’tayli, they know. Ni ke kar’tayl nu… I don’t know.”

Your eyes pop open and you immediately forget all about sleep, wide awake and suddenly hanging onto every word as it rolls so gently off his tongue. You’ve never heard the language spoken aloud, you’ve never heard anything about the Mandalorians directly from one before. All of the stories seem sensationalized, passed down by word of mouth and chipping away at the kernel of truth until it disappears completely.

“The language is dying,” Din continues, murmuring soft and gentle along your nape. “By the time I learned it, too many words had been lost. The ones left were the ones that were needed.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper, almost afraid of breaking the quiet. Not wanting him to feel distracted or pressed, but needing to express your curiosity lest you somehow overflow with it.

“There are only three pronouns,” he answers slowly, and you’re already fucking fascinated. “Ni, for I or we. Su is you or you all, and kaysh is third person. Subjective, objective, possessive, singular, plural—doesn’t matter. Three words, for every individual or collective in the entire galaxy.”

You blink in the darkness, your logic telling you that it sounds so simple it’d become confusing and then your logic also telling you that doesn’t actually make any fucking sense at all. If that’s true, it’s unbelievable. How do they differentiate? Just context?

“How do you distinguish?” You ask him. Admittedly, you don’t know much about linguistics—not anywhere near the extent he does, but it seems so counterintuitive. I can’t be the same word for we, the amount of misunderstandings would be a nightmare.

“We… don’t need to,” he explains to you, slowly, like nobody has ever asked him these things before and so he’s unsure how to phrase it. “Individuality isn’t valued, it’s not a concept.”

And… you almost can’t wrap your head around it. “What do you mean?” You ask again, knowing you’re sounding like a broken record without specifying more, but trying with your whole heart to understand.

“I mean… we swear oaths to never reveal our faces,” Din tells you, something you shouldn’t need to be reminded of. “We abandon our names. We become… whispers, of the same voice. There’s not many words in Mando’a with a unique meaning, almost all of them are homonyms. Interchangeable. Transient.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, suddenly blown away by the implication. Almost all of them are homonyms? How in Maker’s name are you even supposed to communicate at that point? That’s… unthinkable.

“Most words have two meanings?” You clarify, wanting to be absolutely sure you’re getting it right.

“Most have five or six,” he returns, and you’re downright shocked now. “Everything just depends.”

“Stars…” You breathe, moving a palm up the length of his forearm and holding the back of his hand with it. Fuck, you hope this is the direction he’s intending instead of veering him off course, but you’re incredibly invested. “What else does, uh… kay—er, kar… kar’taylir mean?”

Din lets out a slow breath from behind you, and you can… you can feel his own heart beating faster when it presses up against your spine at the apex of his inhale. “It’s… a rare word, it only has two meanings.”

You bite your lip and start to feel butterflies in your stomach for some reason. Slowly, his hand begins to travel up your breast and then to your sternum before heading just the slightest bit left, and your own hand moves with him.

“To know,” Din says quietly, “but also… to care very deeply for.” He doesn’t stop until his palm presses right above the rapidly pounding organ in your chest. “To hold in the heart.”

“To know,” you swallow thickly, curling your fingers around his hand and praying he’s saying what you think he is, “or… to love?”

“When Mandalorian’s take vows, there’s no ceremony,” he whispers into the back of your neck. “No witnesses, no celebrations. We just take our helmets off in front of the other and look. It doesn’t sound like much, but… our secrecy is our survival. Letting someone see our face and swearing lifelong devotion to them, it’s the same thing. To know is to love.”

Your eyes close tight and your lungs empty themselves, too full of emotion to even fit oxygen inside you anymore. Din’s lips press feather soft behind your neck, and now you’re the one shivering uncontrollably. The move up and trail along your neck in the darkness.

“Ni kar'tayl su,” he murmurs, shifting back just slightly and pulling at your shoulder. “I know you.”

You go with him, facing the ceiling as he fits his head under your throat and places slow, open mouth kisses down the curve of it.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he goes on quietly, his voice starting to sound raspy again, dragging his hand down your torso while his lips brush your collarbone. “For an eternity, I’ll know you.”

Water wets the corners of your lashes and you inhale three or four times before exhaling, shallow hiccups and desperate for air.

“Ni ke vaabi nu kaysh ke kar’taylir su te ni kar’tayl su.” Din says, slowly moving his mouth back up when your fingers tangle in his hair and beg him to come that way. The words dance along your skin as he whispers them, forever searing themselves into your memory. You can’t see them, you’ll never have a visual to reminisce upon, but you’ll know how they felt. Right under your ear, brimming with quiet devotion. “I don’t want anyone else to know you… the way I know you.”

Your face goes blazing hot at the sound of him translating your own rushed and half-assed sentence into something gorgeous and flowing, something that sounds so much more beautiful than when you blurted it out earlier. You told him you loved him in that hangar, right to his face. Unashamed and stupid about it, but meaning it with every part of your body.

“I knew you’d say no,” he finally admits, staying in this one spot. Unmoving. Telling you the truth, allowing you to know it. “I just wanted to… say it.”

That… that makes sense to you. The last part does, at least, it makes so much sense to you. The first time you said you loved him, you said it just to say it. You wanted to feel the words, sound them out even if neither one of you could hear them. It felt freeing, like coming to accept a universal truth.

The first part, though. You’re still behind. “You knew I’d say no?” You ask him, feeling him ease back just slightly. Staring down at you through the pitch black, even if he can’t see either. Keeping his palm over your heart as the ship hurdles through nowhere and everywhere at once.

“You wouldn’t take my first name without convincing,” he reasons quietly, and then moves back to lay in the blankets once more, leaving the rest unspoken.

But he’s… oh stars, he’s so right. If he’s going to take his helmet off and let you see his face—if he’s going to commit to you that way, it is not going to be because you shoot a blaster correctly. Not after today, not after what he’s told you.

So you move up to your elbow and turn to face him, trying to let him know why even if he’s already guessed the what correctly.

“I want it to mean something,” you say after a moment. “I want it to… have the meaning it’s supposed to have.”

Your palm finds its way to his chest in the silence following. Right over the beating of his heart, feeling it thrum hard and rhythmic while he considers his response.

“This is The Way,” Din finally murmurs, settling his hand over yours, and you repeat the words back to him. Respecting them. Feeling like, for the very first time, they now apply to you in some way instead of belonging to some mysterious creed you’ll never know anything about.

But when a shudder subtly rockets up and down his body, you realize the blankets have been pulled down with the changing positions and his whole torso is bare and exposed to the hull. So you pull them up until you’re both covered again, before you lean down and press a soft kiss to his shoulder.

Din shudders again when your mouth opens and the hot glide of your tongue catches his skin, but you know it’s not from the cold this time. His breathing deepens while you slowly move over him. You ease him further on his back and let him keep feeling the warmth of your mouth on his body, alleviate the lingering chill by sucking gentle hickeys into his skin and feeling the goosebumps raise under your tongue. He moves with you; he stretches his neck when you want to nibble his collarbone, arches when you mouth down his chest, shifts his elbow to let you drag your tongue along his ribcage.

And… and it’s as if all the stars and systems hold even more still for you than the relative physics of faster-than-light travel can explain away by themselves. You’ve always felt timeless in here, living from one fleeting eternity to the next, suspended in perpetuity while the rest of the galaxy ages without you. But when you’re with him and it’s pitch black and there’s no light to streak across your vision, no evidence that time and space have all but disconnected from each other just to let your insignificant little bodies through… it’s like you’re meant to be here. In some strange, unexplainable way, you feel like you could’ve died out there with him in the frozen wasteland today and this is exactly where you’d still end up, no matter what.

To know is to love.

“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself whisper under his jaw, and you feel Din’s fingers thread in your hair and ease you up enough to brush his lips against your chin.

“Yes,” he whispers back, and then his mouth is on yours.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #fanfic #star wars fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #no-droids #reader insert

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yanderenightmare · 3 years

Note

Can you write some more about nice guy jock kiri? Please and thank you. Have a good day!

yandere ! KIRISHIMA EIJIRO - RED RIOT

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, suggestive language, manipulation, coercion

THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY

He said she could pick the movie this time.

He said she could pick out any movie at all. Whatever she wanted, they were going to watch. Yet in the time she’d spent making lunch, Kirishima sprawled lazily in her bed, browsing half-mindedly, eyes sliding from viewing the screen to looking at her round grabbable ass dancing as she padded about the small kitchen, begging for him to come pinch as she put the stir-fry in bowls and walked over to plot herself down next to the muscly block of man, he’d already picked a movie, far away from something she’d choose, though when eyeing what puppy-dog look he gave her, she couldn't very well say no.

Kirishima has always been clingy. She wouldn't like to call it suffocating, or controlling, though it does border on the word. But she cannot blame him for being handsy and suggestive when they’re alone, in her apartment, in her bed. He’s always been needy, always touching her, so very big-hearted and forward, easily distracted, easily discarding of tasks in favor of doing what new activity calls for his attention, like a dog.

She was becoming quite used to his confident nature, how hap-hazardously he would go about touching her, kissing and licking at her the way he so often went about doing, so much so it was strange to think that they hadn't ever actually slept together.

They had been dating for a couple weeks, and Kirishima was clear about his intentions and aspirations and wants and needs from the start, being a very open honest person, but she couldn't help but feel as though he was pushing her, nudging her, guilt-tripping her with candid words of how horny he was because of her, how frustrated he was, how frigid, how it was effecting his schoolwork, how good a boyfriend he was for waiting, for being patient and tolerant, how she couldn't blame him for wanting something in return, even though that something was a thing she wasn't ready to give him.

It would be wrong if she said he didn't respect her wishes, because he had, albeit begrudgingly. Each time she invited him over, or... he invited himself over, when he became rowdy, it would always take a good amount of bargaining and persuasion on her side, which was always met with even more coaxing and encouragement from him. How he would message his hand into the inside of her thigh, and she would push ever so gently to keep him at bay until he finally laid off, the mood stiff and awkward as he left her apartment to walk to his own place, alone, with a rejected boner he would have to take care of alone, then go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. He had still respected her wish in the end, or... maybe not respected, but at least accepted it.

She hadn't picked out the movie, and it being something she hadn't really invested very much thought into, she didn't try and stop him from nuzzling into her neck, kissing and sucking on the tender flesh found there. She allowed him to lift her shirt up to rub circles into her stomach with his warm roughened hand, let him grab and grope and mold her breast through the fabric of her bra, let him swing his leg over her body, to lock her position beneath him and his brawny heavy frame as he cuddled into her.

She could already feel the stiff bulge bump into her thigh, tried to forgive him for always riling himself up when he knows what her answer’s going to be, knows how she isn't ready to give him what he wants. Hearing his breathing picking up, becoming rugged and raspy, hot against her neck as he tried humping into her, having rolled and positioned and handled both their bodies so he could lie between her thighs, face mushed into the soft skin of her neck, nipping at her collarbones , spiky hair poking into the underside of her chin, hands abrasive when squeezing at the flesh of her ass and thighs, gripping them to lock around his torso, venturing to grab at her waist and breasts, becoming more and more frenzied, more and more rugged, forgetting his strength, forgetting her protests, getting more and more carried away.

She jolted once she felt his fingers hook into the band of her panties, having slipped up her skirt and spidered playfully up her thigh. She grabbed his arms loosely, small hands obviously not able to wrap around the thickness of his muscles, though applying what strength she deemed necessary to make him take her seriously, lightly digging her fingernails into his skin. “Uhm, Kiri-” She squeaked unsurely, breaching the shapeless noisy silence of heavy breathing and rugged groans and building growls that had filled the room, movie still quietly playing in the background, white noise completely ignored by the burning of her ears.

“Come on, let me feel.” He purred into her ear, giving her lobe a nibble.

“Uhm, I don't think-” She shoved at him, balls of her feet digging into the mattress, trying to sit up.

He laid his weight down on her, immobilizing her movement, keeping her under him. “Come on...” He drawled, voice rumbling. “Please?” Mumbling into her skin, knowing how it always makes her giggle from the tickle by the light scruff on his chin, knowing it makes her sweet and pliable. “Pretty please? It’ll feel good, I promise.”

He didn't really wait for any response, his face mushed into her neck, seeming cute as he pleaded but also acting as a great trap, his hand succeeded in pushing her panties aside, warm worn fingers, foreignly larger cuddled with the sensitivity kept there. His breath shuddered, lips spreading into a toothy grin against her neck, so wide she could feel it.

“Aww.” He moaned. “That’s so warm and wet.” She cringed, but hadn't the time to tell him to stop, hadn't the time to decide that she valued her limits more than maintaining the good vibe, and then she hadn't the mind to really think about it at all, too preoccupied with wrapping her thoughts around the fact that Eijiro had just pushed one thick knuckled finger inside her, roughly at that, pumped it in, stuffed her with it, with an equally chaffed thumb-pad laying heavy pressure down into her little beading clit.

It would probably have felt awful, the brutish boyish clumsy inconsiderate rubbing, but having him dry-hump into her for the better half of the entire movie made for a little messy spill between her thighs, perfectly ready to make whatever rough movement he gave seem like God’s touch, enough to have her moan at once.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, cocky undertone almost completely smoked out by livid lust, his arousal so very clear in his voice as he removed his weight when feeling her body melt and comply to what his hand was giving her of bliss. His large muscly frame rising to kneel between her legs, having her thighs hiked up and spread atop of his, forehead resting against hers. She bobbed her head in a series of quick sporadic nods, teeth biting harshly into her lip as she watched with a bowed head his finger disappear in and out the vulnerable sensitivity found between her spread thighs, the smell of beer on his heavy hot breaths fan over her face before he kissed her head. “You wanna cum?” She gave a moan, indicating an unspoken yes as he rubbed his thumb over and over her tender pearl, pushing another one of his long fingers inside her, making her gasp out a moan, mewing as he curled and scissored the two digits inside her, making her inevitable unraveling arrive much quicker.

He wiped his sticky hand on his pant leg with a small smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, watching as her head fell back to rest against the pillow again, beginning to unbutton his jeans.

The sound of him sliding down his zipper pulled her focus back, eyelids fluttering open just in time to watch him pull his throbbing hard erection out with a sigh. And though the red-head had gone about the reveal in an unceremonious manner, whether it was out of lack of showmanship or Kirishima deeming it unnecessary, it didn't really matter to the virgin beneath him. She took one look and she wasn’t able to look away. A surprising black bush drew her focus at first, what more the two easter-eggs that seemed to be nestling there, but not before long her eyes felt the need to follow what bulging pumping purple vein ran up the underside of the thickness, almost like a spine, or a pin that reached up to a red-blushed head, glossed like a candy-apple, with a slit running though it and a spill of pre-cum dripping down to disappear in the dark forest below.

She could swear it sized up to her whole arm’s-length.

Her eyebrows knitted as she continued eyeing the hard pole, watching it bob with strength, straining against his stomach, standing proudly on it’s own as he lifted his shirt off his arms and shoulders, throwing it to the floor, revealing what mouthwatering washboard rock-hard abs he kept beneath.

His hand once again reached out, this time to grab her wrist, guiding her shaking hand back to his thick member, watching her hesitate to wrap her delicate little fingers around his length once he squeezed her wrist too hard in impatience, seeing her bite her lip at the feel of the almost rubbery-smooth texture of his length in her palm, warm to the touch. His larger hand wrapped around her smaller one, guiding the movement as he started pumping up and down.

He groaned, head hung and resting atop her shoulder where he knelt with her sitting form in his lap, red eyes with wide pupils locked on watching her small hand loosely holding onto him, his cock looking so unbelievably huge in her tiny grasp, like some beast, where the more he thought about it and the more he looked, it was big compared to all of her, he could only imagine what she was thinking as she eyed his length with that cute childish level of curiosity and sweet tinge of virgin anxiety. She needed to bite her lip to prevent it from trembling, wanting to squeeze her thighs shut when they too became unruly, wanting to protect what was kept between them.

It only made his cock throb even harder.

“I- fuck-” He grunted, thrusting shallowly up into her hand by angling his hips up, looking down upon her enticing pretty silken dew-kissed heat, his finger greedily reaching to touch the tender entrance only to hear her whimper out a small whine at once when his rough digits brazenly made contact. “You’re so shy, it’s adorable.”

The loosely given hand-job felt good around his priorly ignored arousal, what with how sensitive he was, but was missing what her pussy was welcomingly dripping with.

He lowered himself, hand grabbing his base to steady the attack, yet was declined by her placing her own hand in front of the poor unsuspecting virgin tightness. “Uhm, Kiri- I-”

He shushed at her, prying her hand easily away, replacing it with his own, rubbing those electrical patterns he did before into her pretty budding pearl. “No, no, Baby. Come on. Pretty please, it’ll feel so good, I’ll be gentle okay? It’ll be good, I promise.” He swirled his thumb over her clit, an act far from gentle, though sending those sharp involuntary spikes of pleasure into her core, giving to something pooling in her stomach, something warm and sticky and heavier than before, almost burdening with how it strained in the muscles of her thighs, making her shake beneath the man’s mere thumb. “I love you, Baby, don't you want us to take the next step?”

“Uhm...” She gasped as he abused the sensitivity under his course strength.

“Thank you, Baby.” He purred, lips carved into a smile fit for devouring, planting kisses down her face and into her neck, his cock pushing into the velvet folds.

But she backed up, balls of her feet pushing into the mattress, her palms doing the same, but Kirishima had other plans, none of them including letting her up.

“Kiri, no-” She pushed lightly at his chest then, as she’d done before, trying to soothe and smooth over the feathers she’d ruffled, trying ever so gently in those small soft caresses to apologize for having riled him up so.

But seems this time he wouldn't have that either, her hands cupped and pulled rather dismissively out of the way, dominated by his own and how he intertwined his digits, raking them in with her dainty ones, locking their hands, or rather securing hers, before pushing them flat into the sheets beside her, giving him full access to what lied beneath him without her bothersome fists getting in his way. “Come on, Babe... stop being a little tease...” Her hands slipped their confinements in his as he rather needed them to manage her body, felt that twitching itch to grab and grope and tug and pull at all her doughy flesh. She gasped as he groped a mans handful of her ass, bumping his bare cock into her, rubbing it up and over her pussy, bobbing between their stomachs.

His face was still so adamant on nibbling at the flesh of her collar, leaving what she knew to be ugly swelling purple stains that turned into those vile green and yellow marks looking like fungus blooming on her skin. “I’m sorry-” It was all too much to have his warm skin pressed against her, his naked hardness, all of him, his rough hands, his brutish needle-sharp teeth, that thing that poked at her, humped into her where he’d made a sticky wet hot mess, with her underwear put somewhere out of sight and most definitely out of reach. “I’m not ready to-” Her hands tried softly but with increasing effort at getting him off, trying to get her discomfort across to the seemingly clueless baboon who was handling her body to his own selfish ends on top of her.

“It’s fine.” His voice was heated, soft despite trodding over her own, as he tried calming her down, again with his hands tugging at her wrists and pushing the annoying things away from him, again so he could lie himself down on top of her. “We’ll try something-” His efforts at soothing her weren’t appreciated by the girl beneath as she continued pushing, bordering on thrashing beneath the giant red-head.

“Kiri, stop. ” There was an edge to her voice this time, an edge he didn’t appreciate.

Large hand wrapped their fingers around her wrist and crushed it with a strength she couldn't hope to match, a dark chuckle following, rumbling just beside her ear alongside a small smile carving his lips at the cute pop of bones followed by her whimper. “Stop being so difficult, Babe.” He chastised, voice dismissive and completely unbothered by her spiked struggles, treating her reluctance like it was nothing but a minor inconvenience he could simply swat away like a fly. “I know you’ll like it, you just need to-”

“I don’t need to do anything!” She cried now, adorable small whines as she tried prying her hand out of his hold. “Get off me!”

“Kinda feels like you’re trying to piss me off here.” His tone darkened, and so did the look in his eyes, and though she was just short of bawling with the lump of hopelessness and fear caught stuck in her throat, the adrenaline gave her such a rush of confidence as her leg finally managed to shuffle under his, allowing her to knee him right in that swelled thick slug he was so transfixed on appeasing.

And though she managed briefly to slip out from beneath him, it was no victory, and she felt that ounce of triumph that fluttered in her heart snuff out at the feel of his brawny taunt and rock hard arms wrap around her torso, hoisting her off the ground, only to throw her right back where she’d been laying not moments ago.

“Please, Eijirou, please, you're scaring me, stop.” She kicked now, flopping beneath him like a fish hauled up on a boat, tried prying her hands out of his grasp yet couldn't stop him from holding her down, rolling her on her stomach while he pulled off his uniform necktie, bending her arms behind her back and tightening the noose around her wrists, pulling the tail between them to secure the knot tightly, before rolling her back with her hands being crushed beneath her.

Her face reappeared tear-slicked and panicked. “There we go, all pretty and perfect for me.” He lightly tapped her face as he stuffed her mouth with the panties he fished back up from his pockets, settling between her legs again as she whined through the make-shift gag.

Rough course hand, like sandpaper, like rock, slid down between her thighs, slowly in their venture, pushing and kneading into the softness, hungry as they groped and pushed her open, wrapped her around his torso so he could slap his rock-solid cock onto her vulnerable little opening.

“Let me paint a picture for you, Babe.” He started, catching her attention.

Her eyes so unbelievably wide as she looked up at him through the thick hazy ominous darkness of the room, a darkness that once seemed so cozy now so overwhelming, the sun having gone down, the TV turned to black, the lights left off and the only glimmer coming from the streetlights and the dim white glow of the moon shining in through her window, leaving Kirishima’s sharp teeth to hang above her and how they seemed to drip, eerie shadows cast upon his face, eyes red and hazy, drooped to slits, drunk and cocky as he continued rubbing his cockhead up through the lips of her pussy ever so causally, like she wasn’t bound and bawling beneath him.

“So listen up and listen carefully. Can you do that, Babe?”

She felt cold suddenly, chilled to her core by his tone, reduced to shivering beneath his confident touch, shuddering where she laid, chest pushed upward above the support her arms gave, head drawing in the dune of her pillow, thighs lifted to straddle her boyfriend’s waist, his hand keeping her there by curling his thumb into the underside of her knee.

“The way I see it, you have two options.” He leaned in, voice sturdy but soft like a straight-jacket. “Either you be my good girl and give me what’s mine.” Tone swooping low into a growl. “Or...”

His hands moved steadily as they began unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up, planting a kiss on the newly exposed skin of her tummy, just short of her belly-button. The light scruff of his chin tickling the thin skin it rubbed against as he continued licking and nibbling on the flesh the more it was exposed to him.

“You run along to your friends, tell them what a bad bad guy I am. They ask for proof, but silly little you have no proof to give.” He chuckled, warm breath breezed on the peach-fuzz of her chest as he kept sucking his marks into her, hands fingering the last of her buttons. “People love me, Buttercup, so let me ask you this...” The crimson spikes of his hair stuck into the underside of her chin as he licked up her throat, kissed her jaw and bit at her earlobe, whispering. “Who’s side you think they gonna take?” Humming as he watched another fat tear run down her cheek. “You go to the teachers, they ask for proof, something you still don’t have because there is none. And even if they did believe you... no saying they’d do anything about it. I’m destined to be a billboard hero. Do you really think they’ll throw all that away on some ditz from general studies?” Question after question, answer after answer, each one another stab and twist of the rusty blade in her hope. “Think again.” With her shirt open she witnessed him morph his hand into sharp rock, a jagged finger burrowing beneath the bridge of her bra and cutting the thick fabric loose, now fully exposed to his mouthful of teeth and slobbering tongue. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not how the world works, Sweetheart.”

She closed her eyes, clamped them shut, but it only helped her feel all his entitled actions even more, how he moved, rightfully, regardlessly, without regret or remorse. She swore she could feel him pulsating against her, his cock pumping against her swollen clit, where she could argue that the rip of him tearing apart her skirt was the loudest noise she’d ever heard in her life.

“And perhaps it ends there, but I know you. You continue, trying to make anyone believe you, eventually ending up in management for crazy obsessed fanatic fangirls -of which I have many- or you give up.” His mouth enclosed her nipple, tongue swirling around the bud, fingers tweaking the other breast with boyish greediness. “Either way, you end up missing. With no friends to bother coming to find you, thinking that your delusional ass offed yourself, when in reality...”

Large hand curling around her neck, squeezing as he rose to look down at her, rock his hips to allow his cock more friction, sliding up and down between her thighs, bobbing against her stomach, thrumming and spilling thick whiteness, dripping and smearing onto her skin.

“You’re right back here with me.”

Her heart skipped, seemed to stop, everything seemed to stop. His words hung poised, forgetting how to drop, like dust settling, lingering about the air as she looked up at him, thinking he looked like the onset of hell, like a demon, his hair like horns, his eyes like hellfire, and those teeth, those sharp unforgiving teeth.

“You see, if you don’t give, I will take.” He juggled her head with the tight grip he had on her jaw, playing with her as his other hand swept through her delicate sensitive folds, made her cringe, try and shimmy away, all to his disgusting amusement shown in the snaggletooth that hooked over his lip as he smirked a grim curled line. “And right now it looks to me like I might just have to show you just how defenseless you are to stop me.” His digits wiggled inside her, and she whined into her panties as she sucked on them, her eyes clinging to the dangerous heat simmering inside his. “Aww see? You’re already getting so wet. Your body sure knows who it belongs to, I’m sure you will too, very soon.”

#yandere eijiro kirishima #yandere kirishima #yandere eijiro #yandere eijirou #yandere kirishima eijiro #yandere red riot #kirishima smut #yandere kirishima eijiro #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha kirishima #eijirou x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #eijirou kirishima imagine #eijirou x you #bnha eijirou #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere bnha

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beccascribbles · 3 years

Text

inarizaki and their love language

physical touch

atsumu’s hand finds yours easily, fingers curling around your own as he pulls you down into the seat beside him. your hip knocks against his, thigh pressing up against his own. now that you are beside him, his hand finds its home on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as his attention remains focused on kita sitting across from you. his thumb strokes along your thigh, movements alternating between a gentle circling or a smooth up and down motion.

as you join in the conversation, he finds his gaze being drawn to you, and can’t help brushing a kiss to the side of your head, much to the disgust of osamu who feigns throwing up. you look up at him, eyebrows furrowed even as a soft smile tugs at your lips.

“what was that for?” you question, giving him a small nudge with your elbow. atsumu doesn’t reply - he doesn’t feel the need to. instead, he reaches out to grab your hand resting on the table and bringing it down to your lap, tangling your fingers together beneath the table. his own hand is rested against the top of your thigh, and you teasingly attempt to pull away your hand. glancing upwards, you see a slight pout form on his lips, followed by the tightening of his fingers around your own.

with a small giggle, you lean up to press a kiss to his jaw, the action making a smile spread across his face, the expression so lovesick osamu can’t resist reaching across the table and flicking his forehead.

“get a grip,” he teased, “you’ve got plenty of time to make such stupid expressions when it’s just you two.”

“mind yer own business,” grumbled atsumu. “ya don’t see me making fun of you and yer partner.”

acts of service

“morning samu,” you greeted, arms stretching above your head as you let out a loud yawn, the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing - his t-shirt - raising to reveal a smooth expanse of skin.

“morning,” he replied, leaning forward to brush a brief kiss to your lips before gesturing over to the kitchen table, where a mug of coffee was waiting for you. “i made ya coffee. know how grumpy ya get without a little caffeine in yer system.”

though the words seemed to indicate a level of annoyance with your dependence on the substance, the coffee itself was made with care. osamu had spent a few weeks perfecting his latte art skills, and this was made clear by the perfect heart that adorned the top of your coffee. you felt a wide grin tug at your lips and wrapped your hands around the mug, moving as if to disappear from the kitchen.

“sit down,” said osamu, pulling your chair out with his foot as he balanced two plates of breakfast in his hands. he placed one plate in front of your seat before moving to the opposite side of the table were he placed his own. “ya need to eat, no relying on just coffee. i also made ya some onigiri for lunch. it’s in yer bag so ya won’t forget it.”

quality time

you let out a laugh, the grape suna had thrown at you hitting your forehead and falling to the floor. it was the fifth attempt at trying to catch a grape in your mouth, and, evidently, it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. suna had managed to do it his first time, though you insisted that had more to do with your aim than his catching skills.

“come on,” you pleaded, “let me try again.”

“no,” he said, picking up a grape and popping it in his mouth. “clearly you’re too uncoordinated to be able to and we don’t have 100 grapes going spare.”

“it wouldn’t take that long,” you pouted, lunging forward and grabbing a grape. “besides, it’s all your fault. i bet i can do it first time if i throw it in the air.”

he leant back, arms crossing over his chest as he shot you a lazy smirk. “you can try.”

and try you did. you threw the grape upwards in a perfectly straight line. all you needed to do was get under it, something you struggled with, the grape bouncing off your cheek and landing on the floor.

“maybe i can’t do it,” you admitted in a mumble, hoping the words would go unnoticed by suna. it didn’t, the smirk on his face widening, as he shook his head.

“you’re useless,” he chuckled, reaching for a grape. instead of eating it however, he prepared to throw it at you. “come on, get ready. i’m sure you can do it this time.”

acts of service

“you’re cold,” observed kita as you shivered beside him, your arms wrapped tight around your body. you shot him an incredulous look, about to bite back at him when he reached for the bag hanging from his shoulder. he let out a sigh. “i knew you would be but you never listen. you didn’t even pack gloves or even a hat.”

as he berated you for your stupidity, he was pulling out a lump of material from his bag, closer inspection of the item revealing it to be a fleece, the one he wore when he was out working the fields. he unfolded it, taking the hat and gloves that were wrapped up in the material. without a word, he handed the gloves to you, motioning for you to put them on. his attention then turned to the hat, which he gently placed on your head, tugging it over your ears.

“turn around,” he directed, holding the fleece up. you turned away from him, holding out your arms and letting him dress you. he spun you back around, hands moving to the zip and tugging it upwards until your chin disappeared beneath the collar. he questioned, “better now?”

you nodded, already feeling warmer, and incredibly grateful that your partner was so thoughtful. even though you nodded, he still didn’t look satisfied, taking note of the slight shiver, a sign your body was still struggling to regulate its temperature. kita reached into his bag once again, pulling out a flask and unscrewing it. “i wasn’t planning on opening this until we reached the top but here, it’ll warm you up.”

you took it, wrapping your hands around the flask and taking a sip, the taste of chocolate flooding your mouth. you let out a content sigh. “thank you, shin.”

words of affirmation

“even after all this time, i’m still crazy about you,” he sighed, pulling your attention away from the show that was currently playing on the tv. you turned to him, head tilted in a quizzical manner. you knew this; it was clear from the constant ‘i love you’ and the praise he showered you with.

“what’s brought this about?” you asked, hand reaching for the remote so you could pause the tv. his grin only widened, and his next words were confident.

“because i love you,” he said, enjoying the way you ducked your head shyly, the way a smile played at the corners of your lips. “you know what? i love everything about you. you always work so hard, in your job and around the home. you really are perfect, y/n.”

“i wouldn’t say that,” you replied, waving your hand at him bashfully. you would have thought you would have got used to ojiro’s compliments after years together, but they still left you feeling flushed. at times, you felt undeserving of them, couldn’t see what he so clearly saw in you.

“i would.”

a/n - series potential where i do it with the other teams?? i mean probably but let me know what you think. genuinely been spending most of my time writing recently (what is uni? we don’t know her) so it is more than likely going to happen. let me know what team you are interested in seeing and i hope you enjoyed!

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gothsunoo · 2 years

Text

deal! - jungwon

07. nothing to worry about

word count: 890 / warnings: mentions of food

note: HELP I KINDA HAD A SUDDEN INSPIRATION TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS

Your eyes were carefully following the waitress around, glued to her elaborate braids of blond hair. When your friend called for your attention, you promptly looked at her.

"Isn't it so cute? I want it! it would be the cherry on top for so many outfits!" Nayeon was practically squealing as she shoved her phone under your nose. On the screen camped the image of a little white purse, decorated with small rose gold butterflies.

"Then buy it! Make yourself a gift, you've been doing amazing at school lately!" you encouraged your friend.

"Yeah, it's well-deserved, love!" Dahyun observed too.

"I'll see... Oh my god, this is the prettiest bag ever, I can't believe it's real!"

A small smile grew on your lips because of Nayeon's cuteness. Taking another glance at her phone, you recognised the name of the brand: her recent obsession in terms of clothes, of course. Nayeon had a thing for soft aesthetics and the cafe in which you were sitting confirmed that. The whole place was adorable, filled with pastel-coloured things and desserts that looked almost too good to be eaten.

The bell hung on the door rang, interrupting your thoughts. The door, now opened, revealed a large group of boys.

"NOT THE COTTAGECORE CAFE HELP-" the blondie who had opened the door exclaimed as he stepped into the room. The rest of the boys were talking and laughing quite loudly. They didn't exactly look like regular customers of that kind of shop. Sunoo shushed Riki, then he finally saw you, Dahyun and Nayeon. He started heading towards the large table that had been prepared for the lot of you.

You had spent the whole day overthinking: "How should I introduce myself?" "Keep it simple." "Handshake? No contact?" All useless worries. Before you knew it, you were pulled in a vortex of introductions, greetings, handshakes and laughs. Heeseung, tall and charming; Jay, the definition of "cool"; Jake, kind and welcoming. You gave Riki a high-five before taking your seat again. Everyone chose a wooden chair, except for Jungwon, who was casually left with the seat beside yours. You took a look around. Do all of his friends know? Probably yes.

Your bonding process started with dessert recommendations. When the waitress came to take the orders, all of the boys took Dahyun's expert advice in terms of sweets and beverages. The waitress turned your way.

"What about you, over here?"

"Vanilla Cherry Cake, please!" you and Jungwon replied at the same time. Giggles and knowing looks all over the table.

"Okay... two of those! And two Cherry Potions, I guess?" the waitress smiled. Jungwon was still taken aback.

"Yes, thank you! Jungwon, you're going to love the Cherry Potion, trust me, it's one of their best drinks!" you played it off quickly. Jungwon snapped back to reality and nodded with a smile. You saw Sunghoon perform a not-so-lowkey facepalm, followed by a light slap from Dahyun.

The desserts came and took away the awkwardness. All of you started sharing things about your lives, becoming comfortable with each other. You took a sip of your Cherry Potion and you realized you were having the time of your life, feeling extremely relaxed and at ease, careless about the time that was passing by fast.

Jungwon, no surprise, was absolutely lovely. You enjoyed talking to everyone. However, at some point, your conversation's centre of gravity had started moving from the middle of the table to the space between you and Jungwon. The words flowed easily between a bite of cake and another. Your assignments, his parents, your favourite books, his dog, your neighbourhood, his favourite series. Learning about each other was sweet. Then, the unexpected. Then it hit you. Your eyes traced the outline of Jungwon's face and for the first time in hours, you felt tense. He was undeniably beautiful. He looked pretty in the afternoon light that filtered through the window, he blended perfectly in the soft-looking ambience. So pretty.

Your phone lit up on the table, bringing you back to earth.

soobin: you're staring ??

soobin: girlie get a grip on yourself

soobin: oh my god

You gave him a stare, to which he didn't react.

soobin: next wish share your ice cream with him

You rolled your eyes and turned to Jungwon, asking him if he wanted to split an ice cream cup. The boy agreed, with a hint of embarrassment. The cold ice cream, that was brought to you a few minutes later, soothed your growing nervousness. Okay, he looked pretty, he was smart. So what? Nothing to worry about. Right? Fishing ice cream from the same cup as him definitely wasn't helpful.

"Look at Jake flirting with Nayeon! God, he's shameless!" Jungwon stared at his friend wide-eyed. You followed his gaze, laughing wholeheartedly at the sight.

"He has a thing for cheerleaders, unbelievable. You know, it went downhill when..."

The two of you started a sudden gossip talk, adding to the other's stories and laughing until your mouth hurt. Nothing to worry about, nothing at all.

"Hey, you two! Let me try your ice cream!"

"Riki you have a whole bowl, shut up!"

NEXT: CHAPTER 08 >

MASTERLIST FOR DEAL!

in which a long series of deals bring y/n closer and closer to yang "I don't have time for dating" jungwon

or, a bunch of (messy) teenagers decide they need to get their friends together and there's no stopping them

TAGLIST: @enhacolor @plantitugh @ikuwon @iioyous @certainyouthpeanut @yvesismywife @msxflower @soobin-g @lyvuu @maeum-your @wonieleles @lil-iva @she-is-dreaming @yukaire @ourschan @acciomylove @blessed-sky @deeznutsriki @fylithia @chirokookie @moatrash @lovnayeon

#ficscafe #k radio!#jungwon smau #jungwon social media au #jungwon fanfiction #jungwon fanfic #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon #enhypen social media au #enhypen smau #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen #engene

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Text

The Bad Batch: A Crosshair Analysis

Hello, Star Wars fandom! I have just completed watching—and loving—The Bad Batch, which you know means I now need to dump all my thoughts about the first season into the tumblr void. Specifically, thoughts on the complicated drama that is Crosshair. I have no doubt that the majority of what I’m about to say will be old news to anyone who watched the show when it came out (I’m slow...), but I’m writing it all out anyway. Largely for my own sanity enjoyment :D

I want to preface all of this by saying that the above is not an exaggeration. I love the show and I love the entire cast. My enjoyment in each of the characters is directly connected to my enjoyment of the season as a whole, which I say because I’m about to get pretty critical towards some of the characters’ choices and, to a lesser extent, the writing choices that surround those. Does this mean I secretly hate The Bad Batch? Quite the opposite. I’m invested, which is presumably just what Filoni wants. I’m just hoping that investment pays off.

But enough of the disclaimers. Let’s start with the matter of the inhibitor chip. I’ve seen fans take some pretty hard stances on both sides: Crosshair is completely innocent because he’s definitely been under the chip’s control this whole time, no matter what he might say. Crosshair is completely guilty because he said the chip was removed a long time ago and he chose to do all this, no moral wiggle room allowed. However, the reality is that we don’t know enough to make a clear call either way. The audience, simply put, does not have all the necessary information. What we have instead is a couple of facts combined with claims that may or may not be reliable. Let’s lay them out:

Crosshair was definitely under the chip’s control at the start of the series.

He was able to resist it to a certain extent, resulting in a pressure to obey orders coupled with a primary loyalty to his squad. See: telling Hunter to follow the Empire’s commands—which includes killing kid Padawans—but not turning his team in as traitors when they did not. It’s an in-between space.

Crosshair’s chip was then amplified to an unknown extent. I’m never going to claim I’m a Star Wars aficionado—I’m a casual fan, friends. Please don’t yell at me over obscure lore lol—but within TBB’s canon, no one else is undergoing that experimentation. The effects of this are entirely unknown, which includes Crosshair’s free will, or lack thereof.

Crosshair then becomes a clear tool of the Empire, hunting down innocents, killing on a whim, the whole, evil shebang.

In “Reunion” he’s caught by the engine and suffers severe burns to his face. One leaves a scar that covers precisely the place where the chip would have been extracted.

Removing the chip leaves its own scar behind. If Crosshair’s was removed, we can’t see that scar due to the burn.

After these events Crosshair seems to mellow a bit. He does horrible things under the Empire’s orders—like shooting the senator—but is still loyal to his squad—killing his non-clone teammates to give TBB a chance, saving AZ and Omega, etc.

Crosshair claims that his chip has already been removed. However, Crosshair is arguably an unreliable source if he’s been lied to or if the chip is still there, encouraging him to manipulate the team.

Crosshair claims it was removed a long time ago, which is incredibly imprecise. As we can see from just some of the events listed above, precisely when the chip came out—if it came out—makes a huge difference.

Hunter realizes this and presses for clarification, but Crosshair dodges giving it. Again, a legitimate belief that it doesn’t matter, or evidence that he can’t say because something else is going on? We don’t know.

Hunter checks Crosshair’s head and finds the burn scar which proves… nothing. As stated above, they wouldn’t be able to see the surgery scar one way or another: its existence or its absence. It’s useless data, as Tech might say. I’ve seen a few fans claim that Hunter was also feeling for the chip with his enhanced senses, but 1. I didn’t catch any evidence of that in the scene and 2. Even if we assume Hunter did that anyway, the chips are notoriously hard to spot. Fives and AZ couldn’t find the chip at first when examining Tup. Ahsoka had to use the force to find it in Rex. TBB themselves couldn’t find it at first in Wrecker. If machinery consistently fails to find the chip on the first couple of tries—it’s meant to be a hidden implant, after all—why would we believe Hunter’s senses could pick it up instantly? Maybe he missed it, or maybe it wasn’t there at all.

Crosshair appears to be struggling with a headache in the finale, just as he was at the beginning of the season and just like Wrecker was for the first half.

The point of listing all this out is to emphasize how ambiguous this whole situation is. I don’t want to use this post to argue one way or another about whether Crosshair’s chip is really out. I have my preferred theory (the chip’s still in, but only partially functional), but at the end of the day none of this is conclusive. The writing takes us in what I hope is deliberate circles. Crosshair says the chip is out? Crosshair is not a reliable source of information until we know if the chip is out. What other evidence is there that the chip is gone? A scar? We can’t see if there’s a scar. Hunter’s abilities? He only checked once for a canonically hard to find implant—if he actually checked at all. And why would the Empire want the chip out? Well, maybe it has to do with that push towards willing soldiers, but if that were the case, why leave Crosshair behind and have the “clones die together”? By that point he was one of the most willing, chip or not. Did they have to take it out because of the engine accident? Pure speculation. We just don’t know and THAT is the point I want to make.

Because it means the rest of the Bad Batch didn’t know either.

The core issue I have here is not whether the chip is in or out, or even how long it may have been in if it is out now. The issue is that TBB spent 99% of the first season believing that Crosshair was under the chip’s influence… and they didn’t try to do anything about that. They abandoned him. They left a man behind. Does this make them all horrible monsters? Of course not! This shit is complicated as hell, but I do think they made a very large mistake and that Crosshair has every right to be furious about it.

“But, Clyde, they couldn’t have gone back. It was too dangerous! Hunter had a duty to his whole team, not just Crosshair.” True enough and I’d buy this argument 100% if Hunter hadn’t spent the entire season throwing his team into dangerous, seemingly impossible situations to save other people. Crosshair became the exception, not a hard rule of something they had to avoid. They went back to Kamino for Omega, a kid they’d only had one lunch with, despite knowing how dangerous the Empire was. They went into the heart of an occupied planet to rescue not just a stranger, but one belonging to the Separatist government. They helped Sid when she asked and there was plenty of compassion for the criminal trying to take her place. Most significantly, there wasn’t the slightest hesitation to go rescue Hunter when he was under the Empire’s control, in precisely the same place. Every explanation I’ve seen fans come up with—Kamino is too fortified, they don’t know where Crosshair is, they can’t risk Omega being captured, etc.—also holds true for Hunter, yet there wasn’t a second of doubt about needing to at least try to help him. And his rescue was arguably far more dangerous given that TBB knew they were walking into a trap. Going after Crosshair would have at least had some element of surprise.

I think the problem with these justifications is most easily seen in “Rescue on Ryloth” and, later, “War-Mantle.” In the former, we do watch Hunter decide that going on a rescue mission is too much of a risk, only for Omega to talk him into considering it.

Hunter: “It’s a big galaxy. We can’t put ourselves on the line every time someone’s in trouble.”

Omega: “Why not? Isn’t that what soldiers do?”

Hunter: “It’s not worth the risk.”

Omega: “She’s trying to save her family, Hunter. I’d do the same for you.”

The arguments that sway him are ‘Soldiers should help people’ and ‘Soldiers should specifically help their family.’ So… what does that say about their feelings for Crosshair? They’re willing to put themselves on the line for the parents of a girl they met once at a drop site, but not their own brother? That’s the message the writing sends. “But, Clyde, the difference is that they had an advantage here. Hera’s knowledge of her home planet tipped the odds in their favor.” Yeah… and Crosshair is stationed on TBB’s home planet. Even more than them collectively having the same knowledge that Hera does, “Return to Kamino” reveals that Omega always had additional, insider knowledge of the base: she has access to a secret landing pad and the tunnels leading up into the city. That knowledge was given and used the second Hunter’s freedom was on the line, but it never once came up to use for Crosshair’s benefit.

“War-Mantle’s” mission puts this problem in even sharper relief. Another claim I’ve seen a lot is that TBB only took risky rescue missions because they needed to be paid. The guys have got to eat after all. Yet Tech makes it clear that going after Gregor will lose them money. They’re meant to be on a mission for Sid and deviating for that won’t result in a payment. He explicitly says that if they decide to do this, they won’t eat. They do it anyway. No money, no intel, a huge risk “on a clone we don’t even know.” But that’s not what’s important, the show says. All that matters is that a brother is in trouble. This time it’s Echo pushing that message instead of Omega. When Hunter realizes that they’re about to try and infiltrate an entire facility and they don’t even know if this clone is still alive, Echo points out that they took that risk once before: for him. “If there’s a chance that trooper is being held against his will, we have to try and get him out.”

Yes! Exactly right! So why doesn’t that apply to Crosshair?

“Because he tried to kill them, Clyde!” No, that’s the easy, dismissive answer. A chipped Crosshair tried to kill them. AKA, a Crosshair entirely under the Empire’s control. The only difference between his enslavement and Gregor’s is that Gregor’s chains were physical while Crosshair’s were mental. And again, the point of everything at the start of this post is to show that no one knows when or even if that chip was removed. TBB definitely didn’t have any reason to suspect that Crosshair was working under his own power until Crosshair himself said as much. We might have been able to make that case at the start of the season, but “Battle Scars” removes any possible confusion. The entire team watched Rex reach for his blaster when he learned their chips were still in. The entire team watched Wrecker become a totally different person and attack them, just like Crosshair did. The entire team forgave him instantly and had their own chips removed. So why in the world didn’t anyone go, “Wow, Crosshair has a chip too. He was no more responsible for attacking us than Wrecker was. We need to try to get him out, no matter how hard that might be, just like we had to try for all these other people we’ve helped.”

But they didn’t. No one even considered rescuing Crosshair. They only went back for Hunter and, when they realized Crosshair was there too, they didn’t change their plans to try and rescue him as well. He’s treated as a particularly threatening inconvenience, not another team member in need of their help.

The problem I have with how this all went down is that the team treated Crosshair like an enemy despite all evidence to the contrary. Despite Omega outright saying that this isn’t his fault, it’s the chip, the group seems to decide that he’s gone crazy or something and that there’s nothing they can do. “It’s fine,” I thought. “They don’t really get what the chip is like yet. They don’t understand how thoroughly it controls someone.” But then “Battle Scars” arrives and Wrecker is treated with such compassion (which he deserves!) only for the group to continue acting like Crosshair is somehow different. It’s easy to say, “But Crosshair shot Wrecker” and ignore the easy pushback of, “and Wrecker nearly shot Omega.” Up until Crosshair’s own accusations and Omega’s ignored comments, TBB’s understanding of the chip’s influence and the lack of responsibility that accompanies mysteriously disappears when the show’s antagonist becomes the subject of conversation. This is seen most clearly in how Hunter tries to frame things during his talk with Crosshair:

“You tried to kill us. We didn’t have a choice.”

“Can’t you see that they’re using you? It’s that inhibitor chip in your head.”

“You really don’t get who we are, do you?”

Hunter mentions the chip, but he acts as if it’s Crosshair’s responsibility to overcome it: “Can’t you see…” Of course he can’t see, that’s the entire point of the chip, the thing he currently believes Crosshair still has stuck in his head. But Hunter and the others—with Omega as a wonderful exception—never seem to have accepted this like they did for Wrecker. When Crosshair “tried to kill us” it’s seen as a deliberate act that he chose, not something forced on him like with Wrecker. When Hunter talks about their ethics, he subconsciously separates the team from Crosshair: “You really don’t get who we are, do you?”, revealing a pretty ingrained divide between them. Even Wrecker gets in on the action, the one brother who truly understands how much the chip controls someone: “All that time, you didn’t even try to come back.” What part of he couldn’t try is not hitting home here? Again, for the purposes of this conversation it doesn’t matter whether Crosshair was chipped this whole time or not. The point is that TBB believed he was chipped… and yet still expected him to somehow, magically overcome that programming, writing him off when he failed to do that. He’s consistently held responsible for actions that they were told (and, through Wrecker, saw) were completely outside of his control. Even when we factor in his claim that the chip was removed, TBB has ignored all the evidence I listed at the start. No one, not even Omega, challenges this super vague and strange claim, or seeks out proof because they don’t want to believe that their brother could willingly do this. There’s just this... acceptance that of course Crosshair went bad. Why? Because he was an asshole sometimes? Taking it all as written, it doesn’t feel like the batch considered him a true part of the team. Certainly not like Wrecker or Hunter. As shown, the batch will go out of their way, risk anything, forgive anything, for them. They have a level of faith that was never shown to Crosshair.

“Severe and unyielding,” Tech says and he’s absolutely right, but I’d seriously challenge this idea that any of the others would have automatically done better if the situations were reversed. It stood out to me that each batch member has a moment of doubt throughout the series, a brief glimpse into how they think the Empire isn’t that bad, at least when it comes to this particular thing. Basically, a moment that could lead to a very dangerous line of thinking without others to stomp it down. Wrecker announces that he’s happy working for whoever, provided they give him food and let him blow things up. Tech finds the chain codes to be an ingenious strategy and is clearly fascinated with their development. Hunter initially wants Omega to stay on Kamino, despite knowing that this Empire has already, systematically killed an entire group of people: the Jedi. Doesn’t matter. She’s still (supposedly) safer there than she would be running with the likes of them.

There’s absolutely no doubt that those three made the correct choice in defying the Empire, but I believe that their ability to make that choice is largely dependent on them having each other. They survive together, not apart, and it’s their unity that allows them to make the really hard calls, like setting out on their own and opposing such a formidable force. But if Tech’s chip had activated and he’d been left behind, would he have muscled through to escape somehow...or would he have gotten caught up in all the new technology the Empire offered him, succumbing to both his chip and the inevitability that if his squad no longer wanted him, why not stay? Would Wrecker have escaped, or been easily manipulated into a new life of exploding things? Would Hunter have been able to push through without his brothers, or would he have become devoted to a new team to lead? Obviously there’s no way to ever know, but it’s always easier to make the right decisions when you have support in doing so. Crosshair had no support. His team left him and yes, they had to in that specific moment, but the point is that they never came back. As far as we saw throughout the season, they never planned to come back. They all talk about loving the Crosshair who existed when life was easier, but they weren’t willing to fight for the Crosshair that most needed their help. When he says “You weren’t loyal to me,” he’s absolutely right. The same episode, “Return to Kamino,” gives Omega two powerful lines that the group rallies behind:

Omega: “[The danger] doesn’t matter. Saving Hunter is what matters.”

AZ: “You must leave.”

Omega: “Not without Hunter.”

The key word there is “Hunter.” Danger, stakes, risk, probability… none of that matters when Hunter needs help. Crosshair did not receive that same level of devotion.

Which creates a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. The group is upset that Crosshair isn’t rejoining them, but they fail to realize that he has no reason to trust them anymore. He’s not joining the Empire because he’s inherently evil and that’s that, end of discussion. He’s joining it because above all Crosshair wants a place to belong… and TBB has made it clear—unintentionally—that he does not belong with them. The horrible actions that Crosshair took under his own free will (theoretically) came after he realized that doing bad things while under the Empire’s control was, apparently, unforgivable. If it wasn’t, his team would have come back to rescue him. They could have at least tried. But they didn’t, so Crosshair is left with the conclusion that either what he did under the Empire’s control is something the group can’t forgive him for, or they can forgive that (like with Wrecker) and he’s the problem here. He’s the one not worth that effort.

“The Empire will be fazing out clones next,” Hunter says. To which Crosshair responds, “Not the ones that matter.”

He wants to matter to someone and events show he no longer matters to his brothers. So why not stay with the Empire? I mean, we as the audience ABSOLUTELY know why not. Self-doubt and feelings of isolation aren’t excuses for joining the Super Evil Organization. Crosshair, if he is under his own control, is still 100% in the wrong for supporting them, no matter his reasons. So it’s not an excuse, but rather an explanation of that very human, flawed, fallible thinking. He needs to be useful. He needs to be wanted. Crosshair is an absolute dick to the regs and I have no doubt that a lot of that stems from the harassment TBB has experienced from them (with a side of his inflated ego), but I’d bet it’s also due to Crosshair’s intense desire to be valuable to someone. He keeps pointing out the regs’ supposed deficiencies because it highlights his own usefulness. When Crosshair fails to find Hera, the Admiral says that soon he’ll get someone who can, looking straight at Howzer at the door. It makes Crosshair seethe because his entire identity is based on being useful, yet no one seems to need him anymore. TBB seems to no longer want him. The Empire no longer wants clones. Now even regs are considered a better option than him, the “superior” soldier. Everywhere Crosshair turns he’s getting the message that he’s not wanted, but he’ll keep fighting to at least be needed in some capacity, no matter how small. Even if that means overlooking all the horrors the Empire commits.

“All you’ll ever be to [the Empire] is a number,” Hunter says and he’s absolutely right. But to TBB recently, Crosshair hasn’t even been that. He’s been nothing. Nobody worth coming back for. To his mind, at least being a number is something.

I hope that all of this resolves itself into a conclusion that is kind to each side (preferably without a Vader-style death redemption), especially given the still ambiguous state of the chip, but from a writing standpoint I’m admittedly a bit wary. We’re obviously meant to believe that the batch all love each other, but as established throughout this entirely too long post, this season did a terrible job imo of proving that they love Crosshair. Or, at least, proving that they love him as much as the others. If this was really meant to be just a matter of miscommunication, with Crosshair making terrible life choices because he only thinks he was abandoned, then we as the audience would have seen the batch trying and failing to get him out. Or at least establishing a very good reason why they couldn’t take that risk, hopefully with entirely different side-missions so the audience isn’t constantly going, “So you can risk everything for Gregor... but not Crosshair?” I’m VERY glad that Crosshair was allowed to air his grievances to the extent he did, but the end result of that—Hunter continually denying this, Omega walking away from him in their rooms, neither Tech nor Wrecker actually sticking up for him and acknowledging the chip’s influence during at least some of all this—is making things feel rather one-sided. It’s like we’re meant to take Crosshair at his word and accept that he’s this garden-variety antagonist who joins the Empire because yay being on the winning side… despite all these complications that clearly have a huge impact on how we read the situation. It doesn’t help that the show has already embraced an inconsistent manner of portraying chipped-clones. We know every clone has one, we know only a couple clones are aware of the chip’s existence (and can thus try to get it out), we know they enter a “Good soldiers follow orders” mindlessness once activated… yet towards the end we see a lot of side character clones thinking for themselves. Howzer decides that he’s no longer loyal to the Empire, giving a speech where a couple other clones throw down their weapons too. Gregor was arrested because he likewise realized how wrong this all was. But how is that possible? Do the chips completely control the clones, or not? Are these clones somehow exceptions? Are the chips beginning to fail? All of that has a bearing on how we read Crosshair—what were his own decisions, how much he was capable of overcoming the chip, whether that changed at all during certain points—but right now that remains really unclear.

It’s details like that which make me wonder if all these other questions will be answered. Will the story resolve all those ambiguous moments surrounding the chip, or brush them off with the belief that we should have just taken Crosshair at his equally ambiguous word? Will the story acknowledge Crosshair’s points through someone other than Crosshair, allowing it to exist as a legitimate criticism, rather than the presumed excuses of an antagonist? I’m… not sure. On the whole I’m very happy with TBB’s writing—despite what all this might imply lol. Until my brain picks over the season and discovers something else, my only other gripe is not allowing Omega to form a solid bond with Tech and Echo, instead putting all the focus on big brother!Wrecker and dad!Hunter. I think it’s a solid show that does a lot right, but I’m worried that, unless there’s a brilliant answer to all these questions and an intent to unpack both sides of the Hunter vs. Crosshair debate with respect—not just falling back on, “Well, Crosshair is with the Empire so everything he says is automatically bad and wrong” take—we’ve just gotten the setup for a somewhat messy, ethical story. For anyone here who also reads my RWBY metas, I’m pretty sure you’re not at all surprised that I’m invested in going, “Hey, you had one of the heroes suddenly become/join a dictatorship and do a lot of horrific things, but within a pretty complicated context. Can we please work through that carefully and with an acknowledgement of the nuance here, rather than throwing the ‘evil’ character to the proverbial wolves?”

God knows TBB is leagues ahead of RWBY, but I hope things continue on in not just a good direction, but one that tackles the aspects of this situation that many fans—and Crosshair—have already pointed out. As much as I adore the cast—and I really, really do—it was discomforting to watch a found family show where 4/5th of that family so completely wrote off one of the members and crucially have, at least so far, refused to acknowledge that. I want complicated, flawed characters, but that’s only compelling when the storytelling admits to and grapples with those flaws. We have quite firmly established Crosshair’s flaws in Season One. I hope Season Two delves into the rest of the team’s too.

Aaaand with that meta-dump out of my system, I’m off to write TBB fic. Thanks for reading! :D

#The Bad Batch #TBB #Crosshair #Star Wars #SW #mymetas #do I take my life in my hands #by posting SW meta?#probably lol

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

The Promise of Rain, Blurb 3

Technically the third in a blurb-ish series (though this is kinda long for a blurb lol) but can technically be read as a stand alone, but i think the other parts make this seem more significant lol

A/n kinda angsty, not sure if i loveeee this but i haven’t posted a fic in such a long time bc of graduation chaos but now it’s summer and i’m working on a lot of requests/stories :))

Summary: jealousy is out of place when there’s no real warrant for it, and sometimes it’s okay to be content--to not need the rain to make you promises.

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! reader

Tiredness dulls the part of me that craves the rambunctious, but I’m still positive. I smile when someone does something only the truly inebriated find comical. I laugh when something somewhat actually funny happens, and I let the world around me drink. Twenty minutes--in twenty minutes I will claim a headache and go upstairs.

“You okay, y/n?” Jesper’s concern would border on genuinely considerate if it wasn’t for the slightest hint of slur in his words. Nights in which he consols himself after losing game after game are when he’s the friendliest. “You’re strangely quiet--you’re never quiet.”

I press my lips together oddly, smiling in a way that finally reaches my eyes. Jesper’s nice in an oddly particular way when he’s tipsy. Overly observant and careful. “Just a little tired,” I shift in my seat, leaning back against the plush seat in Kaz’s office, “I wish Kaz would just get here and dismiss us so I can go to bed.”

Jesper smiles, lifting his arm slightly and causing his glass to sway. Kaz is not going to take it well when he realizes that Jesper was extremely involved in the downstairs celebration. He turns ungracefully, moving to sit next to me with no warning. I half-heartedly glare as he takes up most of the small couch.

“You’re grumpy when you’re tired,” Jesper hums, stretching his casually.

I sigh once, but it lacks any bite. “I do not.”

He smiles easily, tilting his head so far to the side that it falls against the back of the seat, “No...but I know the real reason you’re grumpy.”

Rolling my eyes, I suppress my instinctual reaction. That would only expose his words as true. “I am not grumpy, there is no reason--”

“You know he hated it.”

I exhale, tired and slowly losing my fragine hold on fake tranquility. “Yeah.” That should make it better. “I know.” It doesn’t--it doesn’t make anything better.

So the contact we so desperately needed on our side took to flirting with Kaz. It was an uncomfortable situation because of its precariousness and I was worried because I know about his issues with touch. But it’s not like I care about the flirting part. No. It was unprofessional and so easily turned messy--that’s what my problem was.

Jesper sighs, stretching even more. I let him stretch his legs over me, too tired to push him off. I sigh, setting my chin on his bent knees. “What’s with the face, l/n?”

I roll my eyes again. Sometimes having someone care about you is annoying. I take back all of my positive thoughts about him--Jesper Fahey is an annoying drunk.

“There’s no face,” despite my words, I feel my expression sour even further. Jesper’s expression shifts from that of gentle worry to teasing pride. “And if there was one, it wouldn’t be because of Kaz Brekker.”

Jesper’s lips twitch upwards, something strange tainting his tipsy grin. “I never said a name.”

“One more condescending comment, and I’m shoving you off this damn couch.”

He laughs flatly, shifting closer and making himself more comfortable. Drunk and touchy--anyone else would have been slapped by now. “You’re nicer after some of this.”

He holds his glass out towards me casually, amber liquid sloshing slightly. I blink at the liquid with slight disinterest. I’m not exactly in the drinking mood...but I’m not exactly in the mood for any of this. The sound of the door opening doesn’t phase me--it’s not Inej, because she never lets herself be heard. Kaz doesn’t say anything, taking one dull step and then another, footsteps leaching the room of any warmth. The coldness he exudes so easily as a mask is strong tonight, I haven’t even looked at him and I can feel it.

Maybe I do need a drink.

I take the glass from Jesper, taking a quick and shallow sip of the liquid. It’s offensive in smell, taste, and the way it spills down my throat. The taste is much more intense than expected, some of the liquid slips past the corner of my mouth. Somehow more bitter than this moment, the liquid leaves me ready to splutter like a child. I exhale, pushing through the burning. Jesper moves his hand forward absentmindedly, wiping a single drop of liquid from my chin carelessly. The gesture would be sweet if my throat burned less.

“Jesper,” the warmth of the alcohol takes root in my chest, “That’s--” He laughs at my reaction, coaxing a smile from me. “Like literally the worst--why do you even have this?” If this is served in the Crow Club, I’ve never heard of it, this is the kind of under the counter alcohol that isn’t mass produced.

He laughs a little more freely. “Won it off of someone passing through--I don’t always lose.”

I wrinkle my nose, “An outlier shouldn’t be--”

“Oh, shut up.” Jesper laughs again.

“Both of you ‘shut up’,” Kaz sighs, stepping further into the room, “If you need to drink, at least wait until after my meeting.” I frown, ignoring Kaz’s lingering and sharp gaze, “You should all follow Inej’s example.”

“We can’t even see Inej.”

Kaz raises an eyebrow, but he regards me with nothing but voidness. He’s never exactly emotive, but normally in moments like this something I can never interpret touches his expression, coloring it human. “Exactly.”

“You’re funnier than people give you credit for.” The comment isn’t exactly sarcastic, but it’s something lighter than I should be offering. It’s an attempt at peace, the slight stiffness between us is starting to bother me. Our usual dynamic isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s more than this. Kaz glares. “But not tonight.”

His expression hardens. “Business is business. It’s not humor, it’s not whatever you try to make it.” Right. Just like it was business when that girl spent more time hitting on him than actually revealing real information. The thought leaves my expression tight as I swallow back my instinctual words. “It’s not whatever you’re currently doing.”

It takes me longer than it should to realize he’s referring to the position Jesper and I are in. Can he relax? It’s not my fault Jesper is tipsy and touchy.

“Kaz,” Inej’s voice is soft yet determined as she emerges from the shadows. It’s a miracle the way she’s nothing more than a shadow until she chooses not to be. “What’s our next job?”

Prompting Kaz in order to prevent a fight--Inej, always the closest thing to a mom available. I give her a partial smile, glad that she’s wedging herself between us and the tension, preventing conflict I’m too tired to follow through on.

“A merchant’s house,” he begins slowly, “We’ll be searching a merchant’s house but I’m seeking evidence more than property.” Jesper swings his legs off the couch with no warning. My head falls. I glare at Jesper who offers me a slightly apologetic tsk before dropping his head on my shoulder. Kaz must note the exchange because something in his expression tightens. He’s extra irritable today. “I’ll disclose more tomorrow,” he sighs once, already turning away, “Most of you are beyond listening tonight anyways.”

He’s at the door before I can tell him that I’m not drunk. The door opens and closes, but Kaz’s heaviness lingers like led. I frown, letting my head fall to the side, resting on Jesper’s.

“He’s weird today,” I mumble, unsure if I want a reply.

“He’s always like that,” Jesper breathes, “You’re losing your novelty, y/n--he always learns to harden himself against anything bright.”

The words leave me even more tired. “I don’t think I’m particularly bright.”

“Kaz does,” Inej replies, “And it has nothing to do with ‘novelty’, Jesper’s just cynical when he drinks.” I don’t know if I believe her, but I like knowing that Inej thinks that. “And Kaz can’t harden himself against you, and he hates that.”

I press my lips together, straightening my spine. “I’m not that great, and whatever Kaz does or doesn’t harden himself against doesn’t affect me at all.” My nails press into the plush seat. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this because whatever he does or doesn’t feel doesn’t matter to me.” I force myself up, doing all I can to seem perfectly calm. “All I care about is going to bed.”

Turning my head, I start to approach the door. Kaz has been strangely cold all night, and while I’m used to his moods, he hasn’t exactly directed them at me so fully since the day he caught me waiting for him to wake up after he almost died. If he wants to go back to how it used to be, then it can. Maybe I’ll care in the morning, when the growing weight of my eyelids is no longer a distraction.

“Sometimes the two of you confuse me,” Inej begins, “And sometimes I see you try to deal with emotion and I see the common ground.”

The words leave me cold. I don’t think being compared to Kaz is an insult, not when there’s so much it could mean. He’s much more complex than he wants to be. There is goodness within him, gilding the parts of him that are more shards than anything else.

I exhale, refusing to turn. Inej is too observant for her own good. “There is no emotion.”

“I’m not going to waste my time arguing over that because I know it’s a waste of time.” She pauses and I consider turning around in hopes of reading something less honest from her expression. “I’m just telling you as a friend that one of you needs to be mature and talk to the other tonight before the tension gets worse and that it’s not going to be him.”

She’s right. I exhale, “Do you think I should let him go?” Even just saying that leaves my heart aching. I know instantly that that’s not what I want, but it might be what he wants--it might be the best option. I might have the strength to let him go if I work at it. “I don’t--that’s not what I want and I’m not sure I could, but maybe that’s selfish of me.”

“Y/n.” I turn slowly, but I purposefully avoid her gaze, keeping my head down. “I know that I’ve known Kaz longer than you, and I know that when he’s getting along with you he’s,” she trails off, uncertain, “More him, in a good way.”

My heart swells, and with that comes feelings of panic. I never wanted to change him--to make him better or worse or anything; all I’ve ever wanted is to know him and to maybe help him with his burden. And to hear that maybe I’ve done that from someone so close to him--someone so observant and aware. That’s everything. And that terrifies me. Nothing good can last; nothing that seems to be all you could ever want actually is. I know that from life before the Crows, before I ran away from the castle I called home.

“I think he does the same for you.” I’ve never really thought about Kaz’s effect on me outside of the fact that he makes me feel warm in small moments and painfully seen in large ones.

I smile because she’s trying and she’s given me something. “I’d say I’d tell you when I make my decision, but something tells me you’ll know.”

She nods, expression shifting to something kind. “Goodnight, y/n.”

Jesper stretches out on the couch, settling himself comfortably, “Night, y/n.”

“Goodnight, guys.” I disappear past the door easily, heading towards my room.

I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to look for Kaz tonight. How much damage could be done in one night? Maybe he needs space. Maybe seeking him out now will make things worse. I exhale, opening the door to my room easily. I’ll decide before going to sleep.

When I step into the room, everything is in place. Everything is fine--but something about it feels off. The light is on. I didn’t leave the light on. Nothing else raises any red flags, so I continue into the room calmly, examining everything carefully. Nothing feels out of place as I further enter the room. I take in my bed, my dresser, and lastly my nightstand.

My heart swells all over again, but this time it feels even heavier than before. On the center of my nightstand, in perfect condition, is a copy of Pride and Prejudice. The same book I told Kaz about, the one thing besides clothing I took from the palace. I told him it was my mother’s favorite and then he asked me to read it to him.

I can’t picture him seeing this and thinking of me. I can’t picture him thinking of me--but no one else knew about my attachment to the book. I need to find him. I need to--to see him, to speak to him. To look him in the eye and see something I only ever see when we’re alone. Maybe he won’t have that look this time, but that’s okay.

I can’t expect to always understand him, but that does not mean I don’t know him.

The thought leaves me feeling a little more settled within the boundaries of my skin, but I don’t ease entirely. The good is more frightening than the bad. My fear of happiness is a benign secret I haven’t had to worry about in years. I don’t know enough about it to know how to deal with it let alone mention it to Kaz. Not that it’s his problem.

I squeeze the book to my stomach. Swallowing pride is a difficult thing, but I’m used to it with him. It’s usually worth it with Kaz because sometimes when I try he tries in his own way. I should find him. He’s not awfully creative about where he goes when he wants to be alone because people know better than to bother him. Kaz is probably in his attic or getting air outside or…

The lights were on when I came in. I’m an idiot. I didn’t feel weird when I walked into the room because of the book. Someone’s in here. He’s in here.

Setting the book down like I should have never touched it, I let out a sigh. “Lurking is unbecoming.”

“It’s also unbecoming to work for me and be so easily distracted by a book.” His voice reveals nothing as he emerges from the shadows. “I could have killed you with how long it took for you to notice my presence.” He pauses, eyebrows drawing together. “The light was on.”

Normally I’d have some kind of comment, some kind of joke that offers a more peaceful situation. “I know.” It’s a flat response. “I think on some subconscious level I knew,” I drop my gaze away from him, “I knew I was okay.” That sounds dumb. “I mean...I think I knew it was you so I knew I was okay.” Yeah, that wasn’t anymore eloquent. “That doesn’t make sense, but if you get to be confusing, I do too.”

“Confusing? There’s nothing to understand.” Curt. Simple. Dismissive.

I frown. ‘Nothing to understand’. Right, because there’s nothing confusing about how quickly he decided to dismiss me just to bring me some obscenely sentimental gift. “If you’re mad at me, you should at least tell me why.” I press my lips together. “At least that way I’ll know if I need to apologize or kick your ass.”

At that, he presses his lips together, corner of his mouth threatening to tilt upwards. “You would kick my ass?”

Great, even when he’s easing he has to be annoying. “I could.” There is no universe in which I could take him in a physical fight. “On a good day.” I let out a breath, doing all I can to not focus on his expression. Awkwardness settles in my chest as my eyes land on my bed. I sit down, trying not to let my shoulders slump tiredly as I stretch my legs across my bed. “You’re not having a good day.”

“My day is fine, I’m just not naively cheerful like you,” his words turn sharp, “Or Jesper.”

Weird addition. “Jesper’s not cheerful, he’s just drunk.” I let go of the ‘naive’ part, deciding to focus on the bigger picture. “And I’m not as naive or joyful as you think I am.” I’m not sure if I mean that as a rebuttal or just a fact. “I have bad days too.” This isn’t the kind of conversation I should have while this tired. “I could be less cheerful if you’d like.”

He’s so silent I momentarily wonder if he’s left. “No.” It’s not much, but I take it. Straightening my back, I pull my legs beneath me, intentionally creating space. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ah, blatant rejection. It would sting if I was less in the right. “Maybe you’ll be less weird then.”

“I am not being weird.” At least I’m getting some kind of reaction from him. “You’re the one who--”

“Who what?” Finally--progress.

Kaz sighs, turning slightly. “You’re the one who decided to ignore me after we met with the contact.” I part my lips, ready to retort, but no words come. He did pick up on my slight annoyance, and he reciprocated it in a much larger way.

He can never know that this all came from some ridiculous, territorial--partial jealousy. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” partial lie, “I’m just kind of in a weird place today, I’m tired.”

“Not too tired for Jesper, it seems.”

What? Is that what this is about? “What? All I did was sit there--he’s a touchy drunk and I just happened to be next to him.”

“You laugh with him,” he says this blankly, “You can touch him.”

The edge of unsafe territory cuts into me at an odd angle. Is this about him? Is he really tormenting himself over something so asinine to me when it comes to him? I’d rather have him than all the physical touch in the world. The book on the nightstand feels closer to me, growing by the prospect of its significance alone. That gesture, that’s more intimate than anything Jesper and I did downstairs.

“So?” I straighten my back slightly. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

He presses his lips together. “That’s the problem--anyone can manage meaningless contact…” The silence is louder than the words that came before it. Oh. I guess I’m not the only one who gets just a little jealous in an unwarranted way. “What if you were hurt? What if you were hurt and we were alone and you needed someone to help you and I couldn’t?” He lets out a sigh, a sound too tired for me to associate with him. “You say you don’t care now, but you’ll grow tired of it--the only life I can offer.”

Inej’s words about the similarities between Kaz and I echo in my mind. “Sometimes I don’t like when things are going well because I don’t know how to be truly content, fully happy.” Saying this twists my stomach. “I don’t know how to trust good things, so whenever there are good things I think about all the ways I could ruin something and then I do.” I take a breath. “I’m not saying that things are particularly good for you or that you’re happy, but I am saying that maybe you shouldn’t think three steps ahead when there’s nothing to think ahead about.” I regard his expression carefully, but nothing has changed. “I told you the only thing I want is to know you, and that’s not going to change.”

“Y/n,” his voice is low, “I am not rain--I can’t promise you anything.”

I scratch my knee, dropping my gaze. “For once I don’t want rain.”

Kaz sighs. “Get some sleep.” Something about the way he’s speaking is authoritative but it lacks any weight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I frown freely, “Kaz--”

“You look tired,” he mumbles, “You need rest.” He’s using this as an excuse to escape his feelings, but he’s already given me more than I expected. Greed ruins things, but then again, so does selflessness. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“For the job?”

Something strange crosses his features as his expression teeters on shifting. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeats, a little more certain.

The response doesn’t satiate me. “Kaz--”

“I may not be the rain, but I’m capable of making promises as well.” There’s something final about the way he says this, but it doesn’t feel cruel.

Maybe I’d protest if my eyelids were less weighted. “Goodnight, Kaz.”

My head falls against the pillow. I’m not sure if he replies, too lost in the drawl of sleep before he can even close the door.

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone show #my works #shadow and bone netflix #six of crows fic #soc imagine #soc fic #sab fic #kaz brekker imagine #grishaverse #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse x reader

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

Fugitives

Somehow inspired by @chicken0mcnugget and her sister and my sister's more than lovely camping adventure. Somehow, I don't know how. Maybe part 2 if I write it (no promises) will match up to my wild imagination's interpretation of a camping trip. Perhaps, it is a possibility.

Warnings: collapse, passing out, field medicine, blood, gunshot wounds, screaming, gagging roughly for own good, intensive description of possibly gorey wound care, betrayal, some language, going into shock, IV and needles.

"Stop," Villain wheezed, sinking to his shaking knees. "I-i need-" cough, "I need help."

Hero stopped running and looked over her shoulder to see Villain half-collapsed on the ground, holding his abdomen.

"We both need help, Villain. Now get up and run. They'll be here soon," Hero trotted back to her nemesis.

"Mmnh," Villain gurgled, his face an eerie shade of pale yellow. He swayed from his kneeling position, keeling sideways, eyes rolling back-

"Oh my gosh," Hero caught Villain as he fell limp into her arms.

"Wake up!" Hero patted Villain's burning cheek repeatedly. "Damn it Villain," she groaned when he didn't wake.

Hero felt at loss. They were running away from authorities in the middle of the woods, exhausted and sore, with no shelter, water, and food in sight.

And now she had an unconscious villain to deal with.

Hero removed the hands placed so precariously on his stomach to reveal a spot of bloodstained fabric. Hero silently cursed to herself and rolled up his shirt.

The sight made her stomach drop. He had not one, but two bullet wounds in his stomach. One was quite deep and bleeding profoundly whereas the other still had the champagne bullet casing, blocking the precious crimson plasma's flow.

He was shot, Hero stressed to herself, trying to figure out what to do. She vaguely remebered a series of gunshots, but Villain promised that he was okay.

And now...

Hero stopped her thoughts suddenly and stood up, cradling Villain tenderly. He was bigger, without a doubt, but between her fitness and touch of super strength, she succeeded.

"I got you," she whispered to the sleeping villain before taking off at a lopsided jog.

"Villain what are you doing here?" Hero asked, approaching the tall, leather-cladden figure.

"Saving you," Villain replied, running to close the distance and grabbing Hero's arm. "Your team, they set you up. We need to go!"

"What are you talking about?" Hero chuckled, easily shaking Villain's hand off.

"They are-"

A click.

A scuffle of feet.

"Well this, my friends, is a win-win," an all too familiar chortle sounded.

Villain spun around, stepping back to stand parallel to Hero's shoulder. His breaths were hitched, proof of his nervous anticipation.

Hero, on the other hand, was mystified by the scene. Her hands trembled as beads of sweat started to form around her amber hair line. Realization flooded into every vein and all she wanted to do was sink to the ground and give up.

They betrayed her.

Her team betrayed her.

Leader stepped into the single light spot in the warehouse. Even though it was mid-day, the shadows made it look like it was night.

"We have our darling Hero here, and her nemesis. Arrest them," Leader ordered.

Villain lunged at Leader, going for his neck. More scuffles of feet determined that there were more heroes to fight off, but injuring, or killing, Leader would slow them down.

Villain and Leader fell to the ground with a grunt, punching, and hitting, and lashing until Villain was able to smack the golden boy's head against the concrete floor.

Villain discarded his prey and hurried to assist Hero in taking down two muscular, lithe heroes. They were twins, evident in their matching black ponytails.

"You know the pay for your head," one sneered, licking her bloodied lip. "Is more than what I had to pay for my house."

"Hmm," the other laughed. "Not only that, but you are on every 'wanted' billboard in the city."

Hero said nothing, just kept striking punch after punch- most of the time missing.

Then, as if on impulse, Villain grabbed Hero's shoulder and led her to a window. "Hang onto me," He said and closed his eyes.

Then there was a shot... then two... a brief hiss and then they were in the forest...

"Villain are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I promise."

Hero stumbled across an abandoned cabin. A moldy door guarded the entrance and windows were bashed in, but it supplied the dire need for shelter.

Inside, cupboards hung lazily on rusted hinges, creaking as they swayed with the cool draft. A rat-infested couch was hidden in a damp corner with moss growing at the bottom. The only somewhat useful piece of furniture was the metal table in the center.

It was odd to be accompanied by such a modern implement when the rest of the trashy building looked like it belonged in a landfill. Either way, Hero sat on the table, testing its strength. When it passed the test, Hero laid Villain upon it softly and began to inpect the bullet wounds again. The bad one stopped bleeding, but it still looked increasingly painful even though Villain was still unconscious.

Satisfied that Villain wouldn't die, yet, Hero started to search the minimally stocked cupboards. She found a handful of bungee cords, tiny nails as if the former homeowners were into hobby crafts, a mason jar, a metal rod, a various collection a thread, some sort of hemp material, and expired medicines.

She grabbed the nails and thread and walked back to Villain. It was far from ideal to use the nails to stitch, but it was all she had and would have to make do.

Hero tied the thread right under the head, praying that Villain wouldn't get tetanus from the rust particles, and started to sew the larger wound together.

As by some misdeed sent from hell, Villain awoke, screaming like a hungry baby bird. Hero left the nail half-dangling in his flesh and dug her hand into Villain's mouth.

"Shhhh," she cooed. "Someone could be out there. We are apparently fugitives now, remember? Remember the fight?"

It seemed to drain all of Villain's energy, but he nodded. Yet, the second Hero let go of his mouth, he started to curl into himself, whimpering.

"Knock that off," Hero chided and stretched Villain back out. "I need to access that wound."

Villain mewled, but didn't move.

"Okay..." Hero breathed and with a quivering hand, pushed the needle into the ruin skin. Villain hissed, abs flexing, but didn't holler until the head started to pull through Villain's skin.

Oh boy, did he scream. It was like a dying cougar, wild and ragged. Hero, ignoring the wordless pleas for mercy, laced the nail through. It made a small puncture wound, but it had to be done.

"I'm sorry!" Hero rushed over to Villain's head, gathering it into nervously shaking arms that were fueled by adrenaline. Villain's eyes started to glaze over and slip above his eyelids.

She couldn't keep doing this. Every pass, partnered with a screech, and then rushing to comfort Villain would take too much precious time.

Time that could be spent getting as far away as they could from the ravaging heroes.

Thinking briskly, Hero grabbed the metal rod with the tiniest bungee she could find, and appeared again at Villain's head.

"I'm so sorry about this," Hero apologized, and forced the rod into Villain's limply hanging mouth. The villain's eye widened and darted frantically around, searching for the cause of his discomfort.

Hero ignored the obvious signals of distress and pulled Villain's head up. She looped the center of the bungee to one side and then took one strand to do the same on the other. She then attached the hooks together and laid Villain's head down.

A pillow would also be more than ideal. The inevitable thrashing of the head would more likely than not cause some sort of head injury- whether substantial or not.

But Villain would have to do without.

Hero went back to the gaping wound on his stomach and resumed her threading... in... out... in... out...

Everytime, the nail head would have to be roughly pulled through, and everytime more tender skin would rip. Villain thrashed, smacking his head against the unrelenting metal and kicking out with his legs. Hero tried to get by with just sitting on his legs, but the flailing arms also proved to be a problem. She got up, once again leaving the needle haphazardly in the villain's wound, and returned with the hemp fabric.

She tied each wrist and each ankle with the scratchy material, snug. Villain who was resisting the friendly torture immediately fell back into his newfound restraints, sniffing pitifully.

"I'm sorry," Hero tried to reason, but her delirious and exhausted ward was beyond negotiations.

Hero sighed and continued to tend to Villain's wound. Villain pulled back as much as the taut restraints allowed; he bit down against the metal gag until his mouth begun to bleed. Hero winced, concerned that he broke a tooth.

When the first hole was completely stitched up, Hero cut the azure colored thread and strung some more out. She retied it to the nail and set them down against the table.

Hero noticed that the table was beginning to get slick with blood and sweat.

She then examined the bullet. The other one must've fell out when Villain teleported the pair. The dark beige color shone compared to the deep mahogany blood. Hero took two nails out and placed them on both sides of the bullet like chopsticks and tried to use the leverage to launch it.

She succeeded and the bullet just barely brushed against her ear, but the wound began to bleed heavily. Hero groaned and shoved her hand into the bleeding waterfall to staunch it.

Her ears started to ring as her heart pumped faster. Villain's body slumped against the table, his face going pale. Hero gasped for breathing, the wires in her brain not connecting. She didn't know what to do.

She messed things up, now Villain was bleeding out again.

Hero removed one hand and tried to tear a piece of the hunter green shirt she was wearing off; but she couldn't, the cotton material was stubborn.

"Shit," Hero gasped, walls of anxiety closing in around her. The air suddenly felt so heavy as if a furnace was just installed. Her hands trembled, not knowing what to do.

"Think Hero, think," Hero muttered outloud. If she released pressure, Villain would surely bleed out.

Hero leaned all her weight onto the wound. Villain gasped, trying to crawl away. His skin was clammy and unnaturally pale- even more blanch than before. His eyes kept rolling up into his skull before returning to a more neutral place.

His chest heaved in irregular breaths as his stomach convulsed...

He was going into shock.

Hero groaned and grabbed the end of her shirt and brought it to her mouth. She bit it and ripped it all the way to her ribcage. She replaced her sticky hands with the cloth and stuffed it into the wound. It slowed down on bleeding, and the shirt was thick enough to give Hero some time to help with the shock.

She ran to the cupboards and found a bucket. Bringing that over to Villain, she elevated his legs. He was gasping for air now and didn't seem entirely conscious.

She then took off his jeans and laid them over his legs. She remembered learning about shock in her early heroic classes- keep the victim warm and remove restrictive clothing.

She left his rolled up shirt and leather jacket on.

His pulse was insanely weak and too fast as if he was intoxicated. Hero pursed her lips and gently tapped Villain awake.

"Stay awake," she pleaded. "I know it's hard."

Villain lips quivered and he coughed up some thick, starchy liquid.

Blood.

Hero turned Villain to his side and allowed him to spill the scarlet color. All the while, she kept a close eye on the wound. The shirt was nearly drenched.

I could tie a tourniquet, Hero realized and gathered some of the hemp. She deftly wrapped it around Villain's mid torso and pulled it taut.

Stepping back from her work, Hero knew that she had to call someone. A hospital was a no, even with Villain in shock. She could give him a blood transfusion...

If there was adequate IV lines.

Hero rushed to the cupboards once again. It was a long shot, but it was the only thing she could do.

Find an IV line, She told herself- the request was weak though, no one could find an IV in an abandoned cabin.

Find an IV.

And that she did.

Not even wondering what use the prior homeowners had for an IV, Hero inserted the needle in her vein, immediately filled with gratitude for her O type blood and attached the other end into Villain's elbow.

She gave him enough blood until some of his color returned and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Hero finished stitching the wound. Villain remained sleeping the whole time. She then removed the rod from his mouth and stuffed some more of her shirt on both sides of his mouth where the blood origin was.

Finally, when all the work was done, Hero laid next to Villain and wrapped an arm around his chest. He melted into the comfort, whimpering silently. Hero smiled and closed her eyes, asleep immediately.

She didn't notice the security camera in the corner of the building. The one with the blinking red light.

#villain whumpee #hero caretaker #injured villain #whump #whump drabble #unconscious whumpee #my writing #writing #heroes and villains #betrayal #blood tw #field medicine #tw gunshot #collapse #passing out

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rheawritessometimes · 3 years

Text

Lines Get Blurred

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Sometimes we don't understand our feelings, and that's okay. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Swearing, Undefined Relationship, Physical Intimacy, Mild Anxiety.

{ Notes } Written for @sailormakoto. Usually, I'd wait longer to start another part to make sure people were interested, but they said they'd like it, so... Now you have to like it even though it's a dumpster fire rolling downhill fast. Reader isn't good with their emotions and it very obviously shows. It's really just messy and bad but I don't know what else to do or how to make a cohesive, logical plot. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,783

Childe’s guard nearly jumped out of his skin, letting out a yelp of fright as you swept out of the apartment in a hurry. But in your rush, you hardly noticed him at all, the entirety of your focus was currently on your goal of escaping the embarrassment that was on the verge of consuming you whole. With your body moving on autopilot through the busy streets of Liyue, you retreated into your mind to wrangle your thoughts and gain some sense of control.

Why was it exactly that you felt such an overwhelming urge to run away? It wasn't that you didn’t like or want the kiss, it had been rather enjoyable for you. It had happened so easily between you, and that was the part that you found weird. You couldn’t understand why it felt so easy with him, things weren’t normally like this. It was certainly safe to say you had never wanted to kiss your other friends, and that’s what you and Childe were. Friends.

It’s not like you were in love with him, you were pretty sure you felt the same about him as you always had. Sure, it had been a few months and you’d gotten to know him better and found spending time with him more enjoyable, but ultimately he was still the same person he was when you first met. You got along with him, you laughed together and now sometimes you casually made out with each other. That was fine, friends could do that, right?

Perhaps you were blowing things out of proportion. A few kisses didn't change anything, really. It's not like Childe had confessed to having feelings for you or anything drastic. You two were just friends and everything was fine, things would eventually sort themselves out.

You hadn't even realized you had been mildly hyperventilating by the time you regulated your breathing back to normal and managed to get out of your head. With your focus now on your surroundings, you found yourself in Liyue's bustling market among the fresh produce. You decided it would be best to pick up some groceries while you were here, as you said you would. Picking out what looked best and haggling with the merchants over prices seemed like a good way to pretend your problems didn’t exist clear your head.

As it turns out, grocery shopping became infinitely more difficult when you didn’t know what was needed. It was clear Childe liked to cook but you didn’t know what it was he liked to prepare. Going back to get a list from him now would be incredibly awkward, so you decided to play it safe and buy a large quantity wide variety of ingredients. You decided you had enough when the bags in your arms felt like they were getting too heavy to carry. Fitting this much food into Childe’s kitchen was going to be quite the struggle. Well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of your actions.

Dragging all your purchases back to the apartment was going to be quite the workout. You wondered if next time it would be possible to get one of the low-ranking Fatui to help you carry things. A few pedestrians gave you some odd looks as they saw your mountain of purchases, but no one offered you any help. Things only got worse once you remembered you had said you were going to buy some things from Bubu Pharmacy, too. You were going to be strong as fuck after going up all those goddamn steps.

The man at the counter wore a worried expression as he noticed the amount of bags you were dragging along with you. You brushed off his concern with something about how you were an adventurer and stronger than the average person, trying not to let it show that you were indeed struggling to carry everything. Even with superhuman strength, you had your limits. Unfortunately, the man accepted your words and busied himself with finding the ice packs you requested, along with an herbal tea you asked for because it had a divine aroma you noticed upon walking in. It's not like he was likely able to help you with the groceries, so you supposed it didn't matter.

By the time you returned to Childe’s apartment, your arms were ready to fall off and the scowl on your face must have been quite intimidating because the guard stationed at the door immediately did as he was told when you ordered him to open the door for you. He didn't say a word, not even giving you a nasty look for the first time. Despite the non-hostile treatment by the guard, you promptly kicked the door closed on him after entering the apartment, heading straight to the kitchen and letting out a sigh of relief after dropping all of the bags in the middle of the floor.

You hadn’t seen Childe on your way in and you couldn’t hear him moving around the apartment but you assumed he was home, the guard probably wouldn’t have been quite so willing to let you in otherwise. Even if you wore a scary expression. Not to mention, surely the Harbinger wouldn’t appoint a guard foolish enough to allow you in unsupervised, there were likely sensitive documents somewhere inside. You assumed it had been Fatui reports he was reading earlier.

Finding room for all the groceries you had purchased took your mind away from wondering about the location of your temporary host. Putting everything away proved to be a time-consuming task, but by the end of it Childe had yet to make an appearance, or even any noise indicating he was in the apartment. This was worrying, if he had left and gotten himself hurt you’d have to go out in search of him. After purchasing, carrying, and putting away all the food you had bought you weren’t sure you were up for tracking him down.

Taking one of the newly purchased ice packs to use as an excuse, you wrapped it in a towel before making your way to his bedroom. It seemed like the most likely place to find him if he was indeed still in the apartment. It was hard to imagine he'd have spent so much time silent in the bathroom. You felt strangely on edge as you stopped in front of the door, knocking softly three times.

No reply came but you weren't convinced he was truly not home, so you slowly pushed the door open, holding your breath. It didn’t make sense for you to feel so nervous about this, it wasn’t the end of the world if he wasn’t home. Maybe you were more worried about seeing him than not.

The sight of Childe sprawled out in the middle of his bed peacefully napping greeted you as you quietly entered. His blanket appeared to have been thrown off him in his sleep and his shirt rode up just a little bit. His room was tidy, but you were too busy appreciating the revealed section of his abdomen to take a proper look around. You were only granted a few moments to stare before he opened one eye, peering at you for just long enough to register that it was you in his room.

It was unsurprising that the Harbinger was a light sleeper enough sleeper to be woken by you entering his room, considering his line of work. Vastly more surprising was when, after determining it was you who had woken him, he closed his eye again and went back to dozing. You couldn’t help but smile fondly at this, a pleasant warmth filling you at the show of trust. Or maybe he was too tired to care.

Of course he trusted you, you were friends after all. The thought had your smile fading, but you weren’t sure why that displeased you. Pushing the thought from your head, you silently made your way to the bedside and placed the icepack at his side.

The sudden cold had ocean eyes fluttering open before focusing on you. You smiled playfully at his slightly disgruntled expression. That was much easier on your emotions than his prior vulnerability.

“Sorry, but it needs to be done.”

“Mm, whatever. Hey, did I make you uncomfortable earlier?” the Harbinger asked, causing your heart to pause. He certainly was good at getting straight to the point. You had to take a deep breath before answering him.

“No, not at all. I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I ran away like that,” you told him, the words rushing out of your mouth. Your heart was racing faster than you thought it should have been in this situation. It’s not like any of this was that big of a deal, certainly not the end of the world.

“Well if you’re not uncomfortable then how ‘bout you nap with me?” the Snezhnayan offered, and you were pretty sure it was almost entirely because he wanted to get back to sleep himself, “You look exhausted, you probably need it.”

High flags of color appeared on your cheeks at his words, you must not be looking your best for him to offer such a thing. It couldn't be that he was actually worried for you, but you couldn't reason out why he would offer such a thing. However, the prospect of rest was tempting, but you couldn’t help but think it would be easier on your heart if you just went to your room for it. Then again, if you rejected him it might seem like you had been lying about being comfortable with him.

“Stop thinking so loudly and just come here,” Childe said finally, opening his arms to you. You clenched your jaw, feeling even more embarrassed, but began climbing into bed with him.

“Fine,” you mumbled, letting him pull you close before covering the both of you with a blanket. He gently tucked your head against his chest before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, luckily for you, it wasn’t possible for you to get any redder at this point. Not that he would see considering he had closed his eyes and was already nodding off again, but maybe he was able to feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

“You worry too much. Relax and go to sleep.”

Despite your internal anxieties, you found yourself complying with his suggestion thanks to the fatigue already weighing you down and how comfortable it felt to be in his arms. All of it felt a little too intimate for being just friends, but you didn’t get much time to worry about it as you drifted off into unconsciousness.

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literate-lamb · 3 years

Text

Man of the House | five

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader | 18+

A visit to your landlord uncovers a past.

► word count: 3.6k

► warnings(!): injuries, masturbation, hallucination. this is a dark fic.

|| Series Masterlist ||

A/N: A bit of a slow chapter but we’re nearing the end lads!

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝔼𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

“We’ve checked everything, sir.”

It was hard to believe. There must be somewhere they had overlooked. Something felt amiss, you knew it.

“There were no signs of a forced entry. Everything was locked. Well, except for the balcony doors, but she had opened those.”

Had they checked the attic? The basement? He was there in the parlour windows, and the next, he was at the bottom of the stairs, close to the front door. You refused to believe he had came in easily, as if he had apparated in.

“The door she claimed the assailant kicked showed no damage whatsoever.”

That was impossible. You had heard it. You watched it shake as he demanded entry. You had felt it, the vibrations from his heavy boots passing through the floorboards. If there were no marked footprints, there should’ve been at least a splinter in the wood.

“We’ve received complaints like these before regarding the Rogers’ house, but we can’t really do anything when there’s no evidence. A ‘ghostly’ touch on the ankle can’t be taken as evidence.”

And just like that, your case was dismissed. Your encounter, taken with a grain of salt. Your experience, dismissed as a mere ghostly tale.

You had almost wanted to show them the purples around your neck. To take off the makeup and show them, to pass them off as evidence of an assault. But with no recollection of the event, and no solid evidence, you refrained. It would only backfire; not only towards you, but towards Sam as well.

“Thank you, officers. For all your help, but we can handle it from here.”

It was a long night and it ended when the officers had left. They had searched your house, taken your statement, and calmed you down. They were polite enough, listening when you recounted your harrowing experience, giving you comfort in the form of a shock blanket. However, their quick dismissal left a sour aftertaste within you. The disheartening feeling of being seen as a hysterical woman.

You only had Sam who believed. You hoped he did.

“Sam, you believe me... right?”

“Of course, baby. Of course.”

Too shook up after last night’s incident, sleep evaded you until the wee hours of the morning, all the while curled up next to your saviour. He had soothed you, a protective arm at all times, giving you time. He never left your side throughout the night.

Now, huddled under the warm comforter of your guest room, you played last night’s events on loop. Heart palpating by even the sight of your bedroom door, Sam had decided a switch was in order.

At the end of the bed, Peaches laid in a white loaf by your feet, softly purring. She was a comforting presence, the heavy weight a reminder you weren’t alone. A guardian angel in her own way.

The day came and went faster than you could register.

In the morning, Wanda had came by with Vis to check up on you. She was worried after your abrupt goodbye on the phone and she was right to be. You missed their visit, being at the forefront of sleep. The warm serving of Paprikash you had for lunch was the sole indication of her visit.

Tony and Pepper had called and sent a large bouquet of colourful assortments with a ‘get well soon’ card attached right to your doorstep. They had heard from Sam, who had taken the duty of taking messages and answering your calls for you, citing your need for rest. Both had expressed the desire to visit, unfortunately corporate obligation had swamped them both.

In the late afternoon, Sam had came in with snacks in bed to soothe your cravings before dinner. He had prepared a few biscuits and fruits and made the grand gesture of feeding you with grapes.

“Some folks in the area actually came by to give these to you,” Sam said, shooing a hissing Peaches off the bed. Those two will never get along. “A Mrs Proctor and her grandkid, said you’ve met before at her shop. Seems like you’ve been making friends.”

You hummed, confirming the information. It’s been a while, yet you still remembered your little visit and the incident. Warm, welcoming grandmother and her sour, distrustful grandchild. But after your harrowing experience, you came to realize maybe the teen had known something; it wasn’t just a tale told to scare teenagers off the property on Halloween.

If the both of them knew, then the whole neighbourhood knew. It isn’t a secret when the local police visited you in the middle of the night. Word always traveled fast in small neighbourhoods.

“She sent her regards and hope you’ll come visit soon,” he continued. “Her grandkid told me to relay a message to you too.”

You eyed him, prompting him to resume.

“She said ‘all the best’.”

There was no help coming for you.

—

As the Sun slowly descended into the horizon, you received your last visitor at the end of the day. He came to the house while you were in the bath, finally having the energy to rid off the grime from the last horror.

You scrubbed your skin until it felt raw, the stinging a reminder to stop. You watched as the water swirled down the drain, bringing with it the impurities of the previous night.

You began dressing, the dark turtleneck a warm choice against frigid Autumn. Wiping the fogged up mirror, you stared at your reflection, observing your state. Your skin was deadly pale with dark rings concentrated beneath your eyes; a perfect representation of a troubled person.

Carefully rolling down the collar, you gently thumbed the delicate skin of your neck. What was once a large bruise had shrunk, covering you in patches. They were now a faded purple with a tint of green; a sign of healing.

They disgust you.

Your stomach churned looking at them. They were a reminder of a fog: thick, dense, a swallower of memories. You stared at them hard, racking your mind for a smidge of something, for anything. The longer it took, the uglier they became.

You unconsciously wrapped a hand around your neck, covering the ugly bruises from sight. It felt familiar, yet foreign. Slowly, you began putting pressure, firmly squeezing the sides. You felt an amounting rush.

You sat yourself on the opened toilet seat, back resting against the body. With the unoccupied hand, you hastily pushed your skirt and underwear aside. You worked yourself, rubbing your clit and running fingers down your lower lips, spreading your gathering slick. You let your mind stray away, forgetting the upsetting contusions, driven by only pleasure.

Mewling, you pleasured yourself, knees in the air. More and more, you squeezed thoughtlessly, cutting your airways to chase that building pleasure. You let your imagination wander; visualizing thicker fingers spearing you and heavier palms circling your throat. Intermittently you’d pull out, slapping your cunt while envisioning rough digits handling you. You didn’t envision the physique of anyone, just the feel of a touch. They were familiar, kept in the back of your mind like a hidden memory. You were sure they were not that of your boyfriend.

You were becoming dizzy, high off adrenaline from your asphyxiation. Nearing the tipping point, you quickened your ministrations until you finally snapped. Your thighs quivered as you came crashing, gasping for oxygen as you released your hold. Slick painted your thighs as they trembled. Eyes brimming with tears, you eyed yourself in the opposite mirror. You sighed, lost in blissful delirium; the sound of a woman spent.

Your bliss was short-lived when a knock came on the bathroom door.

“Baby, you okay in there? Your landlord came by for a visit, he just left.”

The tenor of Sam’s voice startled you, grounding you back to reality. You sprung up, adjusting your clothes and making yourself seem proper. Thighs still shaky, your legs felt like putty as you tried to stand up.

“In a minute!” you respond.

When you’ve deemed yourself decent enough, you opened the door. Sam’s toothy smile greeted you.

“My girl’s lookin’ all fresh and smellin’ beautiful,” he whistled.

“That’s silly,” you laughed, hitting his chest. Sam grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer to plant a kiss on your lips.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Feeling slightly better.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t closer to the truth either. “Being taken care of really did wonders, I want this to last forever,” you kissed him again. “Just the two of us.”

“I’d love that as well.”

It was quiet for a time, the both of you lost in a peaceful bliss. Foreheads touching, you both focused on the moment; taking in the scent of your partner, hearing the beat of each other’s heart, and overall enjoying being in the other’s company. If given, you would prefer to stay like this forever. The beating of his heart, it grounded you. This was your safe place.

Minutes passed and you were both still locked in each other. It took a sudden loud thump in the ceiling for you two to part.

THUD!

You quickly jumped away, horribly spooked. You were on high alert, fidgety, and distraught. The loud noise triggered your flight or fight, leaving you frantically searching for the source.

“Look at me, look at me,” Sam called your name. He grabbed your shoulders, rubbing your forearms in soothing circles. “You’re fine. Breath, you’re fine. I’m here.”

Sam guided your breathing and you followed his rhythm. After a while, you were calmed once more. It was obvious you were still spooked, a second thud confirmed it when you shot up at the sound.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sam’s soothing voice cooed. “Would it make you feel better if I checked?”

You frantically nodded. Sam hastily strided through the hall with you close behind. He pulled the attic hatch but it wouldn’t open.

“It’s stuck.”

Sam tried again, giving it a pull a few times. On the strongest pull, it finally relented, revealing the ladder. As it slid down, a large heavy object came tumbling along with it, thudding by your feet. Sam picked it up and upon closer inspection it was an album. The word “Memories” greeted you; it was the photo album you had found a week earlier. You felt a cold run through you.

“Now, what do we have here.”

He flipped through, stopping on the wedding photo of Mr Rogers and his wife, their fading faces smiling at you. Photos of their vacations, anniversaries, and holidays passed.

“Seems that he had a fulfilling life.”

Sam continued flipping before stopping on an older photograph. It showed a younger Mr Rogers and a brunette man with his arm slung over the shorter blonde. You immediately paled, recognizing this man. The same hair colour, except shorter. The same steel blue eyes, except brighter. The same chiselled cleft chin.

It was no doubt, this man was your intruder .

You felt the temperature plunge upon your realization; wondering why he had seemed familiar. Panic began to consume you as Sam continued to flip through, the blue eyes in each photo seeming more sinister than the last, haunting your subconscious.

Sam stopped when he noticed your trembling. Your eyes were glassy as you stared at the photo of the brunette decked in a peacoat.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asked, worried.

“T-this man,” you pointed to the photo. “It was him last night.”

“Are you sure?” Sam closed the album, giving you a concerning gaze. “Do you need to lay down?”

How dare he. He didn’t believe you. After everything, was it all pity?

“Yes, I’m freaking sure!” you shouted, tears spilling over. “And I do not need to lay down, Sam. I’m perfectly fine.”

It was tense from there. None of you spoke for a while. You could see a shine of regret reflected in his orbs, softening your anger by bit. Despite his reserved apprehension, he had saved and later, attended to you. He didn’t deserve your fury.

“I-I’m sorry for shouting, but why would I lie about this Sam?” you sighed. You were tired. “I don’t know who he is or if he’s even alive. I’ve never met him, but it seems like my landlord has.”

“Do you want to see him? Tomorrow?” Sam asked. “I can arrange it.”

“Yes, please,” you pleaded, giving him an empty smile. “Ghosts or not, I need answers.”

“Okay,” he slipped the album beneath his arm. “Let me check the attic first.”

Sam had checked every corner twice before climbing down. There was nothing unusual, saved for the coincidental album.

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖

The wet concrete was a hazard as you exited the car. Fall brought in cold winds as well as the small drizzles and showers here and there. The smell of rain mixed in with mud was high as you and Sam took deliberate steps on the pavement.

The mailbox was a rusted red with ‘Rogers’ scrawled in white, the lawn an immaculate green spread that showed its upkeep. Opposed to the grandeur and foreboding nature of your rental, Mr Rogers’ abode was a small little thing. It looked old and worn, with a browning chimney and paint chipping off its sides.

You rang the doorbell and waited. Soon, Mr Rogers greeted you and welcomed you both in.

“Come in, come in. Make yourselves comfy, it’s not much but it’s home.” he ushered in. “Please, take a seat. I’m making some tea in the kitchen. It won’t be long.” Mr Rogers disappeared, leaving you and Sam time in his living room.

Similar to the exterior, the interior was just as worn, with the lumpy couches and yellow staining the ceiling. This house had seen better days but you couldn’t deny the certain charm. Off to the side of the living room, a fireplace stood, its mantle littered with framed photographs. You took a step closer to observe them.

There were many photos of Mr Rogers with his wife, but there were equally the same amount with that of this elusive ‘James Barnes’. All of them were of the brunette with shorter hair, clean shaven, and lean; a contrast of the man who had grabbed you. A feature that stood out were his eyes. They looked hopeful and bright in these, the opposite of what you’ve seen. You shivered at the memory of locking with them through many mirrors.

“I hope you’re both fine with regular black tea.” The older man came in, carrying a tray of bone china tea set and finger sandwiches. He poured you each a cup, placing them on the coffee table.

“It’s more than fine, sir,” Sam took a cup. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

It was quiet for a moment with everyone sipping their tea. You sat beside Sam on the lumpy couch to the opposite of the older gentleman. You didn’t know where to start.

“I heard of what happened,” Mr Rogers started to your relief. “Officers Matthews and McCray phoned me in the morning. They’re probably exasperated, those two. Always getting calls about my house.”

“Enough about that, I should be asking you about your well-being. How are you doing, dear?” he asked, giving you a forlorn expression.

The blues of his eyes began to change, taking on a much more steely quality. His platinum strands darkened and lengthened, becoming dull and greasy. His frail body began bulking and doubling in size. The wrinkles of his skin disappeared, pulling taut over his cheekbones.

He was morphing, taking on the figure that haunts you.

In his place was your monster.

A nudge surprised you, pulling you away. The face of your nightmare nowhere, Mr Rogers remained in his armchair.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam shook you, concerned. “We lost you for a minute there.”

“Um, yeah.”

You looked at him, eyes vacant. You turned towards the older man, he gave you the same look of concern.

“It’s nothing, just thought I— Sorry, it’s nothing.” you gave a nervous chuckle.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Mr Rogers asked, refilling your cup. “I know this is far from just a friendly visit. From my experience with past tenants, I understand if you want to leave. And don’t you worry about the deposit, I’ll give a full refund. It’s the least I could do.”

Relief filled your chest at hearing those words. This wasn’t what you had come here for, but it was a welcomed balm to your already tumultuous mind. It was one less thing to worry about.

“Thank you, Mr Rogers,” you said. “But that’s not actually what we’re here for.”

Signalling towards Sam, he uncovered the photo album from a canvas bag. You took it and carefully set it on the coffee table, spreading it open to a portrait of a brunette soldier.

“We’re sorry for bringing this here, but it dropped from the attic when we opened the hatch,” Sam explained.

You watched as the elder’s fingers ghosted over the lettering of the man’s name; James Buchanan Barnes . They were light, careful, afraid of ruining the piece of antiquity.

“Mr Rogers, can you tell us a bit about this man?” you asked, desperate for answers. “Were the two of you friends?”

It took a while before he answered, eyes never taking off the photo.

“Bucky was my best friend. We grew up together in Brooklyn and he always had my back. Though, he was always neckin’ with a dame once in a while,” he mirthlessly chuckled. “He was always there.”

“When my ma contracted TB and passed, Bucky always helped. Late on the rent? He’ll cover it for ya. Low on food? He can cook.”

He flipped through the album, recounting every tale that came with a photo and you let him. This was a man who missed his youth, left for only time to claim.

He recited how they went to Connie Island and how he threw up after riding the Cyclone. The many dance hall dates that left him for his friend. The many tales of how ‘Bucky’ had saved his butt in alley fights. The war they spent together fighting in Europe, defeating Nazi base after Nazi base. The war where he returned the favour of becoming ‘Bucky’s’ saviour.

“Bucky was all I had.”

He stopped at the last page, where a photo of them in uniform in the snowy mountains stood.

“What happened to him?” Sam asked.

A long stretch of silence filled between the three of you, not readying you for the answer you were to receive.

“He died. Fell off a train in the Alps. I never saw him again.”

And it was back to silence. A beat or two passed.

“What’s this sudden interest in him?” the elder man asked, accompanied by a mirthless chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d be reciting his tale again after so long.”

You flipped the pages back to the portrait, stomach becoming queasy as you prepared to tell your tale.

“This man,” you paused, pointing at the photo. “He’s the one that came into the house the other night.”

“How…? Are you sure?” Mr Rogers’ breath hitched. “He’s been long gone for 75 years.”

“We’re not sure how,” you started. “But I have a theory.”

Sam handed you a flimsy folder. You opened it, taking out clipped pieces of paper. Most of them were screenshots of blog posts from previous tenants, recounting their part of the story living in your current residence. There was a similarity in their retellings that you noticed.

“These are some of the blog posts I managed to find on the house.” You arranged the papers on the coffee table, making them face the elderly man. “Sorry to sprung these on you, but I noticed a consistency in the hauntings that tenants before me have experienced.”

“Go on.”

You let out a breath before continuing, ”In each of the stories, everyone has said that they’ve seen an apparition of a man.”

You pointed to the highlighted texts, their descriptions of an encounter similar.

“Sometimes in an army uniform.”

You turned to the portrait film of ‘Bucky’ in his World War II uniform.

“And sometimes in a blue coat.”

You flipped to the photo of Mr Rogers and ‘Bucky’ on the Alps. It was too good of a coincidence.

“So, what you’re saying,” Mr Rogers put two and two. “Maybe it’s his spirit that has been haunting the house all along.”

“That’s a way to put it,” you confirmed.

He seemed to still be taking it all in. A conflicted expression on his face, full of sadness and worry. Minutes passed and everyone started to move on, with the elder steering the conversation away. You thought it would take time for him, after the sudden resurgence and recalling of a traumatic past. You thought he would have more questions. But he surprised you and Sam by bouncing back, carrying the conversation with the fond memories of his past. It seemed a bit odd, but you put it behind you.

The both of you ended up staying over for dinner.

“Won’t you keep an old man company? It can be quite lonely since I don’t have kids of my own.”

The evening flew faster, with Sam and Mr Rogers exchanging military stories over plates of spaghetti. They bonded over their shared experience, with you chiming in questions once in a while. You looked on in fondness, enjoying the time spent. Maybe you could do it again.

When it came time to leave, you both thanked Mr Rogers for his hospitality. You slipped him an invitation to have a meal at the house some time. However, before you could leave, the elder stopped you, a hand gripping your shoulder.

“Sorry dear, I needed to know. This theory of yours,” he said, forehead creasing. “You don’t believe in them, do you?”

You were caught in surprise by his sudden line of questioning, having thought of already getting past it. Nevertheless, you answered.

“Maybe I’m starting to have a change of thought.”

And finally, you were no longer in denial.

A/N: Next up: The Witch’s Visit

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kimnjss · 4 years

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