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zapsalis-d · 2 years

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Narudar: Chapter Thirty-Seven—The Siege

SUMMARY: Fighting off the last of the Imperial remnants reveals facts that you never would’ve imagined, leaving Din to think about another option… You’re not too sure about it, though.

WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence, slight fluff

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

MASTERLIST >>> MAIN MASTERLIST

"Empty base, huh?"

Din had been the first person you saw when your team left the elevator. Apparently, he already wiped out all the stormtroopers from this floor. Surprisingly quick, actually. Gun in hand, he approached you guys while your group stepped forward.

"The reactor should be set in the heat shaft," Greef Karga explained, quickly cutting to the point of the plan without delaying any further. "If we drain the cooling line, this whole base will go up in a matter of minutes."

"Look!" Mythrol called out, excitement in his tone. "It's a mint trexler marauder. We can get a lot for this on the black market."

"And we'll be blowing it up along with the rest of this base," you added. "We're wasting time. We should go."

You, alongside the rest of the team, had quickly traveled throughout the Imperial base. Luckily, you had passed without detection, although you weren't sure how long that would last. Then, you entered what was presumably a control room. Cara had dealt with the single Imp overseeing the cameras, whilst you rushed to switch them all off and deactivate any alarms that may sound.

Once all that was over with, Karga probed through the Imperial's pockets and pulled out a code cylinder. "This'll come in handy."

"Look," you pointed towards one of the screens that displayed exactly what you were searching for.

Din had been right by your side to view it as well. "We found the heat shaft. Let's go."

Immediately, the group hastened down the corridors that directed to the heat shaft. What felt like an eternity passed whilst your team rushed down the endless, grey hallways. As you were passing an intersection at one point, a pair of stormtroopers had appeared down one of the halls and the group had hastily backed up behind the wall to conceal themselves from the soldiers. They hadn't spotted either of you, luckily, although in the process Cara had accidentally stepped on one of your feet and... you nearly yelped out loud, but prevented yourself from doing so. Cara had whispered a silent apology, since that was all she could do at the moment. As the stormtroopers turned the corner—which also meant they turned their backs on you and hadn't seen anybody—everyone continued down the other corridor before them.

"There," Din voiced as soon as a gate came into view. "Mythrol, slice that door."

"Use the code cylinder," Karga suggested, handing the silver key to Mythrol.

Within a few seconds, the alien had the gate opened, revealing the heat shaft within it. As soon as the door raised, the heat had immediately struck you and the sweat already beginning to form by your temple from the constant running around had worsened. Warmth magnifying the further you stepped inside, you prompted yourself—alongside everyone else—to peer down into the profound pit that extended deep down into the planet. Searing lava pooled the bottom of the shaft, earning a 'woah!' from Mythrol and a remark from Karga. Besides you, though, Din had set a hand to your arm, stopping you from nearing the edge any further.

Which wasn't exactly fair because Din was even closer to the edge than you were...

You rolled your eyes... but grinned nevertheless.

"That's it." Karga lifted a finger, gesturing towards a control panel that hardly left any room to step on in order to reach it. "Get on the reactor controls, drain the coolant lines. We'll watch the doors."

Mythrol stood there, unsure. "...Me?"

"Yes, you!"

"I'm afraid o' heights! And heat. And... lava."

Karga's impatience was displaying all over his expression. "How about if I put ya back in carbonite? Get over there!"

Complaining to himself along the way, Mythrol stepped onto the ledge with quivering legs and dealt with the control panel.

"Hey," Din's voice quietly rung out, capturing your attention. You turned to find him holding out a commlink in front of him, and you immediately realized the kid had commed him. So he did remember how to use it. "How's your first day at school?" That earned a response from the Child—a series of prattling and cooing, and while Din couldn't understand him, he most definitely pretended he could. "Oh, yeah? That's great. What else did you learn about?"

You chuckled at that, but before you could listen to their interaction any further, a harsh eruption sounded behind you. You whipped around to find the Mythrol had succeeded and the lava was bubbling upwards too quickly for your comfort. Din had to end his conversation with the kid while his attention returned to the task at hand. "Alright, she's gonna blow!" The Mythrol shouted, rushing off the ledge. "Let's go! Let's get outta here!"

Everyone had escaped first, and—of course—Din had stayed behind until each person passed him to ensure everyone left securely. "How much time do we have?" you questioned, sprinting besides everyone else.

Karga replied first, "Ten minutes, at the most."

An alarm blaring obnoxiously had blown your cover. Now everyone in the building knew something was completely wrong, and that intruders had broken in—which meant that on top of those ten minutes, you also needed to avoid stormtroopers at all costs. After another scare, fearing the troopers would find you guys, everyone had made it safely to a room. It was never planned to stop here, but after killing off both Imps that stood by the control panel, you couldn't help but stop and take a look at the vile sight before you. Within a wall seemed to be... tanks. Tanks filled with water and bodies. The bodes were unrecognizable to you, as they didn't resemble any species you've ever seen in your life. They were definitely not humans, either. But they were dead. That was all you could possibly conclude about them. They were never moved a muscle—they didn't open their eyes, twitch, shift, nothing. All they did was float within their tanks, as if they had been abandoned or discarded.

Perhaps because they were test subjects?

The look of confusion on your features grew as you slowly continued to approach them. "What the hell are these...?"

"I thought you said this was a forward operating base," Cara said. It was a forward operating base. That's exactly what Karga said, but this... this doesn't make much sense.

"I thought it was," was the only response Karga could muster.

"No, this isn't a military operation. This is a lab," Cara deduced, her guess sounding reasonable to your ears. "We need to get into the system and figure out what's going on."

"What about the reactor—"

Cara stopped the Mythrol before he could finish. "Do it! Do it."

He paused for a split second, before nodded once and began searching through the control panels and datapads.

"I don't like this," Din voiced his concern. You nodded in agreement with him. As your eyes remained trained on the tanks, your fingers unconsciously strengthened around the handle of your blaster. What could these Imperials possibly be planning with all of this?

Your thoughts were cut short when a hologram appeared in the reflection of the tanks. You whirled around, eyes meeting with the fizzy presence that hovered over the control pane Mythrol had been working on. A frown took shape on your expression as you took in the familiar figure of Dr. Pershing—the man who had... sort of saved the Child's life back on Nevarro. If it weren't for him neglecting his orders to kill the kid and take the entirety of his blood if necessary, yours and Din's return to the Imperial base that day would've been for absolutely no reason. Still, the sight of him creased your eyebrows as clear memories from that day flashed through your mind. He may have avoided the Child's death, but he had weakened him during the process.

Dr. Pershing's voice rung through your ears: "Replicated the results of the subsequent trials, which also resulted in catastrophic failure. There were promising effects for an entire fortnight, but then, sadly, the body rejected the blood. I highly doubt we'll find a donor with a higher m-count, though. I recommend that we suspend all experimentation. I fear that the volunteer will meet the same regrettable fate if we proceed with the transfusion. Unfortunately, we have exhausted our initial supply of blood. The Child is small, and I was only able to harvest a limited amount without killing him."

You and Din shared a glance... and you knew that the both of you had figured out what they were using the kid for back then. What the doctor meant by 'm-count' you could only assume were midichlorians. Perhaps these test subjects had volunteered to have the Child's blood transfused into their own, to gain the count of midichlorian cells in their bloodstream. While it sounded like a decent plan and it could work out, obviously it did not—and it costed these volunteers' lives.

"If these experiments are to continue as requested," the man continued, "we would again require access to the donor. I will not disappoint you again, Moff Gideon."

Hearing that name had only worsened the displeasure that boiled indignantly within your chest.

"That's an old transmission," you assumed. "It is. It has to be."

"Moff Gideon is dead," Din spoke up.

"Exactly."

"No," Mythrol replied, eyes searching through the datapad. "This recording's three days old."

"No, that doesn't make sense." You shook your head, wholeheartedly denying the fact that he could, indeed, still live to this day. "I watched his TIE-fighter go down in flames. Mando killed him."

"If Gideon's alive, then—"

Cara's sentence interrupted, a batch of stormtroopers discover your group and a shootout starts soon afterwards. The grip on your weapon tightened while you strive to protect yourself from the ammo flashing past you. Senses on intense alert, you found coverage besides Karga, behind a ledge in the wall that prevented the troopers from shooting you. Aiming had been difficult from your position. Blasting while also trying not to be blasted never came easy, no matter how many times you found yourself in this situation. But soon enough, the soldiers' numbers decreased to the point that they were no longer existent.

As soon as the stormtroopers are over with, you and Din find each other. But there was one objective on your mind—"The kid."

Din agreed, "I need to get him."

"Jet back," Cara suggested. "You're faster that way. We'll head to the speeder and meet you in town."

He seemed to comply with that idea, but had paused for a moment. His visor focused on you. "What about you?"

"Go get the kid," you immediately told him. The Child was your number one priority, especially considering Moff Gideon was alive and he couldn't be a split second away from you guys. You could never know what might happen while his sole protectors are gone, and that sickened you. "I'll meet you in town."

Din nodded at that, and had quickly whirled around to leave.

Eager to leave this building before it ultimately exploded, Karga shouted, "Come on, let's go!"

"When did you say this place was gonna blow again?" Mythrol asked, struggling to trail closely to the rest of the team as everyone continued down countless corridors.

Although before he received an answer from anyone, another pack of stormtroopers halted you guys. Fighting them off were simple, truly, what with their inadequate armor and poor aiming. What wasn't simple was facing off more and more troopers that appeared the more you advanced down the hallways. A gas bomb from your utility belt had been put into usage, and while this usually gave you the advantage, it most definitely did not in this case. Considering your mask was in the middle of a decaying mamacore's belly at the moment, you weren't capable of utilizing it now to see directly through the fog. Still, your team eventually gained the upper-hand and you found yourselves returning to the exterior side of the base.

Only, there was a problem—the elevator that led back down to Mythrol's speeder was swamped with troopers within it. Once again, you were urged to take cover behind a crate in order to shoot them down. Although since the soldiers were also able to conceal themselves from your bullets, it became nearly impossible to strike them. Panicked, the Mythrol couldn't help but yell, "We're trapped!"

"Is that so?" Cara replied, shifting from her position, an idea forming in her head. "Cover me!"

"What does she think she's doing?" Mythrol questioned, watching as she sprinted out into the open, completely exposed to the stormtroopers' bullets. You attempted to ward them off by shooting them yourself, but you were only capable of taking down a couple of them that stepped too far out.

A vehicle powered on and slid out of its parked position, floating towards you guys and revealing Cara in the pilot's seat. You assumed this was that 'mint trexler marauder' that Mythrol had been so damn thrilled about. Well, he was just about to board it—and he was not excited for it now. Cara gestured for you guys to enter, motivated to get out of here. "What are you guys waiting for, an invitation? Let's move!"

Everyone had immediately hopped inside—and maybe nearly being blasted down in the process. The Alderaanian hardly allowed any time to get comfortable inside the vehicle, jolting it forward to head into an open gate that led into the base and out into a secure exit. But access to that safer path had been rejected when the stormtroopers recognized her ideas, shutting the gate closed before you could even reach it. Cara wasted no time whipping the marauder around and rushing it forwards... off the platform, where an extended fall awaited you.

"Wait—"

"Hang on!" Cara interrupted you, pushing the vehicle through dozens of crates in her way—before ultimately guiding it straight off the cliff.

You hadn't realized how elevated you had been up until now, faced with that obnoxious feeling in the pit of your stomach as the vehicle plummeted down off the mountain. All you could possibly do was grip onto a solid object—you hadn't paid attention what, exactly, it was—but you were paralyzed in your spot otherwise. Screaming filled your ears. Ground approached rapidly. Marauder landing, violently jerking everyone forward or backward—you didn't keep track of that. What you did realize was that the vehicle happened to land on... Mythrol's speeder.

It wasn't like you needed it at this point anyway. The marauder should work, right?

"Wait, was that my speeder—"

Before Mythrol could finish, he—alongside you and Karga—had been lurched back by the force of the vehicle jerking forwards. Gaining its highest velocity, the marauder passed into a canyon with troopers seated on speeder bikes that topped your vehicle's speeds trailing closely behind you. That didn't matter, though, because as soon as your eyes landed on the seat in the back of the vehicle and the screen attached to it, an idea formulated within your mind.

A smirk curled your lips when you seated yourself down, eyes concentrating on the screen that portrayed where the gun above you was directed towards. Your digits grasped the handlebars, shifting them around—which simultaneously moved the chair and the screen altogether. Precisely three troopers advanced towards the marauder, and you hadn't wasted any time to gun one down, watching as its silhouette disappeared from your screen, leaving a pair of them to deal with. Aiming and shooting with this technology was actually remarkably simple, although it was too bad it would go to waste with these troopers... who can't aim for the life of them.

The couple of stormtroopers remaining had split to either side of the marauder, shifting near to the vehicle in order to get into your blindspot. That, unfortunately, had worked—but Cara had successfully shoved one of them against the canyon wall, crushing that one straight away. The other one, though, seemed to dislike the idea of suffering his partner's exact fate—so instead, it seemed he decided to take a ride on the marauder as well. An alert resonated through the vehicle, indicating the soldier was near the blaster... but you didn't see him anywhere. Finally, you had the idea of completely turning the gun around—finding the trooper on verge of dropping a bomb into the marauder. Your fingers pulled the trigger without hesitation whatsoever, and an eruption vibrated the vehicle.

For a second, you believed that was all they had... Until the piercing sound of TIE-fighters filled your ears from a distance. Soon enough, the multiple fighters came into view. Without wasting a second, they fired—and this was when you realized that you were screwed. Further away, you caught sight of the Imperial base blowing up—but that was disregarded by you at the moment because there was no way you could shoot these fighters down from here. They clearly held the advantage, considering they could easily maneuver their ways out of your bullets' paths.

An individual TIE-fighter decides to near in on you, once again sounding an alarm. This one in particular was actually close to shooting you down, earning Cara's attention. "What is going on back there?!"

"This isn't as easy as it looks, Cara!"

The rest of the vessels approach much too quickly for your comfort, so you have no other choice than to fire at the nearest one— Bad idea. Very bad idea. You only had several seconds to evade the TIE-fighter that collided with the vehicle. Sending yourself roughly plummeting down to the floor, you feel the coercion of the fighter smashing into the marauder. A groan escaped your lips as you force yourself upright again, glancing back towards the entirely destroyed blaster. Great, now your only source of defense is nonexistent.

Focusing ahead instead, you found you were leaving the canyon and entering open space instead... which happened to be plenty more difficult to steer away from your attackers. Thankfully, though, they had stopped... All of a sudden. It was strange. What was even stranger was that they had sped up, passing you guys, and—

One TIE-fighter shot down...

Then the Razor Crest came into view.

"Yes!!" you exclaimed, exhilarated and relieved altogether.

Din would deal with them, no doubt. Cara rushed the marauder towards the outskirts of the town, allowing everyone to hop off and observe Din's piloting skills from afar. You knew he was a decent pilot, but that was when you were onboard the Crest... watching him from here was something different. The amount of tricks and twists throughout the air made you wonder how you could even handle being in that ship while Din was dogfighting. You smirked. It was... impressive, though.

Your smirk, though, seemed to capture Cara's attention. "I thought you hated him."

"I do."

"Then what's that look?"

You frowned, all evidence of your previous expression disappearing. "What look?"

She chuckled at that. Whilst Din returned to the ground and landed the Razor Crest, you bid your final goodbyes to your team. They had proven to be a trustworthy team today—as they always did—and you were pleased that Nevarro could now enjoy its peace away from the Empire. Afterwards, you boarded the Crest and headed straight up the ladder into the cockpit, meeting with the Child and Din.

"Aww, kid... what happened?"

Your eyes immediately landed on the blue liquid that stained his robes. He glanced up to you, wide-eyed, and you couldn't help the gentle grin that curled your lips as you picked him up.

"He... had a little accident," Din replied from the pilot's seat.

The silver packet that the kid grasped with his claws had caught your attention, taking note of the cookies that were the exact color as the vomit the marked his clothes. "Did you buy him this, Din?"

"No. I think they gave it to him at school."

"Well, obviously you ate too many, kid." You frowned. "Now we're gonna have to change your little robes."

Once the Razor Crest had been set on autopilot, Din stood from his seat and approached the two of you. His chest heaved up and down, indicating he was still slightly out-of-breath—but that didn't surprise you since he had hastened all the way back to the town in order to secure the Child and save your team from the TIE-fighters. "Are you okay?" you asked. "I know it's been a chaotic couple of days."

"Yeah..." he breathed out. "I'm okay."

"Well... we're gonna have to find Ahsoka before Gideon catches up."

He paused for a moment. His gaze trailed away from your face... from a non-specific point in the distance, shifting to the Child who cooed softly, then returning his visor back up to you. He was contemplative about something.

"What are you thinking about?"

That had urged him to release his thoughts. "Why don't we just stop this and run away?"

The question had... surprised you, especially with it coming from him. Because he knew the risks that doing so would involve. Traveling someplace completely unknown, without recognizing a single person or planet. That could lead you into unwanted trouble, and not to mention if the ship broke down again then there truly was nobody else you could confide in for decent repairs. You could think of several hundred reasons why this was not a good idea, but...

You wanted it.

"I really wish we could..."

"We could," he continued. "I've thought about it—"

"You haven't thought about it enough, Din. Where are we gonna go?"

"Anywhere. It doesn't matter as long as we're far from the Empire. I just need you two, and... we'll be fine."

"Yeah, but if we go someplace neither of us recognize then we don't know what kind of trouble we could get into—"

"Then we'll be careful which planet we land on."

"—and you'll be breaking your Creed! You wouldn't finish your quest. Why would you do that?"

"If I break my Creed, then... then it wouldn't matter anymore, would it?"

"What..?"

"I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. I could take my helmet off... in front of both of you. We could leave everything else behind and escape while we can."

"Din—" You paused, sighed. Biting your lip as you quickly thought over the idea, you struggled to form a decision because his plan was really appealing to you. It didn't mean it would be correct, though... "Do you actually want that? I mean... are you sure you won't regret it in the future?"

"I'm sure, Cyar'ika..." He continued, modulated voice gentle as he spoke you. "Of course I am."

And you wished you could hear that voice without the distortion. Without the helmet that blocked you from perceiving his expressions. Without fearing you'd interfere with everything he's ever believed in since he was a kid... but you'd hate to be the one to break his Creed.

You had to force yourself to shake your head. "We can't, Din... You know that."

A defeated breath left his mouth as he realized it couldn't happen. It probably never would, and there wasn't much either of you could actually do about it. "I know."

"I want to..."

"Me too."

You could hear the desire in his tone, but it wasn't possible.

For now.

Perhaps... circumstances could change in the future. That's what you hoped for, at least.

"Let's find the Jedi, then." Din added, "And... try not to think about Gideon."

The mere idea of Moff Gideon still living discouraged you, and you were certain the news frustrated Din as well. But the fear of the Imperial catching up to you guys couldn't stop you, because your partner had a quest to complete and you needed to locate someone who could help you. While giving in and escaping to the furthest outskirts of the galaxy with Din and the kid seemed simple enough, there were other factors kept in mind that could ruin that plan, and even then Gideon would eventually catch up. Not only that but Din would be breaking his Creed—everything he was taught since he was a kid.

Why don't we just stop this and run away? It sounded so easy. He wanted it and you did, too—he knew that. But was it really as simple as saying it?

No. Unfortunately, it was not.

"I guess we'll head to Corvus, then?" you asked him. He was quiet as he nodded—and while he was quiet most of the time, you knew this time was for a reason.

He was worried and he couldn't bear the fact of facing Gideon again.

Neither could you.

As he silently took his seat in the pilot's chair to set the appropriate coordinates, you followed behind him with the Child still letting out random prattles in your one arm. Your palm found its way to Din's pauldron, thumb gently tracing the Mudhorn signet that embellished his armor—and you would've given his shoulder a reassuring squeeze if it weren't for the beskar in the way. Nevertheless, you continued, "We'll be okay."

There was a silence.

Because nobody could guarantee that.

You heard him sigh, almost inaudibly. His visor didn't move from the point he was focused on in the distance, but you felt his gloved hand graze your own for a second... and you allowed him to take your palm from his shoulder. "I can't let anything happen to the kid... or you."

Your grips strengthened each other's holds. You found yourself, once again, wanting to assure him that it would be okay.

But, once again, nobody could guarantee that. Not you. Not Din.

note;

HEYYYY

i know i've been gone for a while 💀 and I'M SORRY!! i went on hiatus bc i needed to sort a few things out in my life, but i came back eventually 😌 AND i wanted to surprise you guys on may the 4th! i've been working on this chapter for a while now, and i happened to say may 4th coming up, so... why not? 👀

ALSO DID YOU GUYS SEE THE OWK OFFICIAL TRAILER BC I DNDMDMDNDIDLXLXLSLSKSDNDNFM

but anyway thank you guys for being so patient with me, and for still being interested in narudar after all this time. i know this story seems to be going on for forever but we're actually nearing the end (of s2 at least) and i'm kinda scared 🥲 but it'll be fun...

i'm not kidding, it'll be fun 🤩

WELL i'll be attempting to come back to regular updates now so i'll see you guys next chapter!! ❤️

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Permanent Taglist: @dindjarinsspouse

#FINALLY GOT IT OUT #wth #i’ll get the next chapter up soon #narudar #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal #star wars #grogu #star wars x reader #the djarins #brown eyes

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too-gay-for-marvel · 3 years

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just this once pt.3

a/n: i know im technically a day late, but we stopped very late. but its here! and its gonna be a decent amount of parts, so be prepared, besties

Word Count: 2,439

Warnings: smut implications

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

(pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6.1 pt.6.2 pt.6.3 pt.7 pt.8)

Natasha had to admit, she hated how understanding Maria was. She had gone home and told Maria what you had said, expecting to become single almost as soon as she had finished talking. But no, Natasha had finished her rant, and Maria had taken a deep breath before saying “I’m sorry,” and dragging her into a hug.

She would’ve handled a “we’re over” much better.

But it helped ease some of the guilt that she was carrying around with her. It lifted some of the weight that had been keeping her head down and feet dragging. And with Maria being the most understanding person in the world, now she could live her life. Did she forgive herself? Fuck no, but at least she could move on with Maria.

It helped that you kept to what she had told you.

In the months after learning the truth, she never saw you. Her feet never took her to your suite, her thoughts never trailed to that night. Well. Not during the day. She… didn’t want to talk about the dreams.

Natasha was able to go a solid month without seeing you, and even though the back of her mind kept telling her to talk to you, she had stayed away. She had kept to her “honey do” list, went on her missions, and just lived her life.

Until Fury stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.

“You two have a mission.”

Natasha looked over to where you were standing, over in the corner as far away from her as you could be. Your eyes were down, only occasionally darting up to look at Fury when he was talking. She could see the fins on your arm flare out a bit before relaxing again, along with the slight twitch of your gills.

“Can this mission not be done with one person?” Natasha asked, her eyes still locked on you; you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“It requires stealth and…” Fury looked over at you and sighed. “Gills.”

“And here I thought you kept me around for my good looks,” you teased with an upturn of the corner of your mouth.

“When do you need us?” Natasha asked, and your half smile fell as quickly as it had appeared.

“You leave bright and early, 0400.”

With that, Fury left the room, leaving you and her alone. She took note of your fins staying flared, and took that as her sign to leave. Your feet shuffled, and she moved slower just in case, but you never reached out to her. That was all Natasha needed to head back to her room to prepare for tomorrow.

Tomorrow came far too soon, and it felt like only moments later that Natasha was standing in the hangar, watching you prep your gear.

Incorrectly.

“Your holster’s backwards,” Natasha pointed out.

“It is not, I’m testing something out,” you shot back without looking up.

“Whatever you put in there is going to fall out,” she continued.

You ignored her, but tried to turn it around without her noticing. She did. A silence fell over the both of you as you continued to get ready. Natasha had already gotten all of her stuff, but you continued to move around. You grabbed your belt and a harpoon, all of them quickly attached at your hips.

You maintained your relentless pace, her face pressed against the wall as you held your hand to the back of her neck. She felt you thrusting into her, most likely leaving a bruise on her ass and hips, but all she knew was that it felt so good she could only think of one thing-

Natasha turned her head away, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say. She refused to look at you until you stood up straight, geared up and ready to go. Your suit told her that there was going to be some sort of underwater aspect, and that gave her a bit of insight as to what was expected of the both of you.

The quinjet ride was awkward, to say the least. You stayed in the back while Natasha flew. She was thankful that you were keeping your distance. If you had been close, it was very possible that Natasha would have lost her damn mind.

Your suit always did do something to her.

You hadn't even bothered to take your pants off; just pulled them down far enough for you to get your strap out. Her fingers scrambled to grab purchase of something, anything, but your suit was still wet from the mission. Almost as wet as she was.

Natasha shook her head, trying to physically remove the memories. She was going to kill Nick when she got back.

She needed to focus on the mission. There was no need for it to be anything other than a mission. Get in, map out the building, get out. You would cover the lower levels, she would cover the upper, it shouldn't take more than an hour.

It was a slow descent to the checkpoint, but easy enough. You spent the last few minutes braiding your hair, keeping it out of the way and showing off the shaved part of your head. Natasha remembered teaching you how to tie those braids.

Once the quinjet was landed and you were both on solid ground, it was straight to business.

"Once you get back to solid ground, your pants and gear should be in a backpack marked on your locator," Natasha said.

"We'll meet up in the eastern stairwell," you continued, not even skipping a beat. It was like nothing had ever happened.

"Comms on?"

"Gonna miss me?" You asked, cocky as ever, but you turned the comm on anyway.

"Just get moving," Natasha huffed with a roll of her eyes. "The sooner we get in, the sooner we're done."

"See you in a minute," you winked and mock-saluted before jumping down into the hole that would be your entrance.

It's what she hated about you; how you could so easily act like nothing had ever happened.

Natasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Just one. Then it was time to get moving. She finished pulling her cap down, mostly covering the top half of her face before finishing the walk to the guarded entrance

She flashed a badge and they let her in without a word. One of her easier infiltrations, if she were being honest. Just went to prove that as long as she acted like she belonged, no one would question her. It was easier to blend in if you acted like there was no need for it.

Starting from the top, Natasha made her way down the building, mapping corridors, potential hidden rooms, rooms of interest. By the time she made it to your meeting point, she had marked more than enough information to assist in future missions.

All she needed was your half and she could go home.

The door to the stairwell was thrown open, slamming against the wall and causing Natasha to flinch ever so slightly. You were still soaking wet, trailing water behind you, and you didn't have your gear. In fact, you didn't have anything.

"What happened?" Natasha asked. But the sound of an alarm being set off was answer enough.

"It wasn't me," you stated simply.

Yelling echoed in the corridor behind you, and you gave Natasha A Look. That was all she needed before you both took off running down the stairs, skipping three or four at a time. She heard a *squeak* and turned around just in time to see you fall flat on your ass with a loud grunt.

“Get up,” Natasha groaned.

She didn’t wait for you to get up on your own, instead decided to grab your arm and yank you up. Except for the fact that she had forgotten how wet you were, and how slippery your skin could get, and you ended up falling back onto your ass a second time.

“Some help you are,” you growled as you managed to push yourself back up onto your feet.

“If you weren’t such a freak, this wouldn’t even be a problem,” Natasha shot back.

You both continued running, finally reaching the bottom floor just in time to hear echoed footsteps a few floors above you. Natasha opened the door and pushed you in, quick to follow after. She shut the door and grabbed the extra harpoon bolt from your hip, shoving it between the door and the wall while you protested.

“Get going,” she said as she continued to push you forward, looking for a way out.

“We could always go through the sewers,” you suggested with a shrug when you both came to a halt in an intersection that you swore you hadn’t seen yet.

“I’m not escaping in a fucking sewer,”Natasha shot at you. “You were supposed to find us a way out.”

“It’s not my fault someone ratted us out! I don’t like being stuck with you either!” You shouted back.

“Oh sure, after all of that bullshit a few months ago, now you don’t want to get stuck with me?”

“Listen, I said I was-”

“They’re around the corner!” A voice shouted. You and Natasha shared a look, and Natasha managed to pull you into a closet just in time for footsteps to be heard coming in your direction.

“We should’ve taken the sewer,” you whisper-yelled as Natasha tried to ignore how close to you she was.

If you two had been any closer, you would’ve been inside each other, and not in the enjoyable way. Natasha’s arms were pinned in between the both of you, and she could feel your ribs under her fingers. Her ear was pressed to your body; she could hear your irregular, three-pump heartbeat loud and clear. There used to be a time she would have enjoyed being so close.

You were both silent as you waited for the footsteps and yelling to die down. Even when they had faded, you stayed still, hoping that they wouldn’t open the closet as a last resort. Your body heat was comforting, and Natasha almost found herself forgetting the danger that was just around the corner. But then you gave an awkward cough and shifted, and Natasha was brought back to the fact that this wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable.

“I think we’re safe,” Natasha mumbled.

“Let’s get out of here,” you agreed as you cleared your throat again, still incredibly uncomfortable.

You reached around her and opened the door, the both of you practically falling out of the closet. When Natasha stood up straight again, she brushed the nonexistent dirt from her suit and avoided your gaze at all costs. Only when she had regained her composure did she turn to you again.

“You mentioned a sewer?” Natasha asked, completely defeated.

You nodded and started running in the opposite direction of the yelling, leading her down corridors until you both reached a manhole cover. Natasha could smell the sewage without opening it, and she could only imagine how terrible it would be once she jumped in. But there didn’t really seem to be any other option, and you were already prying it open just enough for them to slip in.

“Ladies first,” you gestured.

“Gee, thanks,” Natasha groaned as she took her last breath of semi-pure air and jumped in.

The stench was worse than anything Natasha had ever smelled before. All the death and ruin she had witnessed, and she still believed that this was worse. She couldn’t even attempt to guess at what was causing the smell, but she didn’t think she wanted to know. Maybe it would be a little more tolerable if she just pretended it was nothing.

You jumped in after her and pulled the manhole back into place, and just like that, it was like neither of you had ever been there. You didn’t wait for her as you started making your way out of the building, and Natasha quickly followed suit. She didn’t understand how you could breathe the air like it was nothing, but maybe it was part of your physiology. Maybe you were just lucky.

It felt like an eternity before you both ran into a ladder that would take you out of the sewer. You yanked the manhole cover aside and Natasha went up first, gasping when she smelled the fresh air. It was like being reborn, she thought. Her cells felt rejuvenated and her skin felt cleaner.

As soon as you pulled the cover back on, you both ran back to the quinjet as fast as you could. The stench of sewage followed you, stuck to your clothes; they would probably be incinerated when you got back to the tower. But you were out, and you could head back with enough confidence to tell Nick that you had at least gotten half of the building mapped out.

“You fly, I think I’m drying out,” you groaned. Natasha didn’t argue.

She sat in the pilot’s seat and set a course for the tower, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a good sleep. But she looked back in time to see you stripping your suit off, groaning as it literally peeled off. Inch by inch, she saw your shoulders, your spines, your back, those abs.

You were never one to let anyone see you undressed, but Natasha loved that she was allowed. The way you shifted and twitched when her fingers ran over your skin, when you whined if she kissed that spot on your back. Loved the feel of your abs flexing as you thrusted into her at an inhuman pace that had her moaning and cumming for hours and-

“Nat, pull up!”

Natasha felt your hands covering hers, yanking up, and the real world unfolded before her eyes. The ground was quickly approaching, and the sound of the air rushing past the quinjet was enough to make Natasha’s hands shake. Only when the jet was back up and on course did she start to settle.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” You shouted, but Natasha just turned back to the front, trying her hardest to ignore the stinging in her eyes.

You grumbled and walked off, and Natasha could feel the frustration radiating off of you. But she didn’t really care anymore. She had nearly gotten you both killed because she had been too busy remembering you railing her. Natasha couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t be around you anymore.

Not if she wanted to stay alive.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #marvel #my writing

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

Text

PREQUEL ARC: PART 3 - THE BOUNTY

A/N: Part 3 of Stitches has arrived! This chapter was difficult to write, I'll be honest. And I'd really appreciate any feedback if it doesn't read as well as the first two chapters or doesn't make sense or is boring etc. etc.

This is the penultimate prologue chapter, with the story very much shifting to surround the dynamic and growth of the readers relationship with Din so if you can hold out for me just a bit longer, I promise, I'll make it worth the wait. You know what I'm talking about friends.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: None

Summary: You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

9 ABY, on the Hydian Way.

Din prided himself on the strength of his principles. An unwavering certainty in everything he did that gave him a modicum of peace as he wandered throughout the galaxy amidst wars, rebellions and the chaos that ensued in their aftermath.

He was certain when he took the Creed, when he sacrificed a future for himself in service of the covert; something he had never regretted to this day. He had never regretted any bounty taken; unmoved by pleas, promises or threats. Neither tears nor anger could sway his resolve.

Truly, he could count on one hand the things he regretted in life; the job on Alzoc III, challenging a fully grown Mandalorian to a fight while still a hot blooded, angry teenager, and not trying to pull his parents into the bunker where they had hidden him from Separatist droids as Aq Vertina was invaded.

In his line of work, there was seldom room for self-doubt. Inner conflict led to hesitation, which could be a death sentence for a bounty hunter.

And yet, as he came out of hyperspace, that unfamiliar gnawing presence in the pit of his stomach began to rear its’ head again. The job he had accepted was… dubious, to say the least.

Din snorted in self-deprecation; most of his jobs were dubious in nature.

What brought on this unnatural doubt, however, was that this was a job for Imperial remnants. Din wasn’t a fool; he knew half the jobs he had taken in the past could have been traced to the Imps if he cared enough to look, but taking a job from them personally… well, he didn’t know how to feel about that just yet.

He pondered the feeling in his stomach again and frowned. Was it doubt… or instinct? Instinct was his most trusted companion as he travelled through space alone. A tickle at the back of his neck, a wary step forward, even a flash of electricity down his spine; those were only some of the ways that instinct spoke to him. And he always listened.

An uncomfortable feeling in his stomach though? Never that.

If it was instinct, then he was going against his very nature in ignoring it. If it was doubt, based on some misguided sense of morality in dealing with the empire… that he could deal with. He could smother doubt with control and consistency; going through the motions of a job brought security and familiarity. Sooner or later, that doubt would make way for a stoic acceptance, a state that had gotten Din through some of his roughest years.

His eyes were drawn to his shoulder, where the glint of newly crafted beskar shone in the gentle lights of the cockpit.

A down-payment…

“Makers Helmet…” he groaned, running a gloved thumb and forefinger across his tired eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on as the pressure at the back of his skull increased due to the loop his thoughts were going in.

A job was a job. He circled back to his original thought that had led him to accept the clients offer. A job with a bounty greater than anything he could have ever hoped to receive in his lifetime, let alone in one go. It was mere sentimentality and conscience getting in the way of good business. That beskar could not only provide him with armor to reaffirm his loyalty to the covert, but assistance and support to the foundlings and those who raised them.

His resolved steeled. He had never regretted putting the covert before himself, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Turning his attention back to the navicomputer, he scanned the co-ordinates that his most recent lead had pointed to. He had hunted the trail of his latest bounty to the general direction of a vast area of space that straddled the outer reaches of the Outer Rim and halted as it reached Wild Space. There was nothing to stop the bounty from being in those unexplored parts of the galaxy, and if the tracking beacon led him that far, he would have to be ready. With no spaceport on any of the planets he had seen dotting the area on the navicomputer, he thought it wise to refuel and gather provisions should he be there for any prolonged period.

As he lazily assessed which planet to land on, his eyes were drawn to a familiar name. A memory brushed against his thoughts. Not necessarily a pleasant one, but not entirely unpleasant either. For the sake of fairness, Din scanned the planets surrounding the one he pondered; some were equally as well equipped for his needs but the majority he had not been on in years if ever. Somewhere he knew, even briefly, gave him more comfort than the unknown.

At least, that was what Din told himself as he punched in the co-ordinates of Dandoran, the flicker of warmth the memory brought him was something equally as unnatural as the doubt coiled in his stomach.

Bantha balls, maybe he had been poisoned again...

Din tossed a few credits to the human female who received the Razor Crest into the hanger she was managing.

“She needs to be refueled.” Was all he said as he made his way out of the hanger and into the not unfamiliar streets of Mynock. It didn’t look like much had changed in the several months since he was here last; the place was still crawling with a mixture of criminals, bounty hunters and people who just didn’t want to be found. All in all, a good example of most Outer Rim cities.

Mynock had two main pedestrian streets that ran for over two klicks and intersected at the middle. From what he could tell, all legitimate business ran from those two streets, the further into the alleyways and twisted lanes that branched off those two streets one ventured, the seedier the business.

From what he knew, the practice you worked at was on one of these main streets. He paused, causing a few disgruntled pedestrians to have to jerk to a halt and make their way around his imposing frame. He was not here socially. He was never anywhere socially. He shook his head; between self-doubt and sentimentality, the tight leash he usually kept himself on was looser than he remembered and he had no idea just when it had started to slack.

That could not continue. But being aware of a problem allowed him to deal with it. So, with a greater sense of fortitude, he mentally choked any distracting feelings beyond the determination to collect this bounty. That included the somewhat interesting possibility of seeing you again.

Thankfully, Din only needed to stick to the main streets. The road was flanked by stall upon stall of foodstuffs, clothing, trinkets, ammunition and what looked to be a husbandry of Massiff dogs. The large, reflective eyes turned to the Mandalorian; all bared fangs and hostile snarls. An understandable response by most non-sentients when a Mandalorian had no real physical cues they could read, being as covered as they were. Until he lifted his hand for the one closest to sniff, they could only assume he was a threat.

A sniff was usually all it took however, before the snarling stopped. Din brushed a hand over the scaly head as he continued on his way to collect what he came here for.

An hour later, and Din was feeling much more at ease as he picked up the last of the supplies he thought he may need; ration packs, bactapads, generic ammunition that he liked to keep well stocked on the ship and so on. He was once more mentally compiling the information he had gathered on the location of the bounty, running through various routes in his mind that would cover the most planets in the parsec in the shortest amount of time.

He nodded his thanks at the change the Rhodian merchant returned to him and began to make his way back to the Razor Crest. If it hadn’t been for the long flick of your hair in the tie you kept it up in when you turned your head to look at someone at a stall across the central walkway of the street, Din was certain he’d have walked on none the wiser. But alas, that same higher power that had gifted him with a keep perception of his surroundings cursed him in the same fell swoop as the movement attracted his attention.

He came up short, running a mental check on himself immediately. No, no injuries. His shoulder still ached on occasion from being dislocated six months earlier, but it was a phantom pain at most these days. He was fit as a mythosaur and he wasn’t about to have that good streak ruined by getting injured in your presence… again.

Din wondered if he could escape to his ship without you noticing; he didn’t want to tempt fate anymore than he already had. Plus, awkward interactions that left him feeling frustrated both mentally and physically were not high on the list of things he enjoyed, thank you very much.

As a Mandalorian, Din expected attention wherever he went. It was just something he chalked down to being a necessary evil to live by his Creed but he had never wanted to be more invisible than he did in that moment, thinking that at any moment he would be trip into a sarlacc pit or something equally unpleasant.

But you hadn’t seen him, thankfully; much more invested in the choices at the fishmonger’s stall.

Despite his better judgement however, he paused from slipping back to his ship silently.

He was taken by the slight pink flush that rose to your cheeks at something the woman behind the stall said, intrigued by the color and what caused it. Din tilted his head slightly. He had noticed you getting flushed in frustration or annoyance both times you had treated him. It was fascinating to see your cheeks flush for a reason other than irritation and anger.

That particular thought touched a dangerous part of Din’s mind, a part that made him wander into the realm of curiosity to ponder what else might make you blush like that.

Oh, but it was a delightful color on you, and he watched longer than he ought to, a small quirk lifting the corner of his lips. The image of domesticity as you adjusted the parcels of food already in your arms to accept the fish was so foreign to his eyes and certainly not one he ever associated with you until now. It spoke to a part of him that still slumbered but began to fidget in its sleep, on the verge of consciousness.

That tentative smile that he had unwittingly been giving into as he indulged his senses by watching you, dropped the moment three males approached you. The Twi’lek was standing too close for you to be comfortable and by the rigidity of your spine, he knew you were not.

You had taken a step away from the men easily, your body language read cautious but not fearful and he knew better than to underestimate your abilities to wrangle men into whatever position you wanted them in. He had first-hand experience in that department and honestly, it wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded in his head.

Din relaxed the grip he had unknowingly tightened on the blaster at his hip when you made to leave the stall, away from the three. He shook his head at himself; you had lived here for years. You knew how to handle yourself perfectly fine.

Letting out a breath, he was about to continue back to the ship when that same cursed perception caught the Twi’leks arm shoot out to grip your upper arm tightly, preventing your exit.

Din was behind you before he even realized he had moved.

You examined the range of fish on offer, eyes skeptically crossing off anything that looked like it had been sitting out too long or anything with more than four eyes. You weren’t squeamish by nature, but the fewer dead eyes that were staring at you while you prepared dinner, the better.

One of the few perks of Mynock, was its proximity to the Great Basin of Dandoran that opened out to one of the many oceans to cover the planet. Fresh seafood was a staple in the city and after years of ration packs between the Rebellion and Klatooine, eating fresh was a luxury you would never take for granted again. Your own home planet was mostly covered in water too; the greater population spread over countless clusters of islands where seafood was also the meal of choice for most. It was a tenuous connection but being able to cook dishes somewhat like the ones your mother made when you and your brothers were younger made it feel like you weren’t so far away.

You smiled to yourself at the thought as you pointed to the light blue colored Berbersian crabs, knowing the trawlers had come in only this morning that carried them. The claws were meaty with the slightest sweetness to their flavor that complimented most dishes. Not to mention that when cooked, they turned the most vibrant blue that their shells alone could be used for decoration and craft.

You chatted aimlessly with the fishmonger as she cleaned and prepared the translucent peachy pink fish you had also chosen for good measure.

“Busy at Biran’s?”

“When are we not busy?”

“It’s all them fights between the gangs. Folk say since the Hutts were chased out that things are better but it’s even more dangerous with the others tryin’ to take their place.”

You only gave a non-committal hum to that; you didn’t get involved in politics of any kind. Gang or otherwise.

The mindless chatter continued on nonetheless to more safe topics.

“Did I tell ye, Drea had her baby not three days ago. Another girl.”

“Poor Nej will have his hands full when they all get older.”

“I’m sure they’re dying for a boy at this point. Great excuse to keep sowin’ the crops though, ain’t it?”

“I’m sure they don’t need any excu—”

“Ever think of havin’ any of yer own? Yer well into that time of yer life, I’d say no?”

You blinked, nearly missing the bag of produce as she handed it across the stall to you. You could feel your face heat up at the direction this conversation had turned, and you definitely never thought you would be discussing your biological clock with a fishmonger over Berbersian crab.

“Well I---”

Movement from the corner of your eye stole your attention from that progressively awkward conversation and the no doubt insufficient answer you would have given as three males came to stand at the same stall, facing you. Your eyes scanned the trio sideways, not prepared to give them your attention unless it became unavoidable. There were two humans and a Twi’lek and given the way the humans flanked the large blue male; you had a fair idea about who was in charge as he sneered at you in what you assumed was meant to be a disarming smile.

The blasters at each of their hips and the emerald green coloring on the right sleeve of their jackets told you they belonged to one of the gangs the fishmonger had been complaining about not a few minutes earlier. This gang in particular, the Quai-Kisu or Emerald Dagger in Basic, were a faction that splintered off from the main Hutt crime syndicate once their influence in Dandoran lessened. Their trademark was spice smuggling but anyone with two braincells knew that they accepted the lesser charge to hide the true wealth of their criminal activity, flesh trafficking.

Suffice to say, you didn’t want anything to do with them and you most certainly didn’t want them to want anything to do with you.

“Can I help you?” You kept your eyes on them as you handed the fishmonger what you owed her when it was clear they weren’t going to leave; the woman wisely remaining quiet as she accepted the credits.

None of them responded immediately, and you wondered if this was a new scare tactic they were employing to make people anxious. The crimson hue of the Twi’leks eyes glinted as he contemplated you, running down your figure lazily before meeting your eyes again when you frowned,

“Ol’ man Biran available for a house call?” He rumbled, the sun catching the points of the filed canines as he spoke.

“I’m afraid Biran doesn’t make house calls anymore. Besides, he’s been under the weather for the last few days unfortunately.”

You reeled the lie off effortlessly, having learned over the years who Biran would tend to and who he would rather see succumb to whatever ailed them. It was a steep and difficult learning curve for you, your initial training taught you that you must do your utmost to save every life. Biran had laughed in derision, saying that that mindset wouldn’t serve you well out here. These were gangs, not the flyboys of Corellia. Saving one of their lives might condemn countless others. So while you struggled, you accepted that it was his practice and he made the rules and after over two years on Dandoran, you had seen enough victims of the gang warfare to not feel any pity when one of them suffered an injury.

“C’mon beautiful. One of our pals was injured in a… terrible, terrible accident.” The taller of the two human males, a lanky man with a neck that looked much too long and eyes that took way too much liberty in running over your body.

“There are other doctors in Mynock.” You replied steadily, “I’m sure one of them can help.”

To humor them any longer would be to encourage trouble, so you cut the conversation short and turned quite deliberately to make the point that the conversation was over, flashing the fishmonger a wan smile before turning back the way you came.

“We weren’t done talkin’ to you.”

Your eyes widened marginally when an iron grip closed around your upper arm, your free hand dropping the items in your arm immediately to click the safety off your blaster and lift it in the time it took for the Twi’lek to yank you into facing him again.

“Did I say you could lay a hand on me?” You hissed, the blaster pointing upward from where you held it close to your body towards the underside of the Twi’lek’s chin.

“Quite the little spitfire, ain’t she lads?” He crowed, amused by your action. His laughter was like shattered glass on your ears, making you want to wince, but you kept your hand steady even as your heart pounded. You received as much training as anyone when they joined the Rebellion, but your experience in actual combat beyond treating people on the front line was limited. You knew your own limitations, and that there was no way you would be able to take on all three of them.

The hand around your arm squeezed painfully and you clocked the blaster, lifting it closer to sit under the Twi’lek’s chin, “Release me. Now.”

And like most men of his ilk, he ignored you in favor of his own voice,

“From what we’ve seen, you work with the good doctor. Shouldn’t be a bother for you to fix him up. Nicer to look at too, eh fellas?” He tossed over his shoulder to the snickers of his lackeys.

“Then you can go back to target practice with your toy gun.” He chuckled darkly, leaning in where the pungent smell of his breath made you turn your head away in distaste, “That is, if we let you go at all.”

You swallowed thickly at the threat, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as your mind scrambled to come up with a solution, a way out, something. You felt the familiar sting of tears at the back of your eyes when each avenue came up blank. You couldn’t think of anything and suddenly, you felt so terribly alone in this shithole of a town on a faraway planet far from anyone who gave a bantha crap who would actually be able to help you.

Their laughter only grated on your already frayed nerves and pissed you off even more. You had fought too hard and suffered too much to let these assholes take the one thing you owned, your freedom. Your eyes flashed with anger and snapped back to the Twi’lek, ready to pull the trigger because if you were going out, it would be on your terms.

Their laughter suddenly ceased then, and you blinked. Had they copped that you planned to take at least one, maybe two of them out with you? Before you could figure it out, your arm was shoved away. You raised your now free hand to steady the blaster as you aimed it at them, but they were backing away, eyes averted.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You growled, hiding the waver in your voice.

They said nothing in reply as the Twi’lek bared his teeth and made towards you again. One of the humans grabbed his arm and hissed something to him. You couldn’t make it all out, but you swore you heard a name you never thought you’d hear again.

Teff.

With one last growl and glare, the Twi’lek conceded to the advice of the humans and all three of them melted back into the crowds of Mynock leaving you to release a heavy breath as you lowered your weapon, replacing the safety with ease as your eyes continued to scan the street. You wanted to be certain they had really left.

“Huh, maybe they were smart after all.” You muttered to yourself, proud that you had dealt with the situation somewhat and holstered your blaster against your hip again, “Still got it girl.” You commended yourself as you stooped to pick up your dropped groceries.

A snorted, “I beg to differ” had you blinking up over your shoulder at the familiar, cocksure figure of the Mandalorian; a hand only grazing the blaster at his hip as he stood casually behind you, his head tilted down to look at you and a resounding sigh leaving his helmet when you smiled.

“Mando?”

An incline of his head was the only greeting you received before he crossed his arms across the wise expanse of his armored chest.

“One sec.”

You got back to your feet and, as if by instinct, ran your eyes over his body, “You didn’t poison yourself again, did you?” You teased lightly, realizing that you were seeing him uninjured for the first time. Well, the second time. But walking into a cantina to do battle with a Houk didn’t could in your estimation.

It gave you pause to notice things about him that you didn’t usually; the way he stood, leaning his weight back on his left foot that gave him an air of lazy arrogance that wouldn’t be misplaced in a loth-wolf relaxing in the winter sun. The strength of his thighs seems to be accentuated by the posture; one hand placed securely at his blaster. If you didn’t know any better, his stance was like an open challenge to every male around him; submit or suffer. But you did know him somewhat, and you knew that he didn’t need to lay down any challenge. He had already won the second he stepped off his ship. The wide breadth of space given to him by passers-by only highlighted that fact.

Even with every patch of skin covered, you could feel the raw power rolling off of him, or was it testosterone? Whatever it was, it tugged at a more primal instinct and ignited a slow, steady heat inside of you that made you both embarrassed and intrigued.

Okay, so you were attracted to the way the man stood. That was fine, that was acceptable. You were a warm-blooded woman in her prime who knew her desires and embraced them. Finding how a Mandalorian… stood, was just another interesting thing to add to your list of things you found attractive.

Along with a raspy baritone and penchant for trouble…

You know what, it was probably just a fantastic indication that you hadn’t been laid in a while, so you made a mental note to deal with that particular issue later.

“I never poisoned myself.” That same low, gruff voice rose to your bait so easily and you had to bite your lip not to laugh, his hand fisting at his side before he unclenched it. Probably thinking about strangling you, honestly. Now there was a thought, for later. Nope, it was definitely the recent dry spell that had you like this. And the sun. The sun always had a part to play in these delusions.

Mando seemed to figure out your game of teasing him however, when you couldn’t fully mask your smile and responded in kind,

“You’re welcome, by the way.” His voice rumbled and you were certain that if you were only a few inches closer, you would be able to feel the vibrations brush against you.

“For what?” You laughed in disbelief, “I had everything under control before you decided to strut into the fray.”

You tried to prevent the frown from creasing between your brows when you thought a little more on the situation. You had a blaster literally pointed to the neck of one of those thugs and they didn’t care. It didn’t even seem like Mando had drawn his weapon and all three had scarpered? Was there any fairness in the galaxy? Obviously not.

The unpainted helmet tilted, the impassive T-visor giving away nothing of its wearers feelings beyond the sigh that left him, “What did you plan to do? Shoot the son of a mudscuffer and have an entire gang out for blood in less than an hour? Yeah, that’s smart.” He snorted.

Your mouth fell open in incredulity, “Talk about the Jawa calling the Ewok short, you’d have done the exact same thing!” You cursed your short temper, especially when it came to the stubborn mule of a man in front of you. The fact that his voice never once rose frustrated you. It remained gravelly but soft, like the sound of pebbles and stones being pushed and pulled by the ocean you could hear from your bedroom as a child.

You were a mature person; you were proud of how you dealt with most things. But in this instance, you allowed your immature side to rear her head momentarily as you began to stalk back to the practice. A piss poor option since the Mandalorian scoffed and kept up with you easily, obviously not content with you having the last word.

“But I wouldn’t be so reckless to not think it through before shooting them.” He tipped his helmet back a little, as if he dared to look down his nose at you. Frustration simmered in your blood as your eyes narrowed at him sideways.

“I was wrong, you obviously are injured. A blow to the head this time was it, Mando? Must be hidden under that kettle you call a helmet” You let out an exasperated breath, shaking your head, “I’ve no cure for that unfortunately.”

You could have sworn you heard a soft noise that sounded remarkably like a chuckle, but it was so quiet and the streets so noisy that you were certain you were wrong.

When the door to the practice-come-living quarters for yourself and Biran came into view, you stopped short. How did you get back here so quickly? Looking over your shoulder, you realized you had led the Mandalorian on a merry chase to nowhere he needed to be. He didn’t look particularly fazed, but the small voice of guilt that sounded an awful lot like your mother had you opening your mouth before you could think twice,

“Do you want to come in?”

What possessed you to invite him in?

It was obvious from both the stilted way you asked and the drawn out, deeply awkward silence that followed. You were about to tuck tail and run inside, slam the door, and pretend you weren’t as mortified as you knew you were when he cocked his head. The movement made you pause in your escape, opening your mouth to tell him to forget about it before the words got lodged in your throat.

“Sure.” Was all he said, and that was how you found yourself staring at a fully armed Mandalorian taking up two thirds of the small settee in the living room to the back of the practice, his hands placed on each thigh as they spread a bit when he sat.

Biran, bless him, took up the last third of the same settee, unfazed by the type of man in his living room and chatting merrily about the last Mandalorian he had met over fifteen years ago.

“And that wasn’t you?”

“No.”

“Ah maybe someone you know then!”

“Maybe.”

Mando’s conversation skills were abysmal.

You didn’t have very high expectations in the first place, but watching it without being a participant, was downright comical. You hid your smile behind the glass of water you had fetched for yourself but the slight tilt of his helmet in your direction told you he had caught your amusement. For someone whose face you couldn’t see, you could practically feel his eyes narrow at you. It made the giddiness from being equal parts anxious and entertained from watching Mando try make nice with the elderly Mirialan rise again and you had to physically bite your lip to stop.

Mando wasn’t listening to Biran anymore, that much was obvious. He wasn’t even looking in his direction, more comfortable blatantly glaring at you instead. Biran was unfazed. Truly, the Mirialan didn’t need a response to have a conversation. A listening ear was sometimes all he wanted. It was a characteristic that endeared you to the him in the first place. The elderly were so often overlooked and written off, but when one only cared enough to listen, they would find themselves enriched with experiences no history book could ever compete with.

“…So how do you two know each other?”

Your attention was dragged back into the conversation so fast you might have given yourself whiplash. You blinked a few times as the Mirialan watched Mando with a clueless smile on his face, completely ignorant to the stiff body beside him.

“Coercive medical attention.” You choked a bit on the sip of water you had taken to buy yourself some time to think; coercive? That rotten---

“Ah, you were a difficult patient, were you?” Biran chuckled, knowing your methods well, “Sweet as pie if you do as your told, but the minute you resist she’ll go for you like a sand panther. I can’t imagine there was much room for bedside manners in the Rebellion, but thankfully that attitude works well in cities like Mynock.” You spluttered again, putting the glass down since it was out to get you too apparently.

Of all the treacherous--, why were you so nice to this old sod again? You would show him a sand panther when you ‘forget’ to buy his favorite tea next time you went shopping.

You seethed to yourself, leaning back in the armchair you had perched yourself on earlier, flyaway hairs from the breeze outside falling into your face which you blew away with a frustrated breath.

“Hm, a panther?” Your eyes rose as the low baritone filled the air after Biran had finished having his laugh at your expense. Mando cocked his head pensively to the side as he looked at you briefly, “More like a kitten, I’d say.” And with that, he looked away.

He didn’t bother saying anything else after that, content with letting Biran’s laughter fill the room and smother the tense silence the two of you were sitting in.

You could feel your cheeks heating up once more as you glared daggers at the tin can in front of you. Why did it feel like you were being simultaneously insulted and flirted with? You couldn’t make the distinction, so you didn’t know how to respond.

Instead, you decided to poke at a different part of the conversation.

“For someone who was coerced, you sure do find yourself on my table quick enough when you need treatment.” Your eyes ran up and down the length of his body candidly when he looked back at you, “and when you don’t need treatment, evidently.”

You smirked when the Mandalorian clenched a fist on his thigh, the third occupant in the room seemingly forgotten as Mando hissed,

“I never asked for your help.”

You scoffed and decided not to deign that with a response.

“Besides, I only stopped over for supplies and fuel.” He admitted and a treacherous part of you sunk a bit at the honesty in his voice. Seeing you was just a coincidence, like always. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air and you fought the twinge of sadness that chased you because of them.

Biran looked between the two of you before standing shakily and patting the Mandalorian on the shoulder with no hesitation, “Allow us to provide you with something extra for your travels then.” He turned his wrinkled face towards you with a smile, the deep groves of his crow’s feet increasing as he nodded to the bags of forgotten groceries, “I think our guest should try the crab. Knowing you, you bought too much as usual.”

You flushed at being caught out, were you really that predicable?

“There’s no need. I got what I came for so, I’ll be going now.” Mando stood fluidly despite his armor, and you were once again struck with how different it was seeing him injured as opposed to healthy. You felt you needed to get used to his presence all over again, with how much it filled the room.

“Thank you, for your hospitality.” He tipped his helmet towards Biran, his voice still rather gruff but laced with a polite softness uncharacteristic to him. Biran waved him off and started making his way back out to the practice when he heard the binary from his medi-droid welcoming a new patient.

That left the two of you standing in a room that suddenly felt much too small for the tension that hung around you both like a blanket. You moved into the kitchen to separate the food you would keep and the food you would give to Mando on one of the countertops, tying the bag tightly by the straps so that it stayed clean and fresh when you were done. You couldn’t hear him move, but you could feel the slight disturbance of the air when he leaned his shoulder casually against the doorframe, arms crossed enticingly once more as he watched you.

“So… what did he call you again? A sand… kitten, was it?”

“Oh, shut up.” You growled over your shoulder at him before turning and shoving the bag with two of the Berbersian crabs and some herbs you knew went well with them, into his hands.

“I don’t need these.” He held the bag out, straightening his stance as he pushed himself from the doorframe. You wisely ignored him.

“All you need is a pan. And water. And heat. Boil them and actually give your body some proper nutrients, would you?”

You explained as you began leading him out towards the private entrance of the residence, through the small kitchen and out into an alleyway that gave you an immediate sense of déjà vu the moment Mando stepped outside. The sun was still beating down and it glinted across the helmet that was becoming as recognizable as a face to you.

“In case you didn’t realize, I’m perfectly healthy.” He replied smoothly, getting his bearings as he examined the alleyway and noted the sounds from the nearby street as the direction he needed to go.

“That’d be a first.” You griped at him, but there was no venom in your words, and he knew it.

You knew he was about to leave, and the suddenness of his departure was as jarring as his arrival. You didn’t know why you felt the need to stall, and you pushed that urge down rapidly in the face of the warrior when he looked back at you from assessing the street not a few feet away.

You sighed and let out a chuckle, wondering again how this man constantly came barreling into your life, disrupting the precarious peace you had brokered while here. You might have said it was a nuisance, but deep down, you knew that he brought a breath of life back into yours every time he crossed your path, reinvigorated the aimless routine you found yourself in. It was unsettling, the way this man had wormed his way into being such a… significant presence in your life. Even after only meeting him three times and always under less than pleasant circumstances.

Part of you wanted to tell him he could stay longer if he wanted; but you knew he would refuse.

Part of you wanted to tell him to be safe; but you knew he wouldn’t be.

Part of you wanted to tell him that you would see him around; but you knew that you probably wouldn’t.

So you settled on a lackluster, “good luck on your hunt” with a small smile as a peace offering for the fraught bickering you always seemed to fall into with him. A peace offering, he seemed to accept as he lifted the bag silently and looked inside,

“Pan. Water. Heat. Right?” His own attempt made your smile grow as you chuckled and nodded,

“You got it, sunshine.”

He nodded once in affirmation while you moved around him back towards the door of the practice. For some reason, you didn’t want to watch him walk away this time. It was easier for you to leave instead. A rumble of your name from the Mandalorian had you looking over your shoulder at him questioningly, the blush that had risen to your cheeks at the sound of your name on his lips not lost on Mando. He had turned back towards you when you moved and after a beat, spoke again.

“See you next time.”

And just like that, your chest hollowed, and a warmth filled you. The weight of his words were like an embrace, a reassurance you didn’t know you needed. Had needed, for longer than you probably knew. It was something secure and encouraging in these times of change and uncertainty, and you felt yourself cling to those words like a lifeline.

The placid nod you offered him with a gentle smile was all he stuck around for. Spinning on his heels, he took off towards the streets of Mynock once more, disappearing in a flash of beskar and steel and for once, you didn’t ponder about possibly seeing him again. You knew you would.

Din settled back into the pilots’ chair of the Razor Crest twenty minutes later, running through the familiar process of flying the ship out of the atmosphere and into the comfort of space, eager to escape into hyperdrive as soon as he was clear enough from Dandoran.

See you next time?

He groaned leaned his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling of the cockpit, his brows drawn low over his eyes as he frowned. What possessed him to offer that promise, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the way your eyes had dimmed slightly when he was about to leave, or when you had wished him luck on a job he was still so uncertain about. Maybe it was the way you blushed when he said your name.

Or maybe it was just because he wanted to see you again too.

And that was the most troubling reason of all.

Din didn’t do friends, he had acquaintances and colleagues even if the term was tenuous. He had the covert and the foundlings, but he didn’t have people he actually wished to see. Never trusted anyone beyond what they could each offer one another. You hadn’t looked for anything from him, and it was unsettling. He didn’t know if he could trust you, years of training and experience told him otherwise. But from the old memories of you pressing Raquor’daan poison from his wound to the teasing friendship you displayed with the old Mirialan, his resolve softened a little.

His eyes flicked to the rapidly shrinking planet he was leaving.

Trust was too strong a word right now, but respect… he could admit that he respected you. And that alone put you on a very short list of people, one he was sure you would never truly understand the importance of.

And he was right.

You would never know the significance of being on that very short list of people, but in that moment, Din’s grudging respect for you set both of your lives on a very different course than either of you ever anticipated; one that revolved around a very special, very small, green child.

Once Dandoran had faded sufficiently behind the Razor Crest, he keyed in the co-ordinates to the far reaches of the Outer Rim and entered hyperspace and after several days of travel, he finally struck beskar when the tracking fob starting beeping as he coasted through space. He smirked behind his helmet as he changed direction and noted the closest planet on his navicomputer where his bounty was hidden.

Arvala-7.

Gotcha.

Stitches Taglist:

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @nova646 @pychedelic-rainbow

#the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fic #din djarin #mando x reader #mando fic #mando x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic

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letsloveimagines · 3 years

Photo

Title: Crush II

Pairing: Corpse Husband x fem!youtuber!reader

Collab with: @the-winter-sxldier-posts

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: You HAVE to write a part 2 of crush where they meet! It would be so cuteeee!

Word Count: 1667

Warnings: a little swearing but mostly fluff

Note: The images doesn’t belong to me, all the credits go to the respective creators. I only made the collage. Also, I will not make anything to make Corpse uncomfortable, if he ends saying he doesn’t like fanfiction about him, I will delete this.

Part I: Here

♦⋅☆⋅♦ Y/N pressed her left foot on the clutch pedal, turned the car key and heard the engine roaring loudly afterwards. She added the address on the GPS, looked at herself in the mirror for a moment taking a deep breath, trying to stay calm and focused. She put the car in first gear, and started driving from her apartment complex's private parking lot to the main road.

As her small and comfortable car drove through the streets of Los Angeles, the girl kept listening to what was on the radio. Every now and then, her stomach would churned with nervousness but she would take a deep breath and smile uncertainly to herself, trying to convince herself that everything would be okay.

Fed up with the podcast she was listening to, turned her car's Bluetooth on when she had to stop at a red traffic light, she switched to her current favorite Playlist.

Distracted by the music and humming softly accompanied by Rihanna's voice, she put the first gear back on, moving the car forward when the traffic light turned green, quickly shifting to the second and then putting on the third.

Her mind was racing, however.

Life had gone well since that specific day... since Y/N and Corpse confessed their feelings to each other. Their mutual friends that they played with knew the truth and were extremely happy for them, which was wonderful and soothing. Outside of them, no one else knew what had happened.

Corpse and Y/N talked every day, stayed on the phone every night until one of them fell asleep unfortunately, the girl always fell asleep first, and saw each other through FaceTime whenever they could.

In other words, the two could say that they were basically dating already... Even though there was never a real question. But perhaps that was about to change, for the day had finally come when they would meet physically.

A sound of receiving a phone call invaded the car and interrupted her thoughts. With a smile on her lips already knowing who was, Y/N clicked on the answer button and waited while entering a roundabout.

"Hey." That characteristic deep voice was heard.

"Hey you." She replied while looking briefly at his name written on the car screen.

"Are you on your way yet?"

"Yes, I just left the house. I'll be there In about two hours, depending on the traffic today."

Corpse cleared his throat and Y/N almost visualized him playing with his rings, and messing with his dark curly hair. "Are you sure you haven't forgotten anything?"

"Well, I hope not. I’ve had my bags packed for two days, but I think I have everything that is necessary with me. If not, there is no problem really." She replied.

"This is going to... This is really going to happen isn't it?" She could hear the smile in the man's voice.

"Yes, Corpse, it is. We will finally meet in person."

"I can't wait to see you." He whispered.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm for a moment, and she knew that if she looked in the mirror she would see a dark pink tone on her skin. She bit her lower lip in an attempt to stop the huge smile. "I can't wait to give you a big hug and tell you everything face to face."

Corpse laughed deeply, his tone was warm and full of emotion. "I know... I am anxious, and I am not going to lie about it. I'm super nervous. My hands are shaking so much that I don't even know how I haven't dropped my phone yet."

"Oh, Corpse..." Y/N whispered with a heavy heart, but was attentive to the road at the intersection where she was. "There is no reason to be nervous, it's just me. It’s just us."

"I know..." He sighed softly. After a few minutes without speaking, enjoying the comfortable silence between the two and listening to the sound of the Y/N’s car motor, he continued. "Well..." Corpse cleared his throat. "I will let you concentrate on your driving. Be careful and pay attention to the road."

"I will, I’ll see you later."

"Bye."

"Bye, Corpse."

The call ended but the anxiety and nervousness did not. However, only the sound of his voice and the small conversation they had was able to make Y/N smile all the way to San Diego.

♦⋅☆⋅♦

Y/N pressed the turn signal, the green arrow flashing to the right, and parked the car in an empty parking space in front of the building. The woman's neutral and almost robotic voice came from the GPS saying: You have reached your destination. Shaking in her place, the girl put on the brake and turned off the car, taking a deep breath trying to calm herself once more.

It was now or never... Should she send him a message to let him know she was already there? Should she just knock on the door? Her hands were shaking so much, and her heart was beating so hard and so fast that it almost hurt.

She sat in the driver's seat for a few more minutes, so nervous she might pass out. It is better to just go there, she thought, the longer it takes the more nervous I will become.

She took a deep breath, unbuckled her seat belt, removed the keys from the ignition and quickly got out of the car, closing the door behind her, and going to the trunk to remove the pink suitcase. When it was on the floor next to her, she closed the trunk and locked the car safely, looking at the intimidating building in front of her.

Without further ado she approached it, opened the entrance door, climbed the stairs with some difficulty to his floor, and trembling, she shyly knocked on the door with her knuckles.

That door was opened so fast that it even scared her.

They were both looking at each other almost stunned... Finally they were there, in person, just a meter away and with a spine of the door separating them. Corpse was even more beautiful in person, and Y/N found herself lost in his dark eyes for a while.

"Hi..." She said sheepishly.

Corpse looked at her examining her from head to toe as if he couldn't believe she was real. Finally he smiled so beautifully that she almost forgot to breathe. "Hi." He replied.

Y/N dragged the suitcase a little closer to her, uncertain how to proceed. She didn't have time to think, however, as Corpse seemed to get tired of the waiting and shyness between them, crossed the space between the two and took her in his arms. His body was warm against hers, extremely hot, and his embrace was loving and passionate. Y/N inhaled his attractive scent - a mixture of soap, men's perfume and something else - and Corpse laughed through her hair.

"You’re here!" He exclaimed loudly, laughing deeply, spinning in circles with her still in his arms laughing out loud like he was.

When the two were inside the apartment, Corpse released her and pulled her suitcase inside as well, closing the door to prevent any curious neighbor from trying to see what was going on.

The two of them stayed there with smiles so big on their faces that their cheeks hurt… But it was definitely a good pain.

"I don't even know what to say..." Y / N confessed, practically shaking with excitement in her place.

Corpse smiled again, taking her hand timidly and gently, caressing her skin and interlacing their fingers and pulling her closer to him. "Me neither."

They were silent just enjoying the moment, and enjoying the fact that they were there, together... that it was real. How many times had they imagined this? How many times had they dreamed of that moment?

Corpse lowered his head slightly looking into her eyes intently, but his brows furrowed as if something troubling was going through his mind. "I…"

"What is it?" Y/N questioned worriedly.

Corpse made a shy expression. “Can I… Can I kiss you?”

Y/N's cheeks caught fire but her smile was so big, and she was so happy that she felt like she was going to explode at any moment. "Yes! Yes, of course you can…"

The young man approached, with his hand on Y/N's waist to pull her closer and the other one climbing up her arm, her shoulder, then her neck and resting on her burning cheek, where he was caressing the hot skin. Their fresh, labored and nervous breaths mingled, closing the distance until their lips touched, finally in what felt like an explosion of fireworks or an explosion of magic. Corpse's lips were soft and warm against hers, kissing her tenderly, as he brought their bodies together even more almost as if he was afraid that she would disappear at any moment.

The kiss was a mixture of lips and tongues, longing, passion and mostly love. It ended faster than they would have liked, but they stayed in each other's arms, sharing passionate smiles.

After a moment, Corpse whispered, "I still think this is a dream, and that I'm going to wake up after the normal three fucking hours that I can barely sleep."

Y/N laughed with her heart leaping and butterflies in her belly, playing with the laces of the black sweatshirt he had worn that day, wrapping it around her fingers and looking him in the dark eyes. "Me too, I've pinched myself hundreds of times today just to make sure this was real. But if this is a dream, I don't want to wake up anymore."

"I will punch the face of anyone who tries to wake me up." Corpse joked making Y/N let out the laugh he liked so much to hear.

"I love you." She whispered dizzy with emotion.

"That’s good, because I love you too."

♦⋅☆⋅♦

Tag List: @breathygasps @unicornblood4ever @mintchip17 @jay-jay-love

#corpse husband #Corpse Husband Fandom #Corpse Fandom #corpse fanfiction #fanfiction #imagines #one-shot #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband oneshot #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband x female reader

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mellowyandere · 3 years

Text

SCP Academia Containment Breach

Reader: F

Characters: Aizawa Shouta (main); Shigaraki Tomura

Rating: M

Summary: Dr. L/N tries to find somewhere safe during a containment breach.

Length: 1604 words

Warning: Yandere, mentions of death, mild dub-con/non-con.

Hurried footsteps carried you down the dim hallway. The only light source coming from the red alarms periodically placed along the corridor. Sirens blared overhead as you clutched your files closer to your body.

CONTAINMENT BREACH. ALERT CONTAINMENT BREACH. ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO YOUR DESIGNATED SAFE ZONE.

KNOWN ESCAPED SCPS INCLUDE…

You listened as the automated message listed off a series of varying classed SCP’s, straining to hear if any of them were assigned to you. If you made it through this alive maybe you’d consider resigning. They say memory wipes aren’t so bad.

No, you couldn’t leave. You had seen the way SCP’s were treated, you couldn’t abandon the few you were in charge of. Leaving them behind to someone cruel just didn’t sit right with you.

You were approaching a four way intersection in the compound, you’d need to take a left if you wanted to get to his enclosure. A rather interesting male humanoid SCP you had dubbed “Eraserhead”. You were too far away from any safe zones, he was your only bet at survival.

Reaching the intersection you moved to turn left before stopping dead in your tracks. Guttural screams and snarls echoed down the poorly lit hallway. It sounded as if some SCP’s were fighting, and since you didn’t know if Eraserhead had breached containment you didn’t want to test your luck and end up dead.

To your right gunshots and more screaming discouraged you from going that way. You’d have to go straight, or back the way you came. Behind you was a dead end in the facility, that being your small section for testing and personal office. You’d be screwed if anything came down that way and cornered you, so you decided to go straight.

You were running now, panting as you attempted to fill your lungs with oxygen as you descended further into the foundation, away from your zone of expertise. As you progressed deeper into the facility the sounds of gun shots and screaming became quieter. Even the overhead message had ceased playing, leaving only the blinking lights of the alarms to illuminate your path.

Squinting as you ran you saw a form slumped over on the ground. Honestly you don’t really know how you had managed to make it this far without bumping into anyone else. Running up to them you recognized the uniform they were wearing. A Class-D Personnel. Humans typically on death row, brought here instead to die some cruel and unusual way all in the name of science.

You slowed down as you approached their body, intent on checking if they were alive but stopping just before you fully reached them. Their head and arms were completely missing, but there were no traces of blood. Instead, black ash surrounded them, as if their body parts had been reduced to dust. Unfortunately for you, you knew exactly who the culprit was.

Your hairs stood on end as a raspy cackle sounded above you.

“Ahhh Dr. L/N, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

You jumped back from the corpse, yelping and dropping your files. The papers scattered all over the floor. You looked up to see one of your assigned SCP’s smiling down at you, sharp teeth seemingly glowing despite the dim light of the hallway. Curse this stupid power outage, you didn’t even see him.

“De.. Decay what are you doing here..” you mumbled the nickname you had given him pathetically as you began to step further back. As if it was even possible his grin grew wider, chapped lips cracking as his red eyes squinted in delight.

“No need to be afraid little human, you’ve always been so good to me. I’d never dream of hurting you.” With that he fell down from the ceiling with a thud. Standing up to his full height he opened all six of his arms, as if inviting you in for a hug. His blue hair fell messily over part of his face.

“In fact I was just on my way to find you! Thank you for saving me the trouble…” He began to shuffle closer, slowly approaching your smaller frame as if you’d bolt at any second. Which, to be fair, you would have if you believed you stood a chance.

“Me? Why on Earth were you looking for me?” you asked while frozen in place as he continued to approach. If any of his hands got five fingers on you, you were in for a bad time.

“You’re kidding right?” he questioned. “All humans do is poke and probe at me, treat me like shit, hurt me, experiment on me,” he snarled. “But you…” he continued in a softer tone, his hands reaching out for you. “You talk to me, make sure I’m okay. Treat me like I fucking mean something… like I exist. Such a sweet little human… but you’re always behind that stupid glass. Glass I can’t fucking decay. But now I’m free. No, no, I won’t hurt you. I want to touch you.. I want..”

The SCP stopped mid sentence, his eyes taking on a far more sinister appearance as he snarled at the space behind you. He lunged for you, desperate to get you in his arms. Suddenly, something wrapped around your waist and you couldn’t help but scream as you were quickly dragged away from the six armed creature. Your back crashed into a broad chest as black tendrils violently whipped around the hallway.

“GIVE HER BACK!” The creature rushed forwards fully intent on dusting the bastard who dared to take you away. His hands wrapped around the tendrils, ready to plow straight through. Much to his surprise nothing happened, except him violently being thrown back.

Bright red eyes cut through the darkness of the hallway, penetrating the fallen creatures own red orbs.

“Back off or I’ll kill you.” A deep voice rumbled against your back.

“Eraserhead!” you exclaimed in relief. While Decay was known to turn anyone who got to close to ash with violent outbursts, the SCP behind you was far calmer in nature. That didn’t make him any less dangerous, but between the two you’d pick him any day.

“Dr. L/N will be coming with me. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t follow.”

Decay hissed in anger but backed down. Eraserhead had a far larger stature than the other male. With his tendrils filling the hallway, as well as the inability to currently dust the man, the extra arms made no real difference in a battle.

“You best watch your back… you and I both know I’m not the most dangerous thing around here…” With that the blue hair creature slunk down the hallway, off to go decay whatever was unfortunate enough to cross his path.

You released a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding and slumped backwards against Eraserhead.

“Thank you, you really saved me aha,” you nervously chuckled. Craning your head back you peered up at the large male, his bloodshot eyes gazing down at you. The tendrils filling the hallway retreated back into his form, large black lines that almost resembled scars housed them all over his body.

“You shouldn’t have left your area, I would have come to you. Others momentarily got in the way, but not anymore.” With that he scooped you up. You squeaked out in surprise as he carried you bridal style in his arms. You were too exhausted to fight against his decision to carry you.

“That rectangular piece of plastic you use to enter and exit my area, where is it?” The creature asked.

“My key card? In my pocket where it always is, why would you need it? You’re already out.”

“There are still doors I can’t open without it, and we’re not out enough. It’s not safe here. I need to take you somewhere safe for us to nest.”

You gawked a bit at his statement “Wait, nest? What are you talking about? You can’t get all the way out this facility, it’s impossible. Look, let's just go back to my office and lie low I promise I won’t let them hurt you.”

The creature couldn’t help but scoff at your remark. “Little one, I’m far stronger than I appear. I’m taking you out of here to protect and mate, and with your key card we can open any door we need… you said so yourself a couple months back. Full access level 5 whatever.”

At this you began to struggle a bit. Mating? Nesting? What the hell was he going on about.

“Eraserhead no. I don’t understand, but we can’t leave.”

The tall figure sighed, as if he was merely reprimanding a child. “I didn’t want to do this but I need your full cooperation. Don’t worry, next time you see me we’ll be somewhere safe my little human.”

With that he leaned down and latched his mouth onto your own. You cried out in shock, and he took advantage of your surprise to slip his long appendage into your mouth. He threaded his hand into your hair and slotted your head back, and soon enough you felt hot liquid begin to seep down your throat.

Your struggling increased, small fists pounding against his chest. You had no idea he was even capable of doing this, what the hell was going on! The longer he held you there the sooner you realized you had no choice but to swallow the warm fluid. Satisfied that you finally drank it he pulled back and you desperately gasped for air. Your vision became hazy, until finally you fell limp in his arms.

#aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #yandere aizawa #yandere shouta aizawa #tw: dubcon #bnha aizawa #aizawa x you #SCP Academia #yandere eraserhead #aizawa #aizawa shouta #tw: noncon

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moonlit-imagines · 3 years

Text

Headcanons for the Avengers teaching you how to drive

Avengers x reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “hey! if it's not too much to ask... can i request an MCU Avengers headcanon of the team teaching teen!reader how to drive? i'm finally learning how to and it's absolutely terrifying (i really hope this sends properly because firefox crashed while i was trying to write it lol)”

firstly no one was very thrilled to be your teacher because getting in the car with an inexperienced driver just felt like a trap

and although they’d put themselves in much more dangerous situations than this

they all had the same thing to say:

“this is not how i want to go down”

but theyd FORBID anyone else from stepping in

“it’s okay, i’ll do it” -cap

“no, no, no. i dont think the one hundred year old man knows today’s road rules. i should teach y/n” -nat

“natasha, you’ve let me drive you before. was i that bad?” -cap

“im not having this discussion” -nat

“you should let vis do it, he might stay calm while y/n drives” -wanda

“what about sam—” -bucky

“no.” -sam

you were actually quietly watching them bicker about who’d have the honor of teaching you

“i dont let anyone else drive me, y/n. you’re not special. but i’ll give you a cool car when you get your license, deal?” -tony

“i’m not special?” -you

“sure you are kid, i just never want to get in a car that you’re driving is all” -tony, patting your head

“oh, okay” -you

the avengers actually decided that wanda was right and vision was probably the best equipped to teach you

they just had to see if you’d enjoy having him as a teacher

the team set up a little course at HQ with a LOT of cones

“how am i supposed to get around all of those?” -you

“you can use your powers!” -thor

“that’s against the rules!” -you

they had to take some of the cones away :(

all the avengers watched from the side of the course

“now, y/n, you need to shift into drive. press your foot on the brake and move this knob to the ‘D’ position” -vision

“which one is the brake?” -you

“...the left one” -vis

sam was recording on his phone

and had redwing do a bird’s eye view for “special footage”

“this should be good” -sam

as soon as you stepped on the gas, the car went speeding straight forward

sam was laughing his ass off but the rest of the avengers were terrified for you

you hit 6 cones before the brakes

“have some faith in them, guys” -wanda

“i just don’t think that’s possible. you guys okay in there?” -rhodey

“spectacular, thank you for your concern” -vis

you needed to try a different teacher

nat was next in line

“okay, so we probably should have mentioned how sensitive you have to be with the pedals. i know we dont do that on missions, but when you’re on the road, you have to watch all of your surroundings” -nat

she totally brought you straight into traffic because the only way you learn in through intense pressure and real world experience (according to her)

“hands at ten and two, right?” -you

“if that’s what you think” -nat

“that’s not helping” -you

screaming every time you turned

ESPECIALLY left hand turns (or right turns if you are not in the US but this takes place in the US i guess idk it’s whatever you want ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

redwing was still following you

everyone was watching the surveillance footage at HQ

“tony, you’re paying for any damages y/n makes, right?” -cap

“is that all im good for? my money?” -tony... “duh, of course i’m paying”

blowing past a red light

“you were supposed to stop” -nat

“what, now?” -you, braking in the middle of the intersection

*honking from all sides*

“what do you think, y/n?” -nat

cap was covering his eyes

“this is a disaster” -wanda

“takes one to know one” -tony, without thinking “oh my god, i’m sorry”

“lets just focus on y/n, maybe we can give them some feedback” -cap

nat made you drive into a parking lot

to park

“okay, just pull in straight. you have to be even in between the lines” -nat

“is that good?” -you

“y/n...you parked directly on top of the line” -nat

“...fuck” -you

next person to teach you was......

“come on, y/n. just go through the drive thru. i’ll pay for your chicken nuggets” -rhodey

“i dont really want chicken nuggets” -you

“fine, okay, you can get whatever you want. just go through the drive thru” -rhodey

you hit the curb

you actually rode the curb

“this is fine” -you

“well...you’re getting better” -rhodey

“dont sugarcoat it, man” -you

“come on! eyes on the road!” -rhodey

steve decided to step in and let you handle the driving on an actual mission

“at least here you’ll have some sort of free reign, that way you can get a better feeling of control when driving” -cap

“we dont like this plan” -all the avengers in the back of this big ass truck

redwing was following ofc

honestly,,,,, that plan wasn’t too bad

you did hit a few trees but this was a heavy duty vehicle

you’d have to do a lot more than that to hurt anything

“hey, this is actually pretty cool! i think ive got the hang of it!” -you

they scheduled you drivers test when you got back, but assured you that it wasnt the end of the world if you failed. you could retake it after some more practice

but you did end up passing it!!!! even tho there were a few mishaps

“mx. l/n, your turn signal” -instructor

“my what?” -you “oh crap”

but you got your license and the team took turns passing it around to take a look at it

“oh man, you look high as a kite. what’s going on with your face???” -tony

“shut up! no i dont!” -you

celebratory dinner!!!!

and sam put together a compilation of all your worst/best moments behind the wheel

“heres the one where they put it in reverse instead of park and started rolling backwards......and thats when they jumped out to try to stop it with their bare hands....oh no!!! they’re going down!!!!” -sam

“oh my god, nooo!” -you, burying your face in your hands

and to top it all off......tony bought you your own car (and got any modifications you wanted)

“i swear to god if you ask for flames on the sides, im donating it” -tony

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisqueer // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @spideyandtheboys // @ghost-bich // @wonderful-writer // @of-a-chaotic-mind // @groovyfluxie //

#marvel #avengers #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #tony stark imagine #steve rogers imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #sam wilson imagine #vision imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #bucky barnes imagine #james rhodes imagine #thor odinson imagine

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jaminjims · 3 years

Text

「TO PROTECT」

anon request: hi can you do prompt 33, ot7 , bts eight member, female reader, fluff with angst and the scenario is where they had a boys night out so you were left at the dorms with your little brother and sister to babysit them, someone breaks in and you try to hold them off until the guys and cops comes

prompt: “keep your hands over your ears, do you hear me? even when the noises stop. don’t listen.”

pairing: poly bts x female reader

genre: suspense, angst, a little fluff at the end

words: 3.2k

warnings: sasaengs, break in, fighting, weapons (a knife), blood, panic attacks, injuries, hospitalization, copious amounts of crying

~**~

You held your breath as your heart thumped in anticipation. The shadow behind the shower curtain suddenly turned toward you and your eyes widened.

You braced yourself against the cold tile of the shower as the dark blue shower curtain was tugged aside. You gasped and jumped up.

“Found you, Noona!”

You grinned at the excited smiley face of your little brother. Easy laughter made it’s way out of your throat as you stepped out of the bath. You leaned forward and started tickling his stomach as he tried to squirm out of your grip.

He ended up running out of the bathroom to get away, “Youngsoo, what did I say about running indoors?” But soon after you found yourself running after him, laughing.

The both of you ended up back in the living room, where your younger sister sat, doing something on your phone to pass the time. She was the first one to get caught in the game and had been sitting there a while, but when the two of you made your grand entrance she sent a stunning smile up at you.

“Unnie! You’re always too good at this game.” You smiled and landed beside her on the couch, your little brother climbing on your lap.

You loved spending time with your little siblings. Being an idol was demanding and you barely had time to see them, so when the boys decided they wanted to have a night out to themselves, you thought it was a perfect idea to have them over. It also gave your parents a chance to have a night to themselves as well, so it ended up a win for everyone.

Your little brother, Youngsoo, and sister, Mina, were six and nine and there was nothing you loved more in the world than them. Well, your boys were also high up on the list, but what they don’t know won’t kill them.

You laughed at your own thoughts and the two little ones looked up at you, “What’s so funny, Noona?”

You rubbed Youngsoo’s head, “Ahh, just thinking about how much I love you little munchkins.”

“We’re not little!” You sister entervined. “And we’re not munchkins!” Your brother continued. You laughed at their combined one brain cell and felt your phone vibrate from within your hoodie pocket.

‘We’ll be home within the hour, love’ You blushed a little as you typed out a simple ‘Ok’ to Namjoon’s text.

“Ohh, Unnie is typing to her special people. Look at her face!” Mina said to Youngsoo, pointing at you. You smiled endearingly, “How did you know?” They both squealed as Youngsoo wiggled out of your lap.

You chased them around the living room for a couple minutes before you grabbed both of them by their shirts and pulled them back onto the couch. “I think it’s time for you guys to head to bed.” You said, still a little out of breath.

They both awwed and looked up at you with puppy dog eyes, “Aish, don’t give me those! I already let you stay up 30 minutes after your bedtime. Do you want me to get yelled at by Eomma?”

They both shook their head no in sync and you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped you. “Come on you little rebels.”

You led them back into your room and turned on the light, helping them brush their teeth and change into their pajamas in the connected bathroom. When you finally settled them into bed and were tucking them in, you heard a small crash in the kitchen.

You turned around and went to your bedroom door. ‘Are they home already?’ You were about to call out to them when you noticed a figure clad in in black clothing slowly making their way into the living room.

An unknown black clad figure.

White hot panic rushed through your veins as you put a hand over your mouth to stifle the scream that wanted to come out. You heard movement behind you and whirled around to see Mina looking at you with wide eyes.

She was about to say something before you moved your hand from your mouth to hers, silencing her. You looked over at Youngsoo who had the same bewildered expression on his face and motioned to stay quiet.

You were shaking as you tried to silently pick up Youngsoo from the bed so the rustling of the sheets wouldn’t attract your intruder. At the reminder that there was an unknown potentially hostile individual in the dorm sent another rush of fear, panic, and adrenaline through your system.

That was not a good mix.

You opened your bathroom door and lifted both Mina and Youngsoo into the tub. Mina had tears in her eyes while Youngsoo was already silently crying. Your heart constricted and you almost started crying yourself. There was another set of crashes coming from the living room and you had to stop yourself from going into a panic attack at the sound of Mina and Youngsoo’s whimpers.

You were their big sister and loved them more than anything. It was your job to keep them safe.

To protect.

You took a deep breath and squeezed their hands, forcing them to look into your eyes, “Look at me. Keep your hands over your ears, do you hear me? Even when the noises stop. Don’t listen.” Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, but the look in your eyes was firm. When the two just kept staring at you with their tearful eyes and wobbly chins, you squeezed their hands again.

“Promise me.” You held out both your pinkies in front of their faces. They slowly reached up and intertwined their pinkies with yours. All of you were shaking.

You kissed your intertwined pinkies and then both of their foreheads. You stood up and didn’t turn around until you saw that they covered their ears with their hands like promised.

You took slow and careful steps out of the bathroom and locked the door behind you. You were met with a dark room. ‘Wait, didn’t I leave the light on?’

Your eyes widened in fear and you almost dropped to the floor with how much your legs were shaking. Your only thoughts were that they had come into the room without you noticing and turned off your lights. ‘Did they see Youngsoo and Mina?’

You almost slapped yourself when you realized, oh yeah, you had a phone! You could call the police! You searched for it in your hoodie but when your hands came up empty you panically searched your jean pockets.

You didn’t have your phone. It must have been left on the couch.

Your breathing picked up and you almost started to hyperventilate. You focused on the fact that you had to protect your younger siblings. You were their only line of defense and you would be damned if you didn’t go down swinging.

You gulped and took shaky steps toward your bedroom door. You peaked your head in the hallway but quickly ducked back into the room when you saw the black clad figure walk across the living room.

You heard some more crashing sounds but then everything went quiet. After a few seconds you looked out again and saw nothing but Yoongi’s opened door. His room was a few ahead of yours, on the other side of the hallway. You thanked your younger self for picking the room the furthest down in the hallway when you and the guys first moved in.

Seeing the coast was clear and hoping that the intruder would stay in Yoongi’s room, you silently made your way into the hallway, locking your bedroom door behind you. You slowly made your way to the living room.

You needed to get your phone from the couch. The only problem was that you had to move past Yoongi’s room to get to the living room, and the chance of the intruder seeing you made you almost pass out. You decided that you were going to slam Yoongi’s door shut and lock the intruder in. You took a deep breath and steeled your resolve. You could do this! You had to do this! Some part of you still refused to believe that this was happening.

You ran up and with a yell you slammed the door shut and locked in right after. To your confusion and slight terror, there was no sound. You slowly backed up and were struck with fear when your back hit something other than the wall. Everything was still for a second before you felt a breath by your ear.

“Boo.”

You screamed at the top of your lungs and booked it down the hallway, toward the living room. You saw your phone sitting on the couch and dove to grab it. You fell over the back of the couch and scrambled up to your feet.

The intruder was standing at the intersection where the living room meets the hallway. Their face was covered up by a mask, so you couldn’t really make out anything about the person.

Their eyes, however, held madness and insanity.

They took slow, loud steps toward you and you saw something gleam in their hand.

A knife.

You looked around you and, with the hand not holding your phone, you grabbed the lamp that was sitting on a nearby bookshelf. With no hesitancy at all, you threw the lamp at them. They stumbled back and that was all you needed to run toward the bathroom that was just a few steps toward your right.

You slammed and locked the door behind you as you felt the intruder pounding against it. You scrambled back, almost falling over into the bathtub. Your phone was in a death grip and you wasted no time in opening it and dialing the police.

Your hands were so shaky that you had to retype the three digit code a couple times. When you finally got it right, you put the phone to your ear and bit on the thumbnail of your other hand. The pounding on the door didn’t stop.

“119, how-“

You cut them off before they had a chance to finish, “Please help me,” Your voice came out breathless. “There’s an intruder in my house and they have a knife!”

“Ma’am, please calm down. Tell me your location. Are you alone or hurt?”

You quickly recited the address and told the lady on the other end about Youngsoo and Mina. She dispatched police and an ambulance immediately after you finished the address.

“Come out, come out Y/n!” The voice on the other side of the door yelled. You vaguely filed away that the voice was female.

You choked on a sob as the lady on the phone continued to talk. You couldn’t hear her over the sound of your own heartbeat and the yelling of the intruder. This went on for about 30 more seconds before the pounding suddenly stopped.

“Should I get the two little kiddies sitting in your bathroom instead?”

Your world stopped and you dropped the phone in your hand. White hot panic once again surged through you at the thought of her hurting your siblings. “No!” Your voice came out as a hoarse cry as you slammed the bathroom door open and threw yourself onto the woman.

The impact surprised her and her knife slipped from her hands and skidded on the floor. You clawed at her face, hitting her in any way you could.

The intruder fought back and she eventually threw you off of her. You landed on your wrist painfully but the adrenaline soon took over and you were diving at her again with a cry.

She was ready for you this time and sidestepped your poor attempt. You tripped over your legs and hit your nose on the floor. You instantly tasted blood.

Suddenly the woman was on top of you and you couldn’t move. She put her hands around your neck and you clawed and prayed at them with everything you were worth. You couldn’t breathe and once again a panic attack curled at your conciousness, and before you could stop it, it dug its cold hands into your brain and lungs. You were trying to hyperventilate but couldn’t breathe in and there were dots spreading across your vision.

Suddenly the front door was thrown open and your seven boys along with several police officers ran in. You couldn’t think straight, but you saw someone tackle the intruder that was on top of you to the ground. You grabbed at your throat and greedily sucked in air, but instead of it helping, you only coughed and grabbed at your head, still in panic mode. You felt several pairs of arms wrap around you and multiple voices, but you couldn’t focus on any of them.

Your only thoughts were on Mina and Youngsoo.

You tried pushing away everyone in blind panic to get back to your siblings but the hands only held on tighter and you couldn’t escape. You were yelling at that point and hit someone in the face. You didn’t feel the needle in your neck, but you did notice how your body went lax.

You passed out soon after.

You woke up to the soft beeping of a heart monitor; your senses assaulted by the harsh smell of disinfectant.

The next thing you registered was that there were two hands holding both of yours. They were warm.

You slowly opened your eyes only to shut them tightly once more when the harsh hospital lights hit them. You heard someone whisper something and after a few seconds the lights in the room dimmed.

You felt someone squeeze your left hand and you opened your eyes again to stare into Hoseok’s warm brown ones. There was only a split second of starring before the events of the day before caught up to you.

You started crying and that shortly turned into full on sobbing as you clutched Hobi’s and Jin’s - you realized belatedly that he was the other one holding your hand - hands.

Hoseok looked pained as he looked at you, “Oh baby.” He slowly sat you up and pulled you into a hug. You clutched to him like he was your lifeline. All the pain, fear, and panic rushed out of you with your tears and you already felt exhausted.

Someone was pulling their fingers through your hair as another embraced you from behind. They boys all looked on to the sight with heavy hearts and tears in their own eyes. They couldn’t believe this had happened.

After a few minutes of comforting you, your sobs turned into sniffles and you leaned back against the hospital bed you were on. You were still in the clothes you were in yesterday and after you had calmed down, you were suddenly hit with how much your nose and wrist ached.

“Here, love.” Yoongi held out a glass of water and you gingerly took it in your uninjured hand. “Careful.”

As you nursed your water they had told you about what had happened once they arrived home. How horrified and dumbstruck they were when they saw a random person choking you in the middle of their living room. Jungkook was the one who had tackled the woman while Taehyung was sporting a bruised face.

You almost started sobbing again when they said it was you who bruised Tae’s face in your struggle to get to your siblings, but they quickly shushed you and gave you quiet reassurance that it was ok. They knew you would never do something like that intentionally and you gingerly kissed Tae’s face where the bruise was in apology.

At the thought of your siblings you almost sprung out of bed, but they held you down and told you they were ok. Mina and Youngsoo were found in your bathroom hugging each other as they had their hands over their ears. They were safe with not even a scratch on their bodies. You did good. They were safe.

This time you cried in relief and the boys couldn’t help but cry with you. Jimin was the first one to walk up and hug you, then Jin, Jungkook, and Namjoon joined. Soon you were caught in the middle of a big group hug; everyone was crying.

“We are never, ever letting you out of our sight again.” Jin said into your shoulder.

Jungkook sniffed, “I was so scared, Y/n-ah. I thought you were going to die.”

The pain in his voice made all of your hearts constrict and you wiggled out of the group hug to grab Kookie’s head with your hands. You caressed his checks softly while rubbing at his tears. “Thank you for saving me, Kook-ah.” He cried harder and engulfed you in another hug.

After a few hours of doctors checking on you and giving your statement to the police, you were free to leave and go back to the dorms. The guys refused to let you walk on your own and Namjoon ended up giving you a piggyback ride to the car.

You giggled as he sat you down and buckled you in like you were a kid. “I can take care of myself, Joonie.”

“And?” He made sure your seatbelt was on tight and kissed you on the forehead. He sat next to you as the others filed in.

Your manager announced that you all will be taking a few days off to make sure you healed properly and were taken care of. Idol health came first, and the last thing you wanted to do was worry the fans.

It got out somehow that you were in the hospital and ARMY went berserk trying to figure out what happened. A day after you got home, it was announced on TV that an infamous sasaeng was now in custody and the fans quickly linked that incident with your hospital visit. You took to twitter to announce that you were ok and all you had was a broken nose and sprained wrist. Fans and idol’s alike showed their support and you were overcome with a sense of security from the fandom. You were so grateful that everyone was understanding and there for you.

Even though everything settled down, mundane things became difficult for you. You were all briefed that you would most likely have trauma from the event, but you didn’t really understand that until now.

You constantly had to have one of the boys around you, otherwise you would be overcome with a sense of fear that one of them might be hurt. Jimin and Yoongi were usually the ones to sleep with you, because you were constantly plagued with night terrors otherwise. The first couple days were the worst though; you would wake up in the middle of the night, hyperventilating and on your way to a panic attack, but the two would give you kisses and cuddles and reassure you that everything was ok, no one could hurt you while they were there.

You also had trouble moving around the dorm by yourself, especially at night, so you had someone (usually Jin or Taehyung) with you. You were so thankful and grateful for them and wouldn’t trade them for anything.

These boys were the loves of your life and there was nothing they wouldn’t do for you, and vice-versa. Your lives were hectic and full of ups and downs, but when you had them standing beside you, you knew it would be ok. You were here to love and support each other, and more than anything, you would be here to keep them safe.

To protect.

[end]

end note: my first post of the new year!! i hope everyone enjoyed reading this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it hehe. i’ve never really written suspense before but hopefully it was good! i think it was pretty good for my first attempt at least. thank you so so much for the request anonie, and i hope you liked it! i hope you all have a great day and year, love you 💖

~**~

masterlist

request something!

taglist: @boba-tea1206

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airplanned · 3 years

Text

Ned Talks About Fight Scenes

I write a lot of fight scenes, and I consider it something I'm good at. There are a lot of things to consider when writing a fight scene and they all intersect with each other. I'm going to talk about three things: Clarity, Emotion, and Flow.

Clarity is important, because you don't want your reader to stop and say, "Wait, there's another guy?" "Since when did they have an axe?" "I thought they were on the ground?" "When did they get inside?" Anything that pulls the reader out of the story disrupts your flow and is bad. You need things to clip along, so be sure that your choreography makes sense and that you're clear about what's going on.

The biggest problem I see in fight scenes is when a transition is missed so a character is over here, and then all of a sudden they're over there or facing a different way. I'm not saying that there needs to be a whole big thing made about the transition, because that will affect your flow and slow you down with excess description, making it feel bloated. But saying, "He turned around," takes up minimal space and will sometimes save you a lot of grief.

I think the easiest example to show of this is actually a make-out scene I read ages ago. (Make-out scenes and fight scenes have a lot in common.) It went something like this: "He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her shoulder. She hopped up and wrapped her legs around his waist." ... The picture I have in my head is that he’s still behind her, but her legs are folded backward like a ballerina. This would be easily preventable with a simple "She turned around and..."

Now, this example is a very close example. The characters are attentive to every little moment, so a jump into a different position is jarring. A fight scene example would be if you have a one-on-one duel, and it's emotional and calculating, and your character is very attuned to every movement that their opponent makes. It's a little different if you have a sweeping battle scene with a horde of hundreds of enemies, like if you're writing an Age of Calamity battle. Your main character isn't thinking in minute steps, but rather in sweeping moves, so your reader is fine not hearing that your character has turned around, but wouldn't be fine not knowing that your character is suddenly bleeding from dozens of fatal wounds or is half way through a battle with a big monster that actually matters. So be aware of the scope of your scene, and that will guide you in how detailed you need to be. (Also keep in mind that you can zoom in, like you fight a big Age of Calamity battle, but then things get more personal when you meet the boss and fight them.)

I know that just saying "don't so this" is not super helpful. First of all, sometimes something is so clear in your head that you don't even know that your reader isn't following you. The main solution to that is a beta reader. A second set of eyes can easily point out these moments. You can also draw stick figures (it's fun!). For each sentence, draw where they would be and make sure the change between them makes sense.

Sometimes, you might have something very complicated in mind. But if you cant describe it clearly, it's not worth it and it might be worth scaling back. Killing your darlings happens.

Sometimes, the fight will be a huge mess and our hero will be flailing around, not knowing what's going on or which way is up or when it's going to be over. But in that case, you can just say that. Be clear about it. And then tell us what your POV character does know. If they're overwhelmed, tell us what they feel. Adding in emotion can actually be clarifying in explaining to the reader why the character acts the way they do.

Which brings us to

Emotion. It's important for a lot of reasons. First of all, if you leave out the emotion completely and have it be straight action the whole time, then your hero looks as if it's no big thing. This battle is simple and they are a killing machine. Maybe that's what you want. But if there's no tension for your character, there won't be any tension in your reader. If you say that this scene is no sweat, I (the reader) will not be sweating. But if your character is struggling, if they're fearing, if they're exhausted or hurt, I'm going to worry for them and you automatically have tension.

Second of all, I tend to write more character driven things, and what's the point of the fight scene if it doesn't have some effect on the character or show something about them? What purpose does it serve in the story? Maybe it's just to be cool, and that's okay, but don't expect more from it if that's the case.

The other cool thing about including emotion is that if you have a paragraph in the middle of a fight scene where the character is thinking about how hard the fight is or worrying about protecting someone or excited to finally be using a sword again after a long hiatus, then your reader will assume that time is passing while they're thinking, and then when you pull out of that paragraph and back int the action, your character can be in a new place, fighting a new monster. It's one way to avoid that jarring lack of transition that we talked about earlier.

So returning regularly to your POV character in a fight scene is a good idea. I tend to do one pass where I just write the choreography (unless some big, climactic emotional moment is the whole point of the scene/story, in which case I'll write that first), then I'll do a second pass inserting some interiority.

Flow deals with how the scene reads. You want it to read fast (action packed!) because your character will be thinking fast and things will be moving fast and you want your reader's heart to be beating fast.

You can achieve a lot of this on a micro level with just word and punctuation choices. 1. Commas: a comma is a way to show a pause for breath, so in some cases, misusing commas and using a run-on sentences is your friend. Lists are also your friend, because you can have this happening and that happening and something else over there and they felt dizzy and tired and yet the list goes on.

2. Longer sentences tend to pul you forward through the sentence whereas short, choppy sentences have a lot of periods, which are hard pauses.

3. To Be Verbs slow you down. A "to be" verb is any conjugation of "to be": was, is, were, are, be, am. You might have heard this in high school English class and rolled your eyes, and I have strong feelings about how this is not a hard and fast rule that should be used in all situations. However, to be verbs DO slow you down, and that's not what you want here. So let's use a test sentence like, "He was running towards the moblin." The thing about this is that "run" isn't the verb. "Was" is the verb. What was he doing? He was existing. Which is more exciting: existing or running? Change this to "He ran towards the moblin," and already that reads faster.

4. Over-specificity will slow you down too. There are so many fight scenes out there where I think they're trying not to fall into the trap discussed earlier of being unclear, so they go hard in the other direction and over-specify. If you want to tell me at the very start that our hero has a sword in his left hand and a dagger in his right, go for it, but I don't want to hear about what anyone's left hand and right hand are doing during the actual fight. (Unless handedness is a theme or something in your story?) I don't need to know how many degrees they turned to block a blow. I don't need to know too many adjectives, because each of your adjectives should be hitting me in the face.

There's a lot more I could say about flow. I do a lot of work with numbers of syllables and length of syllables, which means that certain words won't fit in the sentence I'm working on. I do a lot with timing the big moments and arranging the white space around paragraphs so that the reader has a pause to go "oh shit!" when I want them to go "oh shit!" I do a lot of onomatopoeia (sound effects) as shorthand for movement. "ClashClashClash. Boom!" But I feel like getting into all that will be a bit too much and it's kind of more of a feeling than a science, so I'll stop here.

Good luck!

#follower day #craft essay

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passable-talent · 4 years

Note

Request for a Zuko blowjob.... Our fire prince receiving? However you wanna do it 💜😝 I'm just thirsty af

y’all are gonna get me horny. all characters are of age.

happy 1000 follower special, sorry it took a while, hope it was worth it.

Fire Lord Zuko needed a break- you could tell.

It was one of the things that he liked about you, that you could just sense it, when there was too much energy or stress in his muscles. It was like an innate superpower of yours, or maybe you just spent a little too much time paying attention to him and so you learned his body language.

You were a servant at the palace, high in the ranks through sheer hard work. You had been born with no status in your blood, and so you kept your head down and proved your worth, your talent, your skill. You’d been brought to the palace of the Fire Lord when you were ten to study under some of the more important servants there, those entrusted to keep state secrets while passing them between generals and sometimes even the Fire Lord himself.

You’d crushed on Prince Zuko from afar. You’d witnessed his banishment. You waited for him to return, knowing, hoping, that he’d be the one of royal blood to fix the monstrosities hiding behind these walls.

And when he came back, eight years after you’d first come to the palace, he was pretty much everything you’d hoped he would become.

The thing about being a high ranking servant is that you can sometimes subvert the delegated work patterns. For instance, on days like this, you often used the evenings that you weren’t required to work to snatch the Fire Lord’s dinner from the servant who was supposed to bring it to him, and took it to him yourself.

Genius, isn’t it?

“My Lord,” you said, head bowed respectfully at the doorway of the Fire Lord’s study. He often spent his evenings here, catching up on the schooling he’d missed, spending three years at sea. Even now he looked stressed, his shoulders tight as he leaned over the dark wooden desk. He looked up to see you, and the slightest bit of relaxation let his arms lower, but there was still work to do.

“Come in, Y/N.” You stepped into the room, placing his dinner before him on an empty portion of the desk. Every staff member who worked with him personally, he knew by name, but his knowledge of you went a bit deeper.

You turned, putting your back to the Fire Lord just briefly to slowly close the door. It made a soft noise, soft enough that it wouldn’t draw attention, nor did it shatter the atmosphere of the room.

“You have a lot on your mind, Fire Lord Zuko,” you said, leaning back against the door with a bit of a smile on your face as you looked at him. He ate lightly, delivering the chicken filled dumplings to his lips even as he continued reading the parchment strewn about in front of him. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his mouth- he had nearly colorless lips, which would make one think that his lips were thin. But you knew better.

You stood against the door, patiently, as he finished his meal, though his focus was on his paperwork until the very last morsel. Once he had, you pushed off from the wall with your shoulder blade and approached his desk.

You could be much bolder, now that this was an established pattern. You knew your forwardness was accepted, even appreciated.

When you reached the desk, you let your hips press against it, leaning over. Your left hand boxed in the dishes his meal had left behind, and with a tilt of your head you pressed a finger to his papers, though not the one he was currently scribbling on. You moved it around, slowly, catching his attention, bringing his gaze up to your sly smile.

“I really don’t have the time,” he said, and his voice was quiet enough that you could tell he regretted turning you away.

“I was merely collecting your dishes,” you answered cheekily, lifting up the tray you had set down and walking back to the door. When it was halfway open, he called out.

“Wait,” he said, and paused to lower his volume. “You’re going?”

“I thought you said you didn’t have any time?” You asked, coyly, and reveled for a moment’s pause in the red that rose on his cheeks. “Don’t worry, your majesty, I’m coming right back. After all, I’ve heard that something very important needs to be discussed with you.”

He recognized the meaning of the words. It was your own personal code, a phrase that you often used when trying to hide your true intention.

You knew better than to sprint. It would draw attention, and leave you out of breath. But you wanted so desperately to hurry, to return, and so you took every shortcut you could manage, tightly rounded every corner.

When you returned, you found him once again engrossed in his papers, but with your arrival he brightened and his focus shifted to you. He stood, grace aiding his movements, but you recognized the rush that normally accompanied this kind of meeting. You closed the door, and practically dove around his desk to slot your lips with his.

You wanted to pull and tug at his hair, but you knew better. So you let your fingertips play in those strands that hung loose from his topknot and let the rest of your hands frame his face, holding his jawline. His hands, too, started at your face, but as the insistence of the kiss built he let them wander down, to where he tucked them into the curve of your lower back, pulling you closer to him. With a quick smirk you pressed into his mouth, you used the opportunity to roll your hips into his.

He didn’t quite... moan. But he broke his mouth from yours and looked down, pressing his forehead against yours briefly while seeming to catch his breath.

You smirked.

“Yeah, you need this,” you said, voice low but all the same confident as you shoved his shoulders back, moving him out of your space. You took stock of his robes, recognizing the royal outfit and how to properly dismantle it. Though you were nearly an expert in fire nation royal clothing by now, it didn’t stop you from only taking it all halfway off.

Why do the whole job when half is enough?

His hipbones were close to the surface of his skin, though his muscular physique would prevent from calling them ‘defined’. Nonetheless, you took hold of them and spun him, pressing him back against his desk. This gave him something to lean against- which he needed, as you sunk to your knees.

It was a slow, purposeful movement, your descent to the floor, your eyes not breaking his for an instant the whole way down. One hand held onto the desk to keep your movement smooth but the other left it’s trail from his hipbone, down over his thigh, even as it intersected with drooping fabric.

His eyes were almost wide as he watched you, but his heartbeat was steady- he trusted you. He knew you well, and you him.

“Okay?” You breathed, a straightening of your back bringing you closer to where he wanted you, where you wanted to be.

“Yes,” he breathed, and finally you broke your attention from his eyes and focused it wholly on his dick. He was half hard already, something you would work with. You had a tendency to tease, to string him out, make him wait. There was almost a philosophy behind it- the more worked up he got, the more stress the subsequent relief would wash away. And so you never went right into the main event, instead choosing to spend plenty of time in the preliminaries.

First, you decided to break the perfect, pale skin. You dug your fingernails into his hipbones and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his v-line, the flesh there soft and hydrated, but just underneath was firm as iron. His fingers curled around the edge of the desk, keeping his hands out of your way and anchored, as though keeping him grounded in the moment here and now. You sucked, insistent, for a few seconds, leaving the beginnings of a mark before moving on. Really what you wanted to pay attention to was a little higher, at the base of his abs, and you caught just a bit of skin between your front teeth and tugged forward, letting it release on its own with a quick exhale from Zuko, and you could hear in the raspiness from deep in his chest that he was getting quite worked up. Satisfied with the small teeth marks you’d left, you moved on.

A snaking hand of yours slid up his thigh and back to his hip bone, the skin so smooth and soft, and you watched as his member jumped in reaction to a hand coming so close. You smirked, and a brief glance up to his face confirmed what you already suspected- his eyes were closed, emotions such as pleasure, temptation, frustration, and resistance flitting through the expressions he made. It made heat pool between your hips- but this wasn’t about you.

You decided to give him some relief, and one hand wrapped around his member slowly, fingers curling one by one, the delicacy of such a movement ubsurd for the situation. He let out the air in his lungs in the form of a moan, breathy and subtle, but music to your ears all the same. You began sliding, back and forth, grip strong but not tight, leaving him in the perfect limbo between pleasure and frustration. His abs stretched further as he leaned back, hands leaving the edge of the desk to brace his shoulders with his palms flat on the surface of the wood.

You felt little twitches in his hips, like he wanted to pick up the pace, and with a devious smile you loosened your grip.

Immediately his gaze connected with yours.

“What?” He asked, and you smiled.

“Taking a small break, you don’t mind?” The teasing lightness of your voice made him all the more frustrated, because he knew you weren’t being serious, as he was rock hard against his own abs.

“A break? Y/N, please.” And though that was the word you wanted to hear, the statement-like delivery of it made you want more, and you stood up, your closer hip pressing against the desk and leaning over him, taking his member back into your hand with slow, languid strokes.

“My lord,” you said, voice low, seductive, smooth, “you’re at my mercy, tonight, aren’t you?” His gaze searched yours, golden eyes looking up at you with an expression as though he were trying to read your mind behind your eyes. Finally, he broke eye contact, and looked down at your mouth.

“Yes,” he whispered, and it brought a smile to your lips.

“Then you need only ask,” you said, picking up speed with your strokes to bring panting into his breathing and moans into his words.

“Please,” he moaned out, and you sunk back to your knees again, your hand stilling at his base while you looked up at him, and smiled.

“Yes, my lord,” you said, and slipped your mouth over his member. You didn’t take it all the way, not at first, merely brought it to your tongue and began wetting it with saliva, giving the head a bit of suction from where it sat just behind your lips. His moan, at that moment, was louder than any other from the night, and if it wouldn’t have ruined your technique, you would’ve smiled.

With every bob of your head you took in more of his member, readjusting the position of your tongue. At first it became a barrier in the back of your mouth, but you fought your impulse and slid it along his undervein, making his back arch even further. His thighs flexed and tightened under your fingers, telling you along with his nearly constant thread of moans how much he was enjoying your treatment. You twisted your neck upon the final pull up and the opposite way on the sink back down, increasing the friction that he experienced. You still didn’t quite reach his base- he was just a bit too big for that.

“Y/N,” he breathed out, and a smile tried to pull at your lips, even though you were otherwise occupied. His moans were almost constant, broken through by your name. Finally his hand left the desk and buried into your hair, gripping tightly but not painfully. He began tugging, but instead of pulling you closer, as you would’ve expected, he was pushing you away.

“Y/N, I’m gonna-“ You realized the point of his motions and fought them, the stinging of your scalp nearly pleasurable as you battled to stay close to him, sinking your lips over as much of him as you could access.

“Y/N-“ he began, attempting to warn you again, but you once again pressed close and recieved it as he came, in the back of your mouth. You took it, as usual, and swallowed before it could hit your tongue. Slowly you pulled off and waited until he cooled down before standing. He had let his head droop back, hanging limply off his shoulders, chest rising and falling with labored, intense breaths. He didn’t re-emerge into reality for a good many more seconds, and when he did, his shoulders were noticeably looser than they had been in the afternoon.

“Sleep well, your majesty,” you said, and it was more an order than a well wish. You pressed a kiss to his temple as he panted, and you left him alone to deal with cleaning up the mess.

-🦌 Roe

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haikyunicorn · 4 years

Text

kuroo with s/o who’s being followed

anon asked: “Good morning/evening!! Can I request a scenario with Oikawa and Kuroo (separately) where they aren’t with their fem!s/o but she calls them for help because she’s walking home alone late at night? Like maybe it’s a little angsty at first because it’s a little scary or they didn’t answer her call at first, and they’re far away from her but they wanna run out to protect/take care of her ? Kinda angsty but maybe it can end in fluff if you want, :) Please and thank you so much! Have a great day”

pairing(s): kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre: angst-ish, comfort, fluffy ending

warning(s): mentions of being followed

word count: 1.47k

[oikawa’s version]

Kuroo is an independent lover. Independent meaning he doesn’t feel the need to constantly be around you 24/7. He likes having his own ‘me time’ sometimes and doesn’t mind you doing the same. After all, he trusts you with his whole heart. (Though, that doesn’t mean he isn’t a clingy boy asking for hugs whenever you’re with him.)

Today was no different than the usual. It was a Tuesday, meaning the Nekoma volleyball club’s practice would run longer than normal and end after the sun had set. You poked your head into the gym after your last class, looking left and right for the roosterhead captain.

“Looking for someone?”

A sly voice coming from behind you startled you, making you gasp and turn around only to come face to face with Kuroo, a cheeky smirk plastered on his face.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I was gonna kiss my boyfriend goodbye before I leave, but seems like he’s not here today,” you teased, pretending to step around him and walk away.

“Aww, kitten, don’t be like that,” Kuroo cooed as he gently grabbed your arm and pulled you into a hug from behind.

You laughed lightly, wiggling out of his grasp to face him again. “Good luck in practice today,” you said, beaming up at him.

Kuroo felt his heart swell in his chest. “Thanks, babe,” he replied, mirroring your smile, “you going home right away today?”

“No, I’m meeting up with some friends to check out a new cafe,” you said.

“Ah, I see. Have fun, kitten.” Kuroo brought a hand to your head, messing up your hair and amusing himself as he watched you try to swat his hand away. “By the way,” he added, leaning closer to you, “where’s my kiss?”

For a second, you considered withholding his kisses to tease him some more, but you thought you had been stopping him from practice long enough when you heard the whistle from inside the gym. So you indulged him, leaving a short but sweet peck on his lips that was enough to make your breath hitch.

Kuroo, satisfied, was full on grinning now. “Thank you! I feel much more refreshed,” he exclaimed. He readjusted his bag on his shoulder as he started to walk towards the gym. “I’ll text you after practice, okay?”

You nodded and waved to him, watching as he disappeared behind the doors, before you started your own walk towards the cafe.

Your hang out with your friends lasted much longer than planned, with all of you losing track of time, and by the time you paid and stepped out of the cafe, the sun was almost completely set and the streetlamps became the main source of light. You bid your friends goodbye as they walked off to one way, leaving you to walk home alone as your house was in the opposite direction. You looked down at your phone to check the time, noting that Kuroo’s practice would be over in a few minutes.

Pocketing your phone, you made your way back home. You’ve rarely had to walk home alone after dark ever since you started dating Kuroo. Being the gentleman he was, he would always insist on walking you home whenever he could, especially after the late night dates you two shared, and this would be the first time in a while that you had to walk home without his company. Though, you currently weren’t too worried; you weren’t in an unfamiliar neighbourhood and there were still some people going about around you as well.

You were halfway home when you felt something wrong. You weren’t sure what it was, just a gut feeling, but it was making you uncomfortable. Nevertheless, you braved yourself to turn around and scan your surroundings.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. There were less people in the area now, but that was understandable. However, as you continued on your way, you were unable to shake away the strange sensation.

You decided to pull out your phone, checking for any messages from Kuroo to help ease your mind. To your delight, a notification from said person was already waiting, prompting you to reply back immediately and distracting yourself from your previous thoughts.

Tetsu😻: hey babe, just finished practice. R u home yet?

Y/N: nope, still on my way back

Tetsu😻: aww, it’s getting late, be careful :(

Tetsu😻: do u need me to come get you?

Y/N: no, it’s ok!

Y/N: i’m almost home anyway

Tetsu😻: alright then

Tetsu😻: i’m gonna go back to cleaning up the gym now, call if you need anything, ok?

Y/N: 🥺 the way i’d do anything for you

Y/N: will do! <3

Kuroo could feel his muscles beginning to ache as he cleared up the gym with the rest of the team. He paid it little mind, choosing to converse with Kenma and Yaku about their upcoming practice matches while the rest of the team -yell- talk amongst themselves. He was just about to reply to Kenma when his ringtone rang through the gym. Seeing as they were almost done cleaning up, he excused himself and walked to the benches where his phone was, the sight of your contact making him swipe the screen to answer the call.

“Hey-”

“Tetsu, are you still at the gym?”

Stunned by your urgent interruption, he blinked in confusion. “Yeah, we’re just about done here. Why, is everything okay?”

Your shaky breaths over the phone made him frown in concern, waiting for your answer.

“No, I think someone’s following me.”

Your hushed answer drove a chill up Kuroo’s spine and made his heart drop.

“Following you? Where are you?” he asked, almost demanded.

“I’m almost at the intersection near the school, can you come get me?”

Kuroo’s chest tightened at your pleading tone and his mind was immediately made.

“I’m coming, stay on the phone.”

He all but sprinted out of the gym, yelling back to his team to finish cleaning up without him. The intersection you were at wasn’t too far, he could make it in 5 minutes if he kept up his current pace. He just hoped it wasn’t 5 minutes too late.

All Kuroo could focus on at that moment was the slight voices of you he could hear through the phone, telling him you’re waiting at the intersection. He paid no mind to how erratic his breathing was, how rapid his heart was beating, how his muscles burned as he forced himself to keep running. He just needed to get to you as fast as possible, because the thought of any harm coming your way when he could’ve done something - anything - to prevent it scared him out of his mind.

Not long after, Kuroo could see where the street forked off into a 4-way junction, the streetlights illuminating it. For a second, he felt the panic increase when he couldn’t see anyone there. Nonetheless, he pushed himself forward.

To his relief, slowly, his eyes could make out an outline of a figure as he neared his destination. A figure he could unmistakably recognise anywhere, briskly walking towards his direction to meet him halfway.

Kuroo could barely contain himself as he barreled straight towards you, arms immediately grasping onto you.

The force of his impact, barely stopping himself, caused the both of you to stumble before regaining your balance. With your head buried in his shirt, you could feel his rapid heartbeat and hear him gasping to catch his breath along with the rise and fall of his chest. Warm and safe in your boyfriend’s arms, you felt yourself gradually calm down and both of your breathing even out.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you could hear Kuroo murmur quietly, sighing into your hair.

You lifted your head to face him, resting your chin on his chest instead. “Thank you for coming.”

Kuroo let out a soft tsk at your words. “I’ll always come for you, kitten. Anytime you need, I’ll be there. Also, you’re never walking home alone again in the dark,” he declared, bringing one of his hands to your head and running his fingers through your hair.

You could only smile back in reply, your heart fluttering. The both of you stayed that way for a little while longer before reluctantly letting go of each other, though Kuroo replaced the hug by interlocking your fingers together.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home now,” he said, as upbeat as he could to lighten the mood for you.

As the two of you headed in the direction of your home hand in hand, Kuroo suddenly stopped in his steps. “Uh, we need to go back to the gym for a while,” he said sheepishly.

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Why? Haven’t you locked up the gym?”

“I left all my stuff there.”

here it is! finally the part 2 to the previous request :’) tbh idk how i feel about this because i had to pause several times while writing and wonder if this was too cringy in a way SDLKFJ

anyways i hope you enjoy this!

#haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #kuroo tetsuro #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu!! imagines #hq #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu #haikyuu!!

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible.

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims.

Whatever, really.

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies.

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though.

She’s positive about that, at least.

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie.

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect.

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers.

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate.

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why.

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does.

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too.

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really.

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so.

She’s happy for Scarlet, really.

They won the game.

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks.

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier.

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse.

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times.

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers.

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five.

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold.

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day.

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face.

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go.

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously.

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person.

And yet.

He sticks his hand out.

It’s disarmingly earnest.

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date.

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind.

She takes his hand.

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later.

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work.

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably.

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason.

When the Yankees make the postseason.

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face.

Much like the goddamn fireworks.

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault.

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either.

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened.

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions.

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off.

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them.

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand.

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information.

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that.

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter.

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart.

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least.

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs.

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted. An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open.

They both jump.

So, that’s something.

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume.

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there.

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works.

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of.

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being.

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her.

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be.

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby.

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected.

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed.

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead.

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together.

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first.

She does her very best to memorize the movement.

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable.

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself.

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division.

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate.

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him.

Emma included. Emma, especially.

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins.

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then.

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now.

Got drafted, technically.

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back.

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #do not ask me why this is so full of ferngully references #i do not have an answer for you #the google doc title for this was: BaseballCuresWritersBlock #thanks baseball

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 32)

Notes: Thanks for being so patient waiting for this latest chapter. As usual it turned out to be a hefty MF so I hope you enjoy reading it :) I think this chapter has got the most locations in it so far: Windhaven, Ironcrest, The Steppes and Velaris!

As usual, let me know what you think. And if you enjoy reading it please do hit the reblog button. Thank you, thank you, thank you <3

And during the wait for Chapter 33 (which I will post on Sunday 28th March / 4 April if all goes to plan), do feel free to drop into my anon box--I love hearing from you guys!

Chapter Thirty-Two Cassian

Despite a day and night of rest following the initial bout of healing at the cottage, the next week tumbled by in a whirlwind of activity. If life were a play, Cassian thought, then everything had previously been in intermission and the Gods had suddenly deigned to continue the show.

After speaking with Maya, Feyre and Rhys had winnowed an exhausted Cassian and Nesta back to Windhaven before leaving immediately for Velaris. By the time Cassian waved them goodbye, Nesta was already lying in the foetal position on her length of the couch, her head nestled into the corner. Silent silver flames danced in the hearth and Cassian only had time to groan before he collapsed onto the branch of cushions directly opposite. His wing had landed with an unceremonious thump onto the coffee table, moulding itself around a stack of books, the tip of his fingers grazing Nesta’s thigh. She did not bat him away. Her eyes were already half-closed, her breathing deep and even.

Cassian heard the gentle reassuring thump of her heart in his ears before everything had turned dark.

It was the click of the backdoor that had woken him the next day, heralding Mas and Roksana’s arrival. Cassian had blinked the sleep from his eyes only to be met with the crown of Nesta’s golden head and the scent of jasmine and vanilla entangled like something vital in his lungs.

Only then did he remember the nightmare that had dragged him from sleep in the dead of night. His eyes had snapped open, his body bound and immovable by the heavy weight of death and the illusion of powdered ash in his mouth. His chest had heaved but he’d managed to whip his head to the side—searching for her—only to find Nesta blinking blearily at him, as if his torment had pulled her out of the clutches of sleep. She hadn’t said a word, had only climbed across the cushions until she was lying at a right-angle to him, her body stretched across the intersection of the couch.

As soon as her head had lain next to his, Cassian had found himself able to move, as if the bindings holding him prisoner had suddenly been cut free. Shuddering, he had wound his hands through her hair and pressed his face to her scalp, breathing her in—the scent of her that told him she was safe and sound. That she was not the crumbling ash that coated his tongue.

Nesta’s hand had come up to clasp at his elbow, a silent comfort that told him she was there, before they had tumbled into the comforting dark together.

He hadn’t dreamt after that.

Biting back a sleepy grin, Cassian watched with amusement as Mas halted abruptly at the left-hand archway to the living room.

“Sorry anak,” she apologised with a mortified, unnecessary flush to her brown cheeks. Her hazel eyes flitted from him to Nesta, no doubt clocking how close their heads were and how Cassian’s fingers and nose were still buried in Nesta’s hair. “I didn’t realise you were still sleeping.”

With the swiftness of a mother prone to scooping up little ones before they got themselves into trouble, Mas grabbed for Roksana as the youngling tried to enter the room, gathering the little girl tightly to her chest. Roksana had made to lurch forward and her wings were still spread wide, ready to aid her attempt to launch across the room—towards Sala who was spread out by the fire.

Slowly, the manticore lifted her head from where it was resting on her huge paws and cocked it to one side. The beast’s sandy ears pricked forward in intrigue, her beautiful almond eyes soft and curious as she soaked in the sight of the little Illyrian buzzing with energy.

“Manticore!” Roksana exclaimed with a delighted clap of her hands. She looked up at Mas with unbridled excitement and then, to Cassian’s surprise, to him.

Cassian had never seen the youngling’s face so unfettered—so childlike. In fact, Cassian had never heard her speak. He knew she spoke the odd word to Mas and Nesta, but with him present, the youngling usually remained mute.

An ache rippled over Cassian’s wings as he folded them in and sat upright. Biting back the grimace that wanted to fight its way onto his expression, he shot Roksana his best smile and told her, “The manticore’s name is Sala.”

“Sala,” Roksana repeated quietly, turning her head to peek up at Mas with wide hazel eyes. The housekeeper grinned at the gesture and dropped a loving kiss to the wind-snarled mass of the youngling’s hair.

Nesta, who had been as immovable as a rock, finally stirred, no doubt dragged from the blanket of sleep by the sound of voices and the loss of Cassian’s hand in her hair.

Those steel blue eyes immediately sought his and everything in Cassian tightened as he found them to be clear and trauma-free—as wide and open as the moments after he had kissed her. After he had made her shatter on his tongue.

“Hello,” Nesta croaked. Then, she spied Roksana and Mas, and the sleepy smile that graced her face had all of his desire dissipating. His heart softened as Nesta propped herself up onto a forearm and said, “Hello.”

“You can go to Nesta only,” Mas told Roksana sternly as the youngling scampered across the room, scrambling up onto the sofa so she could wrap her arms around Nesta’s waist.

“She wants to pet the manticore,” Mas told Nesta with a faint, amused smile as Roksana whispered the word twice more to Nesta with a point of a stubby finger towards the fireplace. “Your manticore,” the housekeeper corrected with a toothy grin, even as Mas glanced nervously at the beast who had jumped to her feet, eager to greet Cassian as he rose from the cushions.

Cassian stretched with a groan that evolved into a wide yawn. His limbs were stiff from sleeping for so long. He needed to fly—to exercise and warm up his muscles. He needed to bathe. Gods, how long had they been sleeping? Eighteen hours? More? He usually only slept that length of time after battle.

“Devlon and the other instructors trained you this morning?” Cassian checked with Mas.

The housekeeper nodded. “More balance and footwork,” she told him. “Then applying that to self-defence.”

Cassian’s nod indicated that he was satisfied. “Take the salve from the bathroom cupboard on your way out today,” he instructed. One quick sweeping assessment of the Illyrian had told Cassian that she was sore. “It looks like you could do with it.”

A muzzle was thrust into Cassian’s hand and he looked down to find Sala staring up at him beseechingly. She let out an indignant whine as if to punctuate that she didn’t appreciate being ignored and Cassian snickered, before he bent down to scratch behind the beast’s ears.

When the manticore began to purr loudly, Roksana clapped her hands in delight.

“She’s very friendly,” Nesta told Roksana with a smile. She smoothed back the girl’s wild hair and kissed Roksana’s chubby cheek. Nesta’s hair was mussed, golden strands falling from her coronet which was now loose, no doubt from where his hands had been in it all night.

Cassian wasn’t sure she could look more beautiful. An intense urge overtook him and he almost felt the tug at his ribcage as he imagined striding across the room and slanting his mouth on hers.

Gods, he needed to taste her again more than anything.

Ignoring the sharp, knowing glance Mas threw his way, Cassian created some distance. Doing his best to appear casual, he leant against the right-hand archway that led to the kitchen and took the time to wrangle back some semblance of control.

But then he had watched Nesta introduce Roksana to Sala and everything tightened in a completely different way. His throat bobbed at the look of wonder on the youngling’s face as she stroked Sala’s fur and Cassian knew the sight was something he would cherish forever.

With a fervour that surprised even him, Cassian wished Feyre was with them. Because he knew what he wanted for next Solstice—a painting of this. Of Roksana before Sala, Nesta cradling the youngling’s body from behind, her chin tucked atop the girl’s dark tangle of hair, a secret smile on her face. Just the thought of Feyre brushing the moment onto canvas had sent shivers down his spine—and in that moment Cassian had understood just how irrevocably entangled he was with the female before him. How completely and utterly besotted he was in a way he had never thought possible with anyone.

Later, Roksana had buried her face into Sala’s neck, her small hands clutching at the manticore’s ears and whispered Sala’s name. And when Nesta had laughed, the sound had only confirmed to Cassian what he already knew: that he had never been so content. That he would live with the pain of being so near to Nesta and not being able to have her if it meant he could witness her smile freely. If he could hear her laugh without trying to stifle it as if it were a fire to be put out.

Over the following week, training the females, overseeing the military units and ferrying between Windhaven and the cottage preoccupied Cassian’s every breath. Nesta was just as busy, and she spent any free time she had in the widows camp or running errands with Mas. She had even flown to the travelling market with Mas, which had set itself up for a few days in the Paya valley, selling all means of goods, from spices and fresh produce to jewellery, weapons and swaths and swaths of fabric.

When he did not winnow to the bungalow to deliver them in person, Rhys spoke frequently into Cassian’s mind to deliver updates. Azriel bled in and out of shadows scouting for Kallon and utilising his most-trusted Illyrian contacts to feedback information of the ongoings in Ironcrest’s camp—the former attempts of which had been futile. And all the while they waited with bated breath as news continued to reach them that Marsh had still not left his bed.

It was only a matter of time until Kallon had the right to the title of Prince of Ironcrest. They all knew it. The question would be whether he’d come back to claim his title. And if he did, how the princeling would wield his new found power to rally his cause and drum up the discontent even further.

Given their demands and duties, Cassian and Nesta did not often find themselves alone, something which Cassian found to be both torture and a blessing. Even during their flights to the cottage they flew separately—Cassian on his own wings and Nesta atop Sala—and Nesta had even taken to bringing Roksana with her once the majority of the girls had recovered enough to be taken to Velaris by Mor. The little Illyrian had been delighted to discover Caer whom she adored even more than Sala, most likely due to his endless patience whenever Roksana clambered onto his back. Caer would pad around the grounds outside the cottage, carting Roksana about as she tried to balance herself with outstretched wings. Whenever she toppled off—which was frequently—the manticore would nuzzle at Roksana’s stomach with a teasing growl, which never failed to elicit squeals of giggles that cracked even Frawley’s hard exterior.

Lorrian, who had taken a shine to Roksana well before her visits, had used the youngling’s attendance around the cottage as an opportunity to give her some much-needed flying lessons. Cassian had watched with amusement, leaning against the paddock railings with Nesta and Frawley by his side as Roksana zoomed around the paddock with such speed even Lorrian had stumbled to catch up with her. Cassian had even spied a few of the girls peeking curiously from around the barn doors, no doubt drawn by Frawley and Nesta’s amused outburst of laughter. In the end, even Maya and Samra had come outside to watch.

After the lesson, Frawley had awarded Roksana with a huge mug of hot chocolate, before depositing the youngling swiftly into the tub for a much-needed bath.

In the rare moments that Cassian and Nesta were alone, Cassian found things… difficult, and it was through no fault of Nesta’s. After all, it was Cassian who had given Nesta the choice of deciding what their activities between the sheets had meant. Yet, Cassian could not help the bitter disappointment that wound through him when Nesta did not seek him out again at night—neither for company or for something more heated.

The problem was that Cassian had not truly known the gravity of what he would be dealing with in the aftermath. Knowing what Nesta now tasted like—the scent of which had faded but not disappeared from his tongue—tested a new reserve of Cassian’s strength, and Cassian found himself flitting between an almost terrifying, composed calm to a fervent, primal yearning that had him shaking with the need to touch her… to consume her… to please her in every way possible that went beyond carnal lust.

Oddly, it was the small things that set him off: when she stood too close or when those smoky grey eyes searched for him over anyone else. The worst was when she allowed a small smile to grace her beautiful face or when she taunted him, each teasing jab or jest enough to tell him that she was no longer wading through the muddy waters of trauma. That she was happier—more content.

Sometimes Nesta would touch him without him prompting her to, her fingers snagging on his arm or her body brushing against his as she moved to make tea at the kitchen counter. And those light touches… they burned, as if Cassian was nothing but an animal and Nesta was on heat. His body itched and trembled and begged for her, and Cassian had taken to pleasuring himself at night and first thing in the morning, recreating the sounds of her moans in his head and the grasp of her fingers in his hair. The way she had finally said his name and the weight of her breasts cupped in his palms. The way her body had arched and moulded to his as she had begged for release.

And finally, the way she had reached for him. Those fingers as they had dipped just below the waistband of his pants…

Fantasy and memory became friend and foe. And Cassian pleasured himself in the shower. After training. In the middle of the night. And even then, Cassian was only sated for the briefest of moments until that need crashed down over him again and he had to think of any grotesque image that would cool his blood: Devlon. Marsh. Kallon.

As a consequence, Cassian found himself keeping his distance whenever it became too much. It hurt to do it, as if something was tearing inside of him, and he knew Nesta had clocked it. But she didn’t bring it up and nor did she broach what had happened between the bedsheets. She did not shut him out. Did not poison him with words or derisive looks, even when, for the most part, Cassian thought his actions called for it.

And all the while her scent lingered like the sweetest perfume. It was worse when they were together. Then, it grew stronger. It filled his nostrils, his mouth, the taste of her heady and wonderful and almost sinful in its reminder that Cassian had experienced his one chance with her: one kiss, one touch, one taste.

That was another reason why Cassian was keeping his distance. What was it Nesta had said when he’d told her that the others might scent what they had done? It’s a complete invasion of privacy. So, when the others had arrived, Cassian had created space between them whenever he could. Had watched the way Nesta’s eyes had become more hollow whenever he ensured he was stationed at the opposite side of the room. He hadn’t had the time to communicate to her that his distance was to try and respect her wish for privacy—to prevent the others knowing what they had done—and he had been forced to watch her tumble into the dark depths of her trauma without a hand to haul her out.

Until he’d had to act as a tether, anyway.

Despite his efforts, Cassian suspected that all of his friends had sensed a shift. Mor’s gift was truth, after all, and Azriel and Rhys knew him better than anyone. His brothers had always reprimanded him for wearing his heart on his sleeve to the detriment of no-one but himself, but Cassian couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help a lot of things when it came to Nesta, and he didn’t trust himself not to let that carefully formed leash slip and ruin everything he’d promised her.

He’d already failed once; If you summon your healing magic, I’ll taste you again.

Mother Above. Cassian had even had to resort to training Nesta with Lorrian at the cottage—an unacknowledged chaperone—using the excuse that Nesta needed to not only practice with the bow, but spar with other opponents so she could experience different fighting techniques. And whilst that was true, it was also because training was sacred to Cassian. It taught people to survive and endure and he would not taint the opportunity by tackling Nesta to the ground and slanting his mouth on hers.

Not to mention that she probably didn’t want him to do that, anyway.

“Struggling?” Lorrian taunted at Cassian one evening after dinner.

The two of them had stepped back out into the paddock in order to exhaust some excess energy. They had left Nesta in the cottage living room with Frawley, Maya and Samra. Roksana, who had been running around all day with the manticores, had passed out in front of the hearth, curled up between the two beasts, one of her little wings curved around Caer’s head.

Maya’s eldest daughter Ailie remained upstairs. In fact, she rarely came out of the room she shared with her mother and sister, still too traumatised to face even those inside of the cottage. When she did emerge, she’d sit in front of the armchair by the fire and stare at the flames, as if she were hoping she were one of them and she could escape up the chimney and out into the freedom of the open sky.

But Samra—the youngest of Maya’s girls—was slowly and shyly come out of her shell, although she stuck to her mother like glue, clearly terrified that she might disappear.

“Struggling with what?” Cassian drawled to his friend, as he tapped his siphons to rid himself of his armour. It disappeared scale-by-scale, revealing a short-sleeved tunic layered over a long-sleeved one. Both were fastened at the waist by a lightweight rope of leather, which Cassian tossed to the side before shucking off the short-sleeved top.

Usually Cassian favoured fighting in skin, but Illyria in the depths of winter tested even his fierce warrior blood.

Snorting, Lorrian flared his own siphons and a gleaming emerald arm appeared in a wave of light. “You’ll feel better once you have beaten the shit out of me.”

Cassian raised a scar-slashed eyebrow. “That’s defeatist of you.”

Lorrian rolled his magical arm as he adjusted to the additional weight. “You have intermittent aggression and arousal seeping from your pores. I’m surprised Nesta hasn’t detected it.”

With a dismissive wave of a hand, Cassian replied, “I’m not that bad.”

The way Lorrian grunted told Cassian that he didn’t agree, but to Cassian’s relief, the no further comment came.

Cassian did not need his friend to point out that in the past week the two of them had sparred more frequently than they usually did in months.

“I’m acclimatising,” Cassian said shortly as they began to circle one another, their fists held up to their faces.

For a few turns, there was only the sound of their feet on the wet, spongy earth beneath the soles of their boots. Cassian’s eyes did not stray from Lorrian’s face, allowing his peripheral vision to drink in his friend’s every movement.

It was true that Cassian had more weight behind him than the colonel, but like he was in the skies, Lorrian could be as quick as hell in the training ring. Cassian had learnt long ago that sparring with Lorrian wasn’t about throwing the fiercest punch, but being alert enough to recognise when the bastard was going to duck and strike a fierce upper cut to the gut.

“You’ll stay in Velaris for a few days?” Lorrian asked, after their third round of circling.

Cassian flashed his friend a grin as if to tell him he knew what he was doing. It turned out to be more of a grimace. “You know that I am. Quit trying to distract me.”

“And Nesta’s going with you?”

“You know she is.”

“My point,” Lorrian continued with a slight pant, “is that you better master your shit before you get there. I imagine tensions will be high enough without a snarling general in the mix.”

“Things have been mending. She’s doing well.”

“Incredible,” Lorrian corrected, his eyes flitting to Cassian’s solar plexus in a way that betrayed his desired move. “I’ve never met anyone more resilient. Frawley holds her in high regard and we know that doesn’t happen often.”

In the corner of Cassian’s eye, something moved at the far left-hand side of the paddock, but then Lorrian’s right elbow dropped and Cassian had the opening he had been waiting for. He lunged, his fist flying for Lorrian’s jaw and the colonel barely had time to slam his left arm up to deflect the blow.

But Cassian did not give Lorrian time to recover. He was already moving, his left fist cutting upwards to land a sharp jab to his friend’s ribs. Lorrian tried for a shot to the face but Cassian’s right arm was already deflecting and counter-jabbing before the colonel had time to so much as think about doing anything else but blocking.

Breath sawed out of them and Cassian knew that to any onlooker they were barely more than a blur of grunting flesh and lethal wings.

It was only a lightning fast parry from Lorrian as he jumped back on agile feet, that spared him from being thrown to the forest floor.

It struck up a distance between them again, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of wings as they flared outwards and tucked in tight.

And then they began again. Circling one another and panted for air, before one of them created an opening and then there was nothing but punches and blocks and counterattacks, of footwork and grunts and wings thrown out for balance. Cassian felt himself slip into that calm—the mantra that felt like a dance to him—until he landed a precise counter-head blow as Lorrian stepped in for a hook to the ribs.

Lorrian’s knees hit the floor with a thud and Cassian stepped back, breathing hard, giving his friend space to recover. Turning, he used his wrist to wiped the blood away from his lip, only to find Maya watching him with wide-eyes, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.

He lifted a hand in greeting and she offered him a small smile in return, before she turned on the spot and disappeared back inside the house.

“That was better going than last time,” Cassian told Lorrian. He extended his hand to help his friend up from the ground but Lorrian only waved him proudly away. “But you’re still dropping your left arm and leaving your face open. Once that falls apart so does all of the rest.”

Shaking his head in irritation, Lorrian spat blood onto the damp earth. Neither of them had been going at full pelt, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t roughed one another up a little. Cassian’s ribs were already bleating from the impact of Lorrian’s fists and he knew he was already sporting a bruise on his right cheekbone. “I spent all this time mourning the loss of a limb, but when I magic it back for hand-to-hand combat it feels wrong.” Grimacing, the colonel rolled his arm in its socket. “It’s like learning all over again and the worst damn thing is that even when I magic it away at the end of the session, my brain still creates a phantom soreness where my limb should be.”

Chuckling, Cassian clapped his friend on the back. The sparring hadn’t only been a method of burning off energy for Cassian. Now Lorrian had taken up the position of colonel, Lorrian had asked Cassian to train with him more regularly. Whilst Lorrian’s magic could bring his limb back into temporary existence, Lorrian’s muscle memory had depleted over the years. Training with Cassian provided his friend with the opportunity for his brain to reconnect with his lost limb for those times when he needed it the most. “You’re Illyrian, Lor. You can deal with some pulled muscles.”

Another grunt. “It would be easier on my body if you didn’t fight like a damn God.”

Cassian flashed his teeth. “I can’t help that I was destined to lead on the battlefields.”

“And so modest, too,” Lorrian grumbled. Then, he sobered. “Nesta seems a little better.”

Cassian had not spoken to anyone about Nesta’s trauma, but it was there so plainly for anyone to see that he did not jump to deny it. And… pride wound through him at how well she was doing. At how she hadn’t shut him out. “Yes. I hope—“ he blew out a long breath, suddenly unable to stifle the worry that took hold of his brow. “I hope Velaris doesn’t make it worse.”

“You think it will do that?”

“As you guessed, there are a lot of unresolved tensions and conflicts,” Cassian admitted. Not to mention that Nesta herself had once begged him not to send her back to Velaris. Cassian did not know why she’d had a change of heart. He knew she wanted to visit the girls and help them to settle, but she’d asked to come back with him before that. “Nesta wasn’t happy in Velaris,” he finished simply.

“Does she know it’s your birthday on Hogmanay?”

“No,” Cassian said shortly. He shot his friend a sharp look. “Don’t tell her.”

Cocking an eyebrow in confusion, Lorrian asked quizzically, “Why?”

“Because Nesta has enough to worry about. If she thinks there will be a party that she has to attend with my family where she has to pretend that she’s happy, then she will bolt.”

Lorrian frowned. “She won’t bolt from you, Cass.”

But Cassian was not so sure. Lorrian did not know the Nesta in Velaris; the sharp, angry female who had been so terrifyingly sick.

“What you have seen is not Nesta at her most traumatised,” Cassian told Lorrian in a long breath. “When she came here…” He trailed off, his throat bobbing. “Things were very bad. Velaris was toxic for her. The War was hard on her—more so than any of us.”

Kallon had highlighted some of Nesta’s habits during their trip to Ironcrest and Cassian had no desire to voice them aloud again.

This time it was Lorrian’s turn to clap him on the shoulder. “And now Nesta is stronger. She’s built herself from the ashes and become someone the females revere, Cassian. You know what the Illyrians are calling her.”

Cassian did know. Did not want to think too hard about the silver-flamed Diyosa with a fierce manticore by her side. Together they protected and defended the females of the Night Court.

“She might be the only High Fae in the history of Illyria to have the respect of our people,” Lorrian continued. “She’s already winning over the majority of the female population by doing nothing but being herself. She could single-handedly sway the rebellion if we played our cards right, Cass.”

Cassian did not say anything. Was too scared to.

“Even the males have begrudging respect, you have seen how Devlon is around her. At the very least, they recognise that she is powerful. Is she still going with you to instate the new law tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Rhys had offered Nesta a choice: to assist Mor in settling the last of the girls into the library or to come with the rest of them to each of the Illyrian camps to announce the new clipping law.

“This is what you have been campaigning for all your life,” Lorrian said quietly. “Nesta could pave the way for something new. Something better. You both could.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I am nothing but a lowly bastard,” Cassian stated gruffly, as together they walked out of the paddock and past the barn. “And that I have done very little to stifle this rebellion.”

“You earned the title of Prince of Bastards a long time ago, amongst other names.”

“That is not a title.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Lorrian asked with a flicker of surprise. “That you’re not good enough for Nesta?”

Cassian stalked towards the back door, suddenly keen to find Nesta and go home. He wasn’t angry, just… uncomfortable. Lorrian had hit too close to the bone.

“Don’t do yourself a disservice by labelling yourself as something others have tried to falsely pigeon hole you into,” Lorrian told Cassian sternly as they reached the threshold. “You can’t dismantle a faulty system if deep down you believe what the oppressors have drummed into you.”

Then, with a final clap to Cassian’s shoulder, Lorrian disappeared into the cottage.

___

As the pastel hues of dawn bled into day the next morning, Rhys and Feyre winnowed into Windhaven.

Even if it hadn’t been for the star-kissed breeze that wound its way through the mountain pass, Cassian would have known his brother and his mate had arrived. Cassian was halfway through correcting Emerie’s stance when her head whipped to the right of the sparring rings, along with every other female who had turned up for practice that morning.

Only Nesta did not turn, but like Cassian, she had been expecting them. Rhys had spoken into Cassian’s head the evening before whilst he and Nesta were eating dinner, informing him that he and his mate would arrive just after dawn the next morning. They planned to watch the females train, before Rhys would carry out his quarterly observation of Windhaven’s aerial fleet so he could witness the progress Cassian had insisted they were making in reforming the Illyrian troops.

Feyre would join Nesta and Mas on an inspection of the camp—the widows camp in particular—before they would all reconvene for a quick lunch. From there, they would travel to each of the camps main squares to announce the new clipping law, whilst Mor would winnow to the cottage with Frawley and transport the remaining females to the library.

Cassian knew that Nesta was not looking forward to going back to Ironcrest, but she did not change her mind about accompanying them to the camps. For some reason, the fact that she was willing to brave it at her own expense had only served to make Cassian fall for her even more. And although she had retired to bed early that night, she had left her bedroom door ajar just as she had promised during their time in Ironcrest. Cassian had watched her read in bed out of the corner of his eye for an hour or so before the faelight in her room winked out.

It had taken a long time for her breathing to become deep and for the blankets to stop rustling as she tossed and turned in bed. Cassian had fought the urge to crawl in beside her; to fold her into his body and tangle their legs together. To reassure himself with not only with the sound of her heartbeat but the patter of it against the centre of his palm.

Now, Nesta stood beside him with her hands on her hips, using the opportunity to catch her breath. She was dressed in her favourite leathers and her golden brown hair was weaved back tightly from her face. It revealed her flushed cheeks and pink nose, which was thanks to the frigid bite of frost that had kissed the landscape the night before.

“Back to work,” Cassian ordered the females firmly, as their attention lingered on the new arrivals. He heard the same command echo around the adjoining sparring rings from the other trainers. “I want three sets of ten lunges on each leg, followed by twenty one-two punches against your partner’s sparring pads,” Cassian continued.

He was teaching the youngest age group that morning and Nesta remained at his side to assist with the demonstrations. “Remember to make two clean punches,” he told the females. “It should sound like a beating heart—boom, boom—but your fists should move in a fluid movement like an arrow. One fist is the head, the other is the tail.”

He held up his palms so Nesta could demonstrate. Unsurprisingly, her punches were perfectly formed.

“Good,” he praised her. “Partner up with Emerie again whilst I do the rounds.”

Leaving Nesta with the shopkeeper, Cassian weaved his way around the ring, stopping when he needed to gently correcting a stance or a technique. In the corner of his eye, Cassian saw Sala give up her station beneath a copse of young pine trees. The manticore gently nudged off Roksana who had thrown her arms around the beast’s neck, and slunk over to Rhys and Feyre, her silver tail a blaze cutting through the brisk morning air.

The manticore paid no heed as Rhys stilled and his magic crackled—a male ready to protect his mate—but something angry rose in Cassian. He stifled it. Told himself he’d be nervous if a young manticore was roaming around near his mate without its fae counterpart beside it. Yet… the females around the camp had accepted Sala more readily than Cassian had anticipated. To them, Sala and Nesta were a gift from the old Gods—a level or protection against the evils in Prythian—and whilst they kept their distance they did not flinch when Sala walked by.

It helped that the manticore was good with the children. She allowed them to tug at her ears and hang around her neck, only letting out a warning growl if they pulled too hard or she’d had enough.

And the males… even they treated Sala with a level of begrudging respect and terror. Nobody could dispute the old magic that clearly stated that Sala was Nesta’s and Nesta was Sala’s. Cassian couldn’t say he was put out by it. If anything, it offered Nesta an undisputed level of protection that meant she could roam the camp and surrounding skies with more freedom. There had been so many times this week when Nesta had come back to the bungalow in time for dinner, her cheeks glowing and her eyes so wonderfully bright that Cassian couldn’t stop the delighted, relieved smile that graced his expression.

Ignoring the magic that was heavy in the air, Sala drew up at Feyre’s side. Feyre’s eyes were a little wide as the manticore nudged her muzzle into her hand in greeting, before the beast sat back on her haunches. Those golden eyes fixed back on where Nesta stood in the sparring ring, her weight braced on a back foot as Emerie pummelled her fists into her hands. But when Feyre dared to run her hand down the silken fur of Sala’s head, the manticore’s eyes briefly slatted in pleasure.

“She’s on our side, you know,” Cassian told his brother later, as they stood at the lip of the mountain pass where the sparring rings jutted out into the Illyrian sky. Feyre and Nesta had disappeared to the widows camp whilst Rhys observed the Windhaven forces. “Quit acting like Sala is going to tear Feyre limb from limb.”

Rhys’s attention slid from the males engaged in a sword fight to pin Cassian with violent stare that did nothing to quell Cassian’s irritation. “In case you have forgotten, Sala is a manticore. I believe I have some leniency to be wary of a beast who could rip out my mate’s throat with little hesitation.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian retorted, making sure he kept his voice low so as not to draw attention. “A manticore has its own moral compass and its own ability to judge who is and isn’t a threat. And,” he continued, “Nesta would never harm Feyre. She would never allow Sala to attack her.”

“Nesta’s magic is so vast you could add up the magic of six of the High Fae nobility and it would seem like a drop in the Sidra in comparison to Nesta’s. So excuse me if I take precautions given her relationship with my mate is volatile at best and the manticore answers to no-one but her.”

Barely contained fury split across Cassian’s expression and he clamped down on it, lowering his mental shields on instinct so Rhys’s dark consciousness could step inside his mind. Stop spewing shit, Cassian snapped internally, his voice thunderous now he did not have to control the level of his voice. And stop disrespecting Nesta. Her trauma runs deeper than you could ever imagine, yet here she is, defending the Illyrian people and fighting for what is right.

And Rhys… his brother actually blinked at the force behind Cassian’s words. It was not often that Cassian truly lost his temper—not like this.

Releasing a slow breath, Cassian finally loosed the words he’d needed to say aloud for a long time; If you don’t forgive Nesta, you will forever drive a wedge between the two sisters. You forget that Nesta is an empath. Why do you think she turned down every job you offered her? Your offers were never genuine.

Rhys observed Cassian with a level of scrutiny he hadn’t been subject to in a long, long while. Cassian did not squirm, only stared his brother down, unflinching. You can’t welcome Nesta to the Court of Dreams without a level of trust, brother. Let her show you what she’s capable of. Give her space and time. Nesta is strong and fierce and proud but she feels deeper than anyone I’ve ever met. She is well aware of the wrongs she’s committed. Do not think she does not suffer for them, but she is not someone to be controlled. Nesta cannot and should not be tamed by anyone but herself.

This time Rhys’s blink was laboured as if a realisation had just clicked in his brain. Cassian knew that he had not considered that he might prevent Feyre from mending a relationship that she yearned for. And to know he could be the cause of his mate’s unhappiness…

Rhys wasn’t without fault—nobody was—but this bias had gone on too long.

His brother seemed to think so, too. Ok, Rhys conceded. You’re right. I’m sorry. But know that it will always be my instinct to protect Feyre, you know that. Even if there’s nothing to protect her from I will never stop worrying.

Cassian did know. It was why he was so worried about this afternoon. About Nesta joining them whilst they announced the new law to a population of hostile, backward Illyrians.

But Cassian graced Rhys with a taunting smile that was free of his earlier anger. I understand. But you should know that if I see you mistrust Nesta or Sala again, I will drag you into the sparring ring. And we both know who will win that fight, brother.

Rhys’s velvet soft laugh echoed around Cassian’s mind and then that midnight dark retreated. Cassian carefully stacked up his mental shields until they were a ring of indestructible fire.

And all the while, Cassian did not voice what they both already knew: that it was his instinct to protect Nesta, too.

___

“What if instating the clipping law today motivates the rebellion?” Feyre asked uncertainly as they ate a quick lunch together in the bungalow.

Azriel had arrived a few minutes prior and they all sat together on the couch, plates balanced on their laps. Mas had been busy preparing food dosas that morning and even Rhys’s eyes had lit up with delight as he thanked the blushing housekeeper, piling copious amounts of potato onto his pancake.

It struck Cassian as he surveyed the people in the room before him—his loved ones— that the bungalow too small for so much company. And that was without Mor or Amren, the latter of whom had remained behind in Velaris to watch over the wards, alongside overseeing an important meeting with the merchants in stead of Rhys.

Cassian also suspected that Rhys’s second remained behind because his brother didn’t want any of the Illyrian’s to glean just how much power Amren had lost in the war—how she was no longer the nightmare the children of Prythian were told about—the ancient, terrifying other who would drink their blood if they misbehaved.

The new law would be decreed in all of the market squares of the major camps. Alaksander would travel with them and would be publicly clipped—a living example of what would happen to anyone who disobeyed the law that had been instated for centuries. Alaksander would prove that the new penalty for clipping another’s wings was not just a threat: the Night Court would follow through on their promises.

All of the Illyrian nobility had been informed of the impending law by Night Court winnowgram, each letter signed by both High Lord and High Lady. The reaction had not been a pleasant one and even though Cassian knew the amendment to the law was progress, he couldn’t help but wish it was not a bastard who had stooped so low as to mistreat girls in such an abominable way. What might have been different if Alaksander had not been brought up on the cold and brutal fringes of society, where only iron will and sheer luck meant you survived? It didn’t excuse his actions, but Cassian couldn’t shake the leaden sensation in his gut that whispered; what if, what if, what if?

“It could go either way,” Cassian confessed finally to Feyre, his expression grim.

As he spoke, cold fingers brushed against the back of his hand and Cassian looked down in surprise to find Nesta’s forefinger curl around his. He had dared to sit next to her, unable to emerge triumphant from the battle that came with his innate need to oversee what she ate—fetching her chai when she barely touched her tea, spooning more yoghurt atop her dosa to counteract the spices. Feyre, he knew, had watched the entire process with a bemused expression that bordered on amusement. Rhys’s eyes had just glimmered knowingly. Azriel remained stone-faced, but Cassian knew his brother was raising an internal eyebrow at him as those shadows whispered and whispered and whispered.

Cassian adjusted his grip until their fingers intertwined just as a soft, gentle breeze fluttered down that tether. It smelt sweet like summer. Like freshly cut hay bails and the muted perfume of flowers and grass. In his mind, Cassian caught a fleeting image of Nesta running her hands through a golden field of wheat as she walked towards a lone large oak tree, its gnarled trunk a safe haven as she sat against it and opened a book.

Want coiled inside of him and all Cassian could think about was raising Nesta’s hand to his lips and pressing his thanks to her skin. Something primal growled as he fought the urge and Cassian hoped to the Mother that Nesta’s scent had faded from him enough that his mere proximity to her didn't scream to his High Lady, I pleasured your sister until she shattered on my tongue.

For some absurd reason, the thought made Cassian want to bark a laugh. Nesta twisted her head to look up at him and Cassian wondered if she’d felt his amusement with her empath gifts or whether it had tunnelled down the bond.

He didn’t really care. He squeezed her hand.

“It will either continue to ignite any existing hatred of our Court or scare them enough that they will start to see us as a real threat,” Azriel said.

The Shadowsinger had already finished his food and was now standing at his usual spot by the fireplace. Sala sat intently before him, her eyes tracking his shadows as they wreathed about his body. It was almost as if the manticore was hoping he would send out a tendril for her to play with.

Cassian felt like telling the manticore that Azriel was all about hard work and very little play. But it was that work ethic and the Illyrian spies his brother had in place across the clan territories that had ensured that word had got out about what had happened in Ironcrest. Rhys had been adamant that condemning the Ironcrest royalty right off the bat might spark Kallon into action before they were ready. They still needed to find out where Kallon was, whether he’d managed to get the sword to work, and why he had needed the girls blood. Cassian was sure it was dark magic intended to revive the blade, but until they knew for certain… They needed answers and they needed them fast.

So, the leaked information had been selective—devoid of details about the sword and the pit of blood—but the bare bones had been enough to spark intrigue; each retelling whispered of Nesta Archeron, the witch of the Eastern Steppes and their manticores. Of clipped girls kept in cages and rebellion sentries killed for their crimes by a member of the High Fae who did not treat the Illyrians as lesser.

As Azriel had assured Nesta a few days prior when he’d visited for dinner; Stories that thrive on the grapevine have a tendency to wreak more havoc than the complete truth.

The key was to use the power of rumour to slowly unravel the success of the rebellion’s cause amongst the Illyrian people. If Kallon was relying on the females to sway any future referendum for an independent nation, the Night Court would reveal their despicable actions and hope that it would be enough to show the females of Illyria that the rebellion would only result in continued subordination and abuse.

“I am keen to side with the latter,” Rhys said lightly, as he picked a piece of invisible lint off his already immaculate shirt. “This is the first true reaction they have seen from us. It reasserts our authority above petty threats.”

“And it helps,” Azriel continued coldly, “that the rebellion sentries lost their lives. It eliminates further problems down the line.”

“Had the Blood Rite gone ahead, I did initially suggest that we should have allowed some of them to get caught up in the casualties,” Rhys mused.

“We can’t kill every Illyrian that stands against us,” Cassian snapped, his temper rising, even though he knew Rhys had never been serious about messing with the Rite. “That makes us the evil ones in the scenario. It sparks further rebellion later down the line when we squash down every fly that strays onto our path.”

“That may well be true,” Rhys reflected, “but Nesta has certainly done us a favour by ruling some of them out of the equation. Either way, going to all of the camps today is the start of something new—something better.” He turned to Nesta. “You’re ready?”

Nesta had been silent during the meal but to Cassian’s delight, she had cleared all of the food on her plate. Even so, her fingers tightened around his, her knuckles turning white as she rose up tall and lifted that regal chin. “Yes.”

To everyone’s surprise, the Shadowsinger let a faint, reassuring smile grace his mouth, as if he saw through Nesta’s indifferent mask. “It will reassert authority,” he reassured Nesta quietly, his voice as smooth as midnight.

Cassian relaxed slightly at his brother’s words. Nesta liked Azriel and he was the least likely person she would snap at. Sometimes that understanding consumed Cassian with a bitter jealousy that he couldn’t shake, that territorial part of him raging that Nesta would sooner listen to his friend over him, but now… it was needed, and it was useful.

He also knew that he wouldn’t give up their shared fire for anything.

Rhys nodded in agreement. “My Inner Court works on choice,” Rhys told Nesta. “You can help Mor relocate the girls this afternoon if you’d prefer or you can come to each of the camps with us.”

It was an olive branch and one Rhys meant, even if it scuppered his brother’s plan to reassert that Nesta was not someone to be messed with: a benevolent yet wrathful queen that would defend and protect those who needed it the most.

Nesta shook her head, but Cassian felt her inner turmoil in his stomach, the sensation deep and wounding. So he stood, helping her rise to her feet, their hands still entwined. He cocked an arrogant, lazy eyebrow and allowed a grin to spread across his face as he gave in to temptation and kissed the back of her hand, as if she were royalty and he a lowly pauper. “I think you’ll terrify them, witch,” he drawled, and Cassian didn’t have to observe anyone in the room to witness their surprise as Nesta’s lips twitched up into a small, true smile—a smile she saved for Mas and Roksana and him.

“You don’t have to do anything, Nesta,” Feyre said thickly, her hand coming to rest gingerly on Nesta’s arm as she also stood from the couch. She was no doubt thinking of the image Cassian had accidentally let slip the day before when Rhys had asked Nesta to share her memory of the cave. He had been so terrified of Nesta reliving the previous day’s trauma that the ring of fire around his mind had slipped.

It had been too late to fumble after the images that had tumbled through the exposed cracks of his mental shields; Nesta’s haunted blood-streaked face and that dead look behind her eyes as he desperately cupped a palm to her cheek in the bathroom—as he tried to get her to engage with him.

Feyre had looked as if she had been hit in the stomach—had looked physically ill—and even Rhys’ violet eyes had flicked to Cassian’s for a second, his dark eyebrows raising imperceptibly before Nesta had allowed him into her mind.

And that memory…

Even now, the thought of it made Cassian want to shatter things. They had all witnessed Nesta’s sheer panic as that male had pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the ground. Had all seen the boy’s cruel face that had pushed to the forefront of Nesta’s mind when it had happened—a face that Cassian was certain was that human piece of filth. But then Cassian’s pyrite had exploded with power, the ruby light throwing the male off of her just in time for Nesta to scramble to her feet and thrust that sword through his groin.

“You’re involved in this either way,” Rhys told Nesta from his position across the couch, puling Cassian abruptly from his thoughts. Silver flames from their position in the hearth danced in his brother’s star-flecked irises. “What you displayed was an incredible amount of power that they will fear. You need to remind them of that.”

___

When Nesta emerged from her bedroom in full leathers with a bow slung across her back, Cassian thought he might self-combust.

The leathers were a gift from Rhys and rather than being made up of the usual black, the scales were lined with a smoky silver that shimmered and danced. The effect was both sublime and unnerving; the whispering silver a promise of the danger that could be wrought from Nesta’s fingers should anyone cross her.

Clamping down hard on the arousal that smacked him in the face, Cassian quickly looked away, only to find Azriel observing him with a sly grin.

“Ditch the bow,” Rhys ordered.

Nesta bristled. “But—”

“No.” Cassian’s words were a deathly snarl that were forced between gritted teeth. Besides the lunacy of asking Nesta to go into the camps unarmed, Rhys’s tone was not the way to deal with Nesta—it was not the way to speak to his mate.

Feyre whirled on Rhys. “You can’t be serious?”

Rhys’s violet eyes did not move from Nesta’s, nor did his expression turn neutral as he spoke to Feyre mind-to-mind. “You’re powerful enough without it,” Rhys told Nesta simply when he was done explaining to his mate. “That’s the message you want to send. You have your own magic and you have a manticore at your side.”

Cassian clenched his fists as Nesta removed the new bow Lorrian had gifted her a few days prior. The bow she had taken to wearing almost everywhere.

“At least take a dagger,” Cassian ground out, striding towards Nesta and unsheathing one of the knives at his thigh in one fluid movement.

Mother above, the thought of Nesta with no weapon made him want to vomit.

But Nesta shook her head. “I’ve got one,” she told him as she buried her fingers into Sala’s ruff and took Rhys’s outstretched hand.

Her lips twitched as Cassian scoured her body in vein. He was so close to her that he could almost taste her skin, but he ignored the heady rush and crossed his arms firmly over his chest. He stared down at her and demanded, “Where?”

A taunting eyebrow lifted as Nesta replied coolly, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Cassian couldn’t help it. He laughed—the sound loud and booming and true. “At least tell me you’re wearing —“ he started, needing to know she was wearing the pyrite. That if some shit went down and he couldn’t reach her, if her magic failed, then he could protect her like he had that day at the cave.

Metallic blue shimmered in Nesta’s irises—her power writhing beneath the surface. The sight of it was a relief and Cassian wondered if Nesta had known that. If she had summoned it so she could assure him that she had her own arsenal of weapons. “I haven’t taken it off.”

Fine. Good.

“Now, now children.”

Feyre’s teasing voice filtered into Cassian’s ears and then her slim fingers were wrapping around his hand.

But Cassian did not break his gaze from Nesta, watched the fire dancing amusement in her eyes until Feyre folded him into nothing.

___

Ironcrest was just as they had left it; beautiful yet punishing, the strong wind a slap to the face as they winnowed directly into the roughly hewn market square located in the centre of the valley. To the left of them the sparring rings rose like teetering, grass-topped towers and to the right, the cliff face layered with the nobility’s residences staggered their way up into the clouds.

It had been decided that the royalty across the camps would not be granted a visit prior to the clippings. The Night Court would not bow to the Illyrians haughty sense of authority. Instead, the Illyrians would be reminded that it was they who were subject to its Court’s wrath should they not abide by law.

For the brief second it took for them to materialise into the camp, Cassian witnessed the awe alight across Feyre’s face—the painter in her no doubt drinking in the beauty around her—before her expression turning into the stony mask of a High Lady unimpressed with the brutal actions of her people.

Beside them, Nesta, Rhys and Sala appeared in a glitter of midnight. Seconds later, Azriel stepped out of the shadows with Alaksander beside him, the bastard bound in ropes of cobalt light. The Illyrian’s face was full of such stark fear and apprehension that Cassian knew he’d be begging when he learnt that his penalty was far worse than death.

Aside from the howling wind, the activity in the camp seemed to pause at their arrival, as if it was waiting with bated breath. Crowds had already formed in the square around a circular wooden platform that had been built around the middle of a stone fountain.

The fountain itself was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful structures in the camp. Water flowered downwards into multiple stone basins that grew in size until they met the wide reservoir at the base, which was obscured by the wooden scaffolding. At the very pinnacle of the fountain, two stone warriors rose towards the sky—Enalius and Oya—who sported crowns. Rather than being inlaid with jewels, the crowns were set with two angled stars that lay atop the front and were tied together by a circular ribbon that ran through their middle—pareho.

At the base of the fountain, hidden by the platform, Cassian knew lion faces were carved into the stone—beasts ready to fight beside their chosen companions in the battle against evil.

“Here we go,” Cassian muttered under his breath to Feyre as he spotted the all too familiar figure of Lord Rufous—Ironcrest’s senior war-lord—stalking towards them across the wide circular platform.

Cassian turned to Nesta, ready to prompt her should she forget their plan, but she and Sala were already moving—Nesta an unwavering, lethal Queen as she floated towards the steps that would lead them up onto the raised planks.

Sala slunk by her side, her silver tail flicking dangerously, her sharp fangs visible and pointed beneath her muzzle, and Illyrians stepped back warily to create an unobstructed path. Some jumped out of Nesta’s way, their eyes wide and scared as they discovered that the rumour of the manticore was grounded on truth. But a few of the females dropped to their knees and bowed to the earth. A handful of them even dared to reach out and brush Nesta’s arm, as if they wanted living proof that she was not a mirage.

Cassian tried not to bristle—tried not to snarl and launch himself towards her and unsheathe his sword in the same motion. A slow, steadying breath allowed his head to clear as he reminded himself that Nesta could protect herself. That she was strong and fierce and brave and that she did not need him to step in and fight her battles for her. So Cassian watched Azriel stride after her, his hand gripping Alaksander’s arm as he led the restrained male towards the stage. Feyre and Rhys filed in behind them, their magic trailing an invisible yet somehow detectable path behind them like a royal cloak, and Cassian took up the rear, his hand casually resting on his sword as he stalked after them, his expression as hard and unyielding as granite.

When Nesta slowly ascended onto the platform, Lord Rufous faltered. And Nesta—Nesta—smiled at him, the movement cruel and twisting and terrifying. And in that moment, every single rumour that had spread through the camp like wildfire lit as a threat in her eyes.

Those dark beady eyes fell to Nesta’s fingers, where embers sparked with the promise of flame, and Rufous stilled, seemingly frozen to the spot. Even the males beside him halted, although their expressions remained cruel and calculating.

“She killed Ironcrest warriors,” Lord Rufous snarled when he finally found his voice. “That witch is not permitted on our lands.”

Cassian snarled right back, the sound a low, territorial warning in his throat as he bared his teeth at the war-lord. Rhys scraped a nail down Cassian’s mental shield but he ignored it. They both knew he couldn’t help it. “Then the Ironcrest nobility should have ensured that girls were not caged and slaughtered like animals.”

“Where is Lord Marsh,” Rhys cut in smoothly, before Cassian could royally fuck something up. “I called for his presence today.”

“He and his wife are indisposed,” Rufous sneered. “As is his son.”

“And pray tell me, where has Prince Kallon scarpered off to?” Rhys asked with a light deliberation that should have set alarm bells clanging through Rufous’s thick skull.

“He has business with the warriors in the north of our territory,” Rufous replied coldly, but the male’s onyx eyes slid warily to Sala as the beast pinned him with a glare that sung death.

“How interesting,” Rhys mused, as he picked off an imaginary piece of lint from the exquisitely tailored shirt that was lined with silver thread—starlight shimmering in a night sky. “And here I was thinking that Princeling Kallon abandoned his territory and his people after our recent findings.”

Rufous’s lip curled but he did not retaliate. Instead, his gaze slid to Alaksander who looked as if he might have fainted if it were not for the Shadowsinger holding him up. “He’s not one of ours,” Rufous sneered.

“He was on your territory with many other males who belonged to your camp,” Rhys responded calmly, but this time his voice was laced with the dark sort of promise that should have finally made Lord Rufous take stock of who exactly he was speaking with. “And he will receive a punishment that is fit for his crime.”

“Is that why we’ve all been called here then?” Rufous asked. “To witness a killing of a bastard who has no relevance to our camp? We do not control the filth that comes out of Windhaven. We can’t help it if those savages clip their females.”

“If the Illyrians in Windhaven are savages, then I do not know what to call the males in your camp,” Nesta said, her voice brimming with a fervour that burned like ice. “How many females have been mutilated here? How many girls? It is a sin what has been allowed to happen here.”

Lord Rufous was slowly turning purple with rage—no doubt at having been spoken to with such derision by a female—but he remained where he was, his darting glances between Sala and the fire burning at Nesta’s palms enough to keep him stationed in place.

“I do not believe that I need to remind you or the Illyrians here in Ironcrest that clipping has been against the law for centuries,” Rhys began coldly before Lord Rufous could open his mouth to form a retort. His voice was suddenly ringing out across the crowds, his magic amplifying the sound. “As Lady Nesta has pointed out, I have it under good authority that many of the females in this camp have been mutilated, so I would not take it upon yourself to lie to both your High Lord and Lady that this is a one off occurrence when I can see for myself that it is not the case.”

Rhys nodded to the bodies of Illyrians who had gathered around the fountain—at the females who had turned up not only to witness a public visit from their High Lord and Lady, but to see the High Fae who had protected their gender at the potential cost of her own life.

A sharp click of Rhys’s fingers summoned a rickety looking stool that appeared out of thin air. “Sit, observe and do not speak,” Rhys ordered with another snap of his fingers and a deliberate pointed finger.

For a moment, Rufous looked as if he was going to object, but then Sala prowled forward. The manticore’s ears lay flat against the back of her head and her nose wrinkled as her lip curled into a cruel smile, baring her lethally sharp incisors.

The blood that had threatened to turn the war-lord the colour of beetroot drained so quickly that Cassian thought it was a wonder that he didn’t faint. Sala slowly encourages Rufous and his warriors to step backwards until the war-lord’s legs bumped against the stool. There was a moments pause and then, when Rufous failed to sit down, Sala let out an ear-deafening roar. Spittle flew onto the war-lords leathers and the male jumped out of his skin, his backside hitting the seat with an audible thump.

The males at Rufous’s side leapt to unsheathe their weapons, only to find that they were stuck in their scabbards.

Feyre raised her chin. “We won’t be using those. If anyone so much as dares to touch their weapons you will receive the same punishment as this traitor.” She jerked her head towards Alaksander whose knees were all but knocking together.

“Well said, darling,” Rhys purred, bringing his mate’s hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of her palm.

And then together they turned back towards the crowd.

___

Alaksander had begged when Nesta had cut his wings. Had fallen to his knees and begged as Nesta floated over to him, her irises misting silver.

“You were part of a group of males who raped and mutilated young girls,” Nesta had told him in a voice that had bordered on ethereal. “As punishment, you will never taste the skies again.”

That fated forefinger finger had risen and at the tip, a single silver flame had burned so hot Cassian could sense the molten heat of her magic from where he had stood flanking his High Lord and Lady. And somehow Cassian knew that the hoards of Illyrians that had gathered could sense it to—the immense power of the eldest Archeron sister who had been gifted with the magic to protect and defend.

Alaksander had started to sob, the sound cracking around the market square in such a broken way that Cassian was surprised the male’s ribs did not splinter. He tried to tuck in his wings but Azriel made him turn so his back and wings faced the crowd.

The male had tried in vein to keep his wings tucked in tight, but Rhys had lifted a hand and slowly, painstakingly, Alaksander’s wings had spread as if an invisible force was pulling them open.

“We do not take pleasure in this,” Rhys informed the many faces that had gathered around them. “We have trusted Illyria to uphold the laws the Night Court have decreed in the past, but they have not been followed. Lest this new law be a lesson to you all.”

“Should any of you clip another's wings then you will pay the same price,” Feyre continued. “We have eyes and ears in every corner of this Court. Do not think because you are far removed from Velaris that we will not catch wind of barbaric acts and that we will not dare to interfere.”

And then, with a nod from her sister, Nesta’s flame had seared through the tendons on either side of the male’s elbow joints. Alaksander had screamed, his back arching as he tried to flinch away from the permanent damage that Nesta had inflicted to his treasured wings.

It was that desperate, broken scream that had sleep eluding Cassian as he lay in bed hours later. His thoughts were too loud, too insistent, and the images his mind conjured were too bright and colourful.

He was worried about Nesta. She had healed Alaksander between trips to the other camps without a word. Had slowly knitted his tendons back together only for her to cut them again as they stood before the next clan. She had not balked. Had only kept that icy, murderous expression across her face that told Cassian she was thinking of every wronged female as she took away Alaksander’s flight.

Even so, Cassian knew Nesta had found no true pleasure in it, only a grim determination that what she was doing was right. And it was something that the crowd had understood, too. Nesta was two sides of a coin: she could protect and destroy and she would indulge in the latter if it meant fighting for the former.

By the time they had arrived at the House of Wind, the exhaustion that came with the day’s events had been stark across Nesta’s face. She had barely registered the food Cassian had made her eat in the dining room as soon as they had arrived, or the way that Sala had placed her head in her companion’s lap. Feyre had summoned the wraiths up to the House, clearly worried herself for her sister’s welfare, and Cassian had watched Azriel’s spies lead Nesta away to her old room in search of a bath and a warm bed with a forlorn expression on his face that had resulted in a quirked eyebrow from Azriel.

When Cassian had checked on Nesta an hour before he retired to bed himself, he’d only spotted the slope of a satin-strapped shoulder and the golden tangle of hair spilled across a pillow beneath the piles of blankets atop the mattress. Sala had lain at Nesta’s feet, her chin between her paws, but the manticore had hopped off the bed when she’d spotted him, rubbing her face against his middle with a loud, rumbling purr.

Letting out a long groan of frustration, Cassian flipped over onto his back in defeat—his mind too busy to grant him the peace that came with sleep. It was well after midnight now, the night sky overcast and muted through the view Cassian was afforded in the gap between the curtains. Occasionally, the cloud coverage would break to reveal a dusting of stars as they glinted softly against the smoky blue of the night sky and a beautiful crescent moon.

A dull pounding began to echo around Cassian’s skull; the result of his continuous efforts to strain towards something that simply would not come. So, when he heard the quiet patter of feet coming from the corridor outside his room, Cassian initially thought it was a new addition to the throbbing in his head. Even so, instinct had him reaching for the knife beneath his pillow. But then the doorknob turned and a soft, buttery wedge of light crept across the floor, illuminating the sweeping outline of Nesta’s curves as she stepped into the room. Sala’s golden eyes glinted as she sloped in behind her companion.

Nesta’s scent hit him moments after that—sleepy jasmine and vanilla. He didn’t sit up. Cassian had learnt to treat Nesta like an easily startled animal when she chose to expose herself. Opting for slow, measured movements was key—or better, no movement at all.

“Ok, sweetheart?” he rasped through the darkness, barely daring to believe he wasn’t dreaming as she leant against the carved oak door. It clicked shut behind her and Cassian pushed the weapon back beneath his pillow.

For a moment, Nesta stood there and Cassian tried not to notice how her nipples had peaked from the cold or how painstakingly beautiful she looked with dishevelled hair and her eyes half-shuttered from sleep.

He clamped down hard on the sudden need that washed over him, imagined sinking his teeth into the meat of it until it squirmed uncomfortably—a beast trapped beneath a paw—as Nesta walked silently across the room. Sala slunk through the shadows too, hopping up onto the bed so she could curl up by Cassian’s feet. But Cassian was too preoccupied with how the mattress dipped as Nesta slid beneath the sheets. At how his heart was beating so hard he knew she must be able to hear it.

She was still too far away—too far, too far, too far away on his stupidly enormous bed—and Cassian resisted every urge that screamed at him to grab her.

Instead, he rolled onto his side. Savoured the sight of her silhouette from the intermittent moonlight that filtered between the billowing amethyst curtains.

“It’s too quiet in my room,” Nesta admitted eventually, her voice hoarse from lack of use. She stared up at the ceiling. “The silence woke me up. I miss the wind.”

Now Cassian’s heart raced for an entirely different reason. “I had Rhys loosen the shield around my room here a long time ago,” Cassian told her, knowing Nesta had already clocked the soft howl of the wind as it whipped around the neighbouring mountain peaks. “Whenever we used to stay here as younglings I could never sleep either. It took me a long while to realise that Rhys could alter the magic for me. He did the same in Azriel’s room.”

Not that Cassian often entered Azriel’s bedchamber. His brother was fiercely private like that.

“Is that why you choose to stay up here rather than in the other houses?” Nesta asked. “So you can live in the sky?”

“Partly,” Cassian admitted with a lift of a shoulder. “I never had reason to set my roots down in Velaris permanently and buy my own place. My home has always been Illyria, even if the bungalow is small.”

Nesta frowned, clearly unconvinced by Cassian’s words. Before the threat of the rebellion, Cassian had spent very little time living at the bungalow, more often than not having one of his friends winnow him to where he needed to be when he was required to oversee a military unit or kick a stubborn war-lord into line.

But she only said quietly—as if it were their secret, “I like the bungalow.” She rolled towards him and as the face of the moon was again cast free of a cloud Cassian finally saw Nesta properly.

“I didn’t think I’d like Illyria but I do,” she confessed.

“I’m glad,” Cassian replied softly. “It’s not for everyone.”

Nesta shrugged. “It’s brutal and cold but it’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “Freedom, somehow. I’ve never had a home really, but being there feels right.” A blush graced her cheeks and Cassian wanted to stroke it away with his thumbs as she looked away. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It makes sense,” Cassian replied hoarsely.

Silence draped over them like a blanket. But then Nesta asked, her voice smaller than usual, “Can I stay here? In your room, I mean?”

“I’ve already told you I’d rather sleep with you beside me,” he reminded her, something cracking inside of him at the glimpse of vulnerability she allowed him to see. “Stay whenever you want.”

Nesta stifled a laugh. “You won’t be saying that if you have company.”

“I won’t have company.”

Nesta turned her head to smile into the pillow. “Liar.”

“I’m beyond lies right now, Nesta.” The intensity behind his words didn’t have Nesta physically recoiling but Cassian knew her—knew that she would start to panic. So, he shot her a slow grin. “I wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn away a haughty witch now, would I?”

A huff of breath caressed his cheek. “I didn’t realise you had such common sense.”

Cassian’s laughter sparked him into action, his resolve to keep his hands to himself wavering as he reached for her. And when Nesta moved towards him and melted into his embrace, her back moulding into the hard planes of his body, he almost groaned at the comfort of it—at the knowledge that she wanted to be held by him.

Their legs tangled together and Cassian curved a wing around them, carving out a safe space for the two of them.

Emboldened, Cassian dared to bow his head to the nape of her neck and breathe her in. And even though he had spent the last week desperate to touch and taste her, Cassian found he had never been more content in his life to lie with someone and merely hear them breathe.

Minutes passed and when Cassian shifted slightly to get more comfortable Nesta’s fingers curled around his arm. It was a silent order to stay and Cassian realised they were in the exact same place they had been the other morning, when they had awoken.

They both slept, after that.

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#embersandlightfic #duskandstarlightwrites #acotarfanfic #acosf #acosf spoilers #acosf fanfic #nessian #nessian fic #nessian angst #cassian and nesta #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfic #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas

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hueningshaped · 3 years

Text

★ comme des garçons | y.jh

▰ genre: some angst some fluff stupid stuff

▰ word count: 4.5k *sighs*

▰ synopsis / request #2: (btw anon deserves the world)

▰ possible warnings: vulgar language and a lot of insults and use of ‘stupid’ and ‘idiot’ and some blood and also this really sucks but let’s get into it

"Late again, are we?" Jeonghan crooned with a smirk.

"Shut the fuck up." You hissed in reply.

This was a common intersection of events, and for today, it was the greeting to one of your electives, to a class that you needed simply for the credit. Nestled in between two of your pals, Joshua and Jihoon, Jeonghan had a perfect view of all who walked in, including you. How you both shared the same group of friends was beyond your comprehension.

All you knew was that you hated Jeonghan, and he hated you.

"Well, well, well, you'd think we had a pair of cats in this class because of all the fights," Wonwoo commented from beside you, without looking up from his stack of notes. "It's getting bad."

You'd shoot him a scowl that you never had the pleasure of seeing him catch, or maybe he knew this and chose not to for this reason. This was an everyday thing, most people knew this. You stuck with an eye roll and decided to resume your day.

The others have made it their mission to reiterate to you that you can't hate him forever, but considering how long you have and everyday you have to fight with him, you insisted that they were wrong.

It wasn't even your fault to begin with. This years long dispute fazed your minds so completely that if you were both to try and hash things out from the initial moment, you would misremember things and another inevitable argument would insinuate.

All that was known that when you both first encountered the other, you were having a rough day and decided to keep your chin up and not explain yourself. New to assertiveness, you took the wrong way.

The establishment is that the two of you had shown up to a class that had been canceled. That fateful encounter was a little short of a full two years.

"Did you know that you're wearing your shirt backwards?" Jeonghan asked from beside you, knocking you out from the reality of reading the mini poster on the door. You turned to him, mouth ajar. Profanities circled the entirety of your unconscious as you turned to him and mustered the classiest, friendliest, least offended smile.

His expression left little room to think he could have possibly been genuine about it. Nor did his next comment.

"Your eyes are really red, too, and you're wearing two left shoes, too." His tone was unintelligible and once you saw that smile, your rage unsettled completely.

There was perhaps some more said: passive aggressive backhanded comments.

"Do you always state the obvious?" You probably asked. It must have been rude because why else would Jeonghan victimize himself.

"Are you kidding?" Maybe he said.

"Well, do you think I don't realize?"

"Well, there's a lot going on on you. It happens. I think you can relax."

"I don't even know who you are. Don't tell me what to do."

"Alright, alright. Jeez. For all that you're wearing and talking, you sure have a lot of pride and attitude, may I add."

The muscles of your neck tightened at his audacity. If only you knew that this would offer the first of many collisions of tension from him and your own body's hyperactivity.

With the lack of elaboratation, there was no way an argument and rivalry was not going to ensue. Once the argument and backhanded insults had been ping-ponged and the day had concluded to begin a brand new one, you did feel some remorse.

The next day, when class resumed to its usual course, you had fixed your appearance and made sure to whip up a nice statement that would blow over yesterday, so you could both laugh at it and move on, like adults. Despite your hopes, Jeonghan surrounded himself with friends he seemed to make out of thin air and gave you the filthiest smirk you could see when you walked in.

With the class' conclusion, you chose that moment to try and catch him before you went separate ways, but he was waiting for you outside.

"Looking sharp, huh, Y/N?" You furrowed your eyebrows. Why would he use your name just because he knew it?

"Yes, and what about it, Jeonghan?" You retorted already feeling your heart begin to fumble in its trigonometry and physics to maintain your rate.

"Anyway," you go, but he cut you off, scoffing and crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. "Why is everyone so inferior to you, huh? Am I talking to Dr. Superiority Complex? And cutting me off, too."

"Will you shut up, you prick!" You slapped a palm over your mouth too late and his own aloof eyes widened.

Everything else melted away into the timeline of your hatred for him. A professor overheard the very events of that day, knocking your grade down a few points. Soonyoung had encouraged you to take revenge on whoever was causing you trouble, which you did. Ever since then, it all remained the same. How you both never managed to move on from was beyond the two of you.

Since then, your soul has not known peace. Granted, the entanglement with the fiend that he was put you through much turmoil and moments that one could define as nothing other than consistent low points.

Bickering and exchanging banter had nestled into your very habits and schedule, even at your big age.

Neither of your friends liked it. If you asked Seungcheol, he'd say that it made him feel uneasy enough to not hang out with the two of you. The best boy in the world refused to enter the same room as you two.

Tonight, there was an arrangement to play Super Smash Bros on Josh's Switch. Evening came and your stroll to the apartment homes became a path directly into the night. Of course, the dark goaded you on to run, looking back this way and that. Leave it to you making the worst choices and pulling facades over them. You truly should have taken Wonwoo's offer to be picked up.

Instead of running into one of your many friends on the way over, it had to be your greatest enemy driving slowly beside you, chuckling and rolling his window down.

"I'd never pegged you for a scaredy-cat, you prideful, little thing." He laughed from the vehicle. It ran gently and with a robust shape, similarly to one that a rich, teenaged girl would be gifted with. You kept your chin high and gaze forward, trudging on with a frown burning across your lips. "Turning down Wonwoo's offer which would have saved you from this —"

With little thinking, you simply resolved to peering over at him and speaking in one breath of a "please piss off," and it made him laugh all the more.

The heightened scores of muscle in your neck and shoulders noticeably melted, despite the abyss of woods and trashy alleys between the apartment homes. His sickening cherubic eyes were trained on you; he would put it in all the work of guarding you, it seemed.

Right when a bridge was nearing, his miniature jabs came to a halt and he upped the notch by honking at you.

"What?" You shouted, face slack with exasperation.

"Get in the car, I'm serious! Idiot!" Jeonghan nodded emphatically.

After back and forths of deliberation, you groaned all the way into his car, which he locked and unlocked until you threatened to puncture his tires with your pen.

The change in atmosphere followed with your own feelings. A lilac air freshener looped around his Calico Critter car decor as the low a/c filtered the air. At this angle, Jeonghan felt different. You had forgotten to shut the door behind you as you were all too engrossed with reading the pad of his music shuffle queue. His sigh whisked you away from your reading to his eyes.

"You could at least use your head to have gotten us there already. Y/N, seriously, I come out here and reach out a hand to you. Everyday you surprise me: you're so full of pride and you forget everything. I always wait for you to pick a struggle, but I guess you just love choosing every single one, huh!" He enunciated with a flat laugh and you had to frown at that.

The next song of whatever his playlist consisted of queued up some song your heart yearned to follow along to, as if your heart it thousands of times before.

"Sounds a lot like you think you know me, asshole..." you muttered under your breath and crossed your arms, keen on either forgetting about the passenger door still ajar or adamant on not doing it yourself since Jeonghan seemed to enjoy doing whatever he did, which inevitably made your life terrible.

He scoffed aloud. In one motion, he moved his arm around the head of your seat to improve his view.

"Sure, I do. Like I know you're the most insufferable person I've ever met." He tossed a few glances to the door, hoping to continue his game, but you peered over whatever possible dust particles and intrigued moths flutter over his unmoving headlights.

"God, Jeonghan," you sighed, not watching his growing leer.

"God, Y/N," he imitated you with an exaggerated tone.

"Jackass, can I speak? I just... It's been years, I know that much, since you like to preach that I know nothing, but all this time, you act like you know me. Day one, you've talked to me so informally. You always act like you have some right to speak to me and to speak to me like I'm some written character. Is that all you want? Some stupid feud with someone you clearly hate and don't want? You don't know me! You never have and you never will. So, back off."

A readied smirk, typically loaded with a bombshell of a constantly prepared retort, was expected, but to your surprise, his cherubic silhouette expressed an emotion you couldn't quite put in words. His eyes dawdled across your features, every island of flesh but your own eyes.

Wordlessly, Jeonghan then reached over you and your seat to shut the door. He was practically nose to nose to you.

Not another word was spoken, even after you were settled in playing games.

You were nestled between Chan and the arm of the grand futon, fist underneath the suppleness of your cheek.

"Hey, Y/N," Chan whispered from beside you, and you simply nodded, eyes fixed on the screen. "What happened?"

At that, you furrowed your eyebrows and peered over at him.

"Huh?"

His eyes widened in a flash and he shook his head, nudging your arm.

"I just never thought I'd see the day where you and Jeonghan hyung aren't ripping each other's hair out. I was thinking maybe he had a premonition and decided to grow up, but then Seungkwan hyung told us all that he saw you in the car with hyung."

"So, is everyone wondering the same thing?" You asked just at a whisper and Minghao from the opposite side of the sofa yelled, "Yes!"

Wonwoo turned around from in front of you and chuckled, nodding as if he had been waiting for someone to say it.

"Well?" Seungkwan practically shouted from over the couch, standing with arms crossed over his blazer clad chest. "Aren't you two going to tell us what's going on?"

Whoever turned down the volume of the television, even going so far as to pause the game, would pay, but the ice of the awkward cooled off whatever misdirected anger you held.

"Absolutely not." Goosebumps bloomed at the realization that you and Jeonghan had spoken simultaneously.

The two of you made eye contact, silently bickering over how to deal with the situation.

"You know what," Joshua piped up from another sofa, stretching an arm out in mild effort. "I don't think we should question this weird fate tonight; we should be thankful they're civil and in the same room."

The night bled away into comments like that, even as you tried your best to move on, since it seemed to you that Jeonghan was adamant in doing so. You had no business approaching him about why you didn't wish to speak to the other, and clearly neither did he. However, with the racket everyone was making over you and him not constantly doing your thing was eating you up at such a frequency that you were hardly up for continuing the game.

By eleven at night, Seokmin wanted to bake cookies, and unfortunately you had a bad taste in your mouth. Your perception of Jeonghan had snapped within a few minutes and it was crashing down before your eyes. For what reason, you felt you'd never know.

You don't quite remember rising and throwing a few goodbyes, unable to meet their eyes while heading out in a much more informal fashion as you arrived. It could have easily been one of your other friends who followed after you but in this case, it was Jeonghan.

"Hey, numbskull, don't you want a ride back? I give you one here, and you just walk out?" He called from the door, shivering enough to cross his arms into his body. You didn't meet his eyes, merely angling your neck to listen.

"I called my other friend to pick me up," his silhouette buckled into the corner of your eye. "Really wasn't expecting you to follow me out like this."

The colors of his figure shifted and the door shut with a rap behind him.

"Is that really what you want?" Jeonghan's tone dropped with his approach.

"What are you talking about?" It was then that you took the moment to look at him. Jeonghan's face typically held a leer that looked like he always knew more than you, but now, there was a knot of taut muscle where his eyebrows met.

A shimmer of headlights filtered over the anterior of the apartment complex. Your friend-chauffeur had arrived.

"Nothing." He breathed with a smile that almost broke the ice of his expression, but you glanced to the floor before nodding.

"Well, my ride's here." Jeonghan swallowed a lump down and mirrored your action. Part of reality felt like a scene out of a movie because of the loose air of the night but the tension between the two of you was so tight. You turned towards your friend, whose gaze was transfixed to their phone, and when you glanced back, he disappeared.

For the throng of the week's courses, Jeonghan changed his seating arrangement, and no longer seeking explanations to waste yours or his time, you assimilated with the change. Utilizing the pack of independently reticent students as the backdrop, you and him took turns surrounding yourselves by them.

A part of you felt much relieved of the burden of keeping your guard up to such a severe form, which he visibly did, as well. You heard well enough from Soonyoung and Mingyu. An even larger piece of you thirsted for something that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Since Seungcheol was home this week, to commemorate his return, considering he had a habit of leaving every other week due to sports, he and the crew decided to throw one of those stupid parties where you drink and just meet people. Essentially, the remote of his and Joshua's place flipped topsy turvy when it came to these things, but they didn't mind.

Jeonghan no longer mattered to you nor was he a factor of whenever you had to make a decision. You accepted Wonwoo's and Soonyoung's offer of going and taking you to the party.

It had been six days since you last interacted with Jeonghan, as you had for the past three years.

"Isn't it too early to be drinking? We aren't even there yet." Soonyoung patted you from the backseat, tone thick with distant concern.

Wonwoo eyed you from the driver's seat, hands fastened at the wheel. All you did was shrug, turning back to halfheartedly grin at the boy, and with that done, you continued your trip to finishing the bottle of absinthe in your hand.

Drinking was no new concept to you. Using it to quell some sort of absence that you didn't comprehend was, however. It was something your friends took notice of.

Your arrival was just as rocky as it was from your residence to the party, vision fuzzy and dim.You made your way to the kitchen to rummage through possible brought snacks, even taking a few spare soju and beer bottles for sport. Opening them with a partially working mind inked painful calluses into your hands from the rigid caps of the bottles.

As Seungkwan whistled at your actions, something wet caused you to lose grip of one bottle, tripping to catch it, and before you knew it, there was a minor crowd growing at the sight of your bloody palm.

As loud as everything was, a part of you countered with how silent your world had become since you and Jeonghan wordlessly had gone separate ways.

"Does it hurt?" Minghao asked. You were now at the dining room table, a foldable one with metal legs that were surprisingly still standing despite being kicked in countless times. You shook your head and met the faces of your friends, scanning them for something you didn't know. It barely stung, but a fire lit from behind your eyes.

Soonyoung slapped your arm, recounting to you for the fourth time that you were in a guest room because you cut yourself.

The bass of the music met with the wall across from you and pictured frames of your friends trembled. A couple made out in the corner, limbs sprawled. For the most part, the room changed colors due to the LED lighting, which did nothing to help an intoxicated mind.

"Are you sure?" You asked, doubting Soonyoung's sadly sober mind — he had been ordered not to drink for the night, but Jihoon had promised him that next time, for sure.

Half your hand was bandaged and your head hurt. Pain had nothing to do with it, or the lack thereof, but you still felt like weeping.

As if you had been summoning the devil himself, Jeonghan let himself in without a word, without much of an entrance really, but you knew enough that it was him because you could read the back of his head.

"What did you do?" The timbre of his voice recused the tense knots of your shoulders without your notice. You looked into his eyes. It strangely felt as it had been years since you had done so.

"Hyung, I earned my PHD, that's what I did. I bandaged Y/N here and — "

"Soonyoung," the elder used a tone you were familiar with, one your professors would use when notifying you and him to leave the class after a fight got out of hand.

"Well, Y/N, I'll be on my way then," he announced with a laugh. "Take care of my patient, Jeonghan hyung."

Mirrored glares and giggles were shared between the two until it was just the two of you.

"I was talking to you. What did you do?" He crossed his arms at you, frowning at the slightest. It looked weird on him. His brindled hair crowned his head with few loose ends curling like some flowers towards the sun.

"Hey," Jeonghan waved his hand in front of you, expression all the same. You watched his figure get painted in fuschia with the changing colors.

"What?" You remarked harshly. He sighed loudly and reached out a palm to you.

Perhaps you took too long deciding what he wanted for his liking for him to just grasp it, his firm hand enveloping yours in a way that made you feel as if you were hanging over a pile of hot coals. Jeonghan joined you on the sofa, scanning over Soonyoung's work in the dim lighting.

"You do know I'm studying to be a pediatric nurse, right?" His voice was so silent so it was a miracle you heard it.

"No, what the fuck..." you blurted, confused he was being so informative, about as much he had to be on the first days of any class.

"Well, since you learned something new today," he started, using that familiar tone and you almost smiled. "I need to know if you did this on purpose."

Your lips parted at that.

"I what?"

"You're the only idiot I've ever known to confidently do the illogical thing. I swear, you numbskull, I've gotten so used to telling you it may as well be a catch phrase of mine." He ran his nimble fingers over the lines of the rest of your palm before glancing back up to catch your stare.

"You're crying," the words fell out of his mouth and you expressed your surprise with a bewildered expression. "I..."

Now, this was new territory.

"It's nothing, I don't know why I'm doing that," you shrugged it off and sniffled, a confirmation of your tears.

He scoffed, sitting back and crossing his arms.

"Of course, you'd say something stupid like that!" Jeonghan nudged a plastic bag of napkins towards you, which you took with a grumble to wipe your tears.

"Oh, so it's only me capable of saying stupid things! How come you only hear yourself and think it's me with the idiotic stuff?"

"You calling me an idiot?" He emphasized with a pointed finger towards you and then himself. Life returned to Jeonghan's face in full force.

"Yeah, of course, I am. You're the one who's always running their mouth as if your life depends on it!" You practically screamed.

He grinned, pearly teeth aglow in the dim room before dropping his eyebrows.

"Y/N, you always talk crap about me. Can't you go one day without my name in your mouth? You know what, you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up."

You feigned an impressed surprise but rolled your eyes, almost laughing.

"Ooh you wanna kiss me so bad you don't even know it. Makes you look so stupid."

Jeonghan paused within a heartbeat before angling his head and smirking. You were ready for something equally as dumb as his comebacks, but he reached forward for your free hand and loosely caging you in the arm of the couch. His breath circulated near yours, just like that night in his stupidly cute car.

"And what if I do?" That smile and those words were like ice and fire to your every sense. It was you who actually was unprepared.

"That, wait, you, the-the, God!" You babbled and sputtered, unable to maintain eye contact. He chuckled thickly. Jeonghan was so close.

"That should be my line!" You retorted, all thought processes going haywire and scouring the plain of your mind for something wittier to say. His wicked smile widened.

"So, you do feel the same way?" You all but gasped at the audacity you met with.

"Yes! No, wait, uh, yeah! Never!" Jeonghan failed to stifle his genuine laughter and tossed his head back. "Fine!" You then reached up, taking the collar of his jacket into your curled fist and bringing his lips down to yours.

Judging by his widened eyes, he was not expecting that, but that mattered little. You melted along with it, shutting your eyes. In the next millisecond, he brought you forward with a hand behind your head and another keeping himself upright beside your body.

As everything was, the kisses progressed to a point where you attempted to outdo the other, passionate, quick exchanges building up to shared touches.

Your other hand gripped a portion of his clothes, pulling so nebulously he all but leaned closer towards you. As the other couple had left during the minutes of your petty argument, it literally felt like the moment was offered to the two of you only, no one else.

Jeonghan cheated when he gently tugged on your hair, earning a punched out whine from your lips. He pulled away from your swollen lips to hear it, grinning once you did so.

"You jerk," you muttered hotly, red and ruddy. He smiled and moved a few strands of hair behind your ear gently.

"Y/N, what if I've been wanting to do that for a long time?" He asked, voice a bit strained. You didn't know what to do with yourself, flustered and glancing around.

"Oh," you murmured. The heat practically beat off you in waves.

"You're something else, really. I wasn't sure how long we were going to not talk to the other. I wouldn't have been able to confess and it would have been awkward." He snickered over your shoulder before regaining his proximity with you.

"Wait, so is this your confession? You suck, you're going to have do it again. C minus." He scoffed and sighed at that.

"The kiss, too?" He arched an eyebrow curiously. You slapped his shoulder at that, struggling to keep up with him.

"No, but seriously are you telling me you like me?" A much more serious tone cooled the heat of the moment, and he winced at that.

"From the moment I met you," he began and it was then you realized your facial expression was bitingly skeptical, revealing your feelings about it all. "Do you feel the same way, Y/N?"

"All that teasing and picking on me was just your stupid way of letting me know you like me?" It was Jeonghan's turn to blush from every corner of skin to the other, sighing and covering his face to cope with whatever he felt.

"It took me a while to realize it, alright?!" His tone was defensive, but you knew he meant it lightheartedly. "I just wanted you to know somehow in some way that every time I got to see you, I was grateful. Each and every time allowed me to learn more about you because you're so...you're something else. You've always complained how I don't know you or perhaps the lack of right I have to know you, I always felt I did, but I didn't want it happening for the wrong reasons. Took me a while to realize I didn't want to lose you, that I...wanted a friendship, a relationship, but the longer I sat back and continued to confuse what we had and I wanted was just going to tear us completely. So, luckily, since I'm a genius, I thought to man up about it."

You could only peer at him, letting his words simmer.

"But, if that's not what you want, or you feel uncomfortable in any way at all, just say it. Say whatever you feel." You'd never encountered this gentle tone of his. There were so many more sides to him you wanted to learn.

"I want some time..." you muttered and he nodded, visibly hanging on to your words. "For you to show me that you want me, and you know, for me to process this. I've wanted you for a while, but that voice was so quiet under all the 'I've never wanted to fight someone so bad' and the 'I'm going to implode like a star because of this guy'." You both laughed at that, and it almost felt natural to do so.

"Okay, then," Jeonghan nodded with a contented smile. There went that annoyingly hot gaze of his. So, that’s what it’s always been: hot. "Can we still make out?”

You squinted at him and opened your arms up with a sigh.

“Just kiss me already!”

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #ill see myself out #svt imagines #svt scenarios #jeonghan #jeonghan angst #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #seventeen x reader #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #wonwoo #mingyu #Seungcheol #scoups #seventeen

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beatricethecat2 · 3 years

Photo

"Chill for a minute! You're making me nervous," Myka says.

"I'll not miss the performance because of a third-rate watchman," Helena huffs.

"Abigail said she'd sort this out."

"Abigail got us into this."

"She didn't slug him."

"He tackled me."

"You grabbed the book and ran."

"And I'd have succeeded were it not for that wandering child," Helena gruffs. "Who brings a child to theater?"

"You wouldn't have brought Christina?"

"Were she old enough and properly dressed, yes. That child was in dungarees."

"They probably came to see the exhibition not the matinee—"

"We're not dressed properly either," Helena grumbles, swiping dirt off a pant leg.

"Theater's not as formal as it used to be. And you did put your hair up," Myka says, flashing a feeble smile.

"And now it's mussed. It wasn't much to look at to begin with." Helena fusses with her bun.

"Hey, I think you look really nice," Myka says, reaching over, stilling Helena's hands.

"This is hardly theater attire."

"It's the Oregon Shakespeare Festival not the Met Opera."

"Attending the theater used to mean something." Helena's hands drop to her lap.

"It still does, but not corsets and gowns." Myka raises a brow. "Would you have worn a dress if this was a real date?"

"I very well may have. I'd certainly have made more of an effort."

"A nineteenth or twenty-first century effort?

"May I not embody both?"

"Yeah, but I'm just noticing you sort of default to the nineteenth when you're around me."

"And you disapprove."

"No. It think it's kind of sweet. I like that you don't have to hide who you are with me." Myka bumps her shoulder into Helena's.

"And to think, I once yearned to live in a future such as this. I'd no clue how exhausting it'd be being out of time."

"It'll get easier," Myka says, meeting Helena's unsure gaze. She leans towards Helena and Helena follows suit, their lips nearly touching when a door slamming in the distance halts the action.

"So, um...when's the last time you saw Shakespeare?" Myka asks, recomposing herself.

Helena thinks back. "Hamlet, in Stratford; Sarah Bernhardt as lead. We'd travelled specifically to see her, as it was unusual for a woman to play a male's part. She was her bombastic self, but watching Shakespeare translated into French was odd. I may have opinions about the American accent as well."

"Oh you will."

"Flipping through those gravures on display really took me back. Then the cabinet cards...are you familiar with those actors?"

"No."

"Such a shame," Helena says, pushing up from her slouch to sit upright. "Ellen Terry, she who worked so very hard to elevate the acting profession for women and men; Lillie Langtree, the beauty who pulled her reputation up from the mud through her craft; Violet Vanbrugh, locked in competition with her sister for the spotlight...celebrities, one and all, yet seeing them now, they feel like lost friends."

Helena sighs deeply and looks away. "When I snatched the book, my mind was no longer present. Hence the guard getting a jump on me."

"It's going to work out," Myka says, flashing a comforting smile.

"How exactly is Abigail remedying this? I heard little of your hushed conversation earlier," Helena says, narrowing her eyes at Myka.

"She's convincing them to put it back so we can swap it with a copy she's sending."

"Could she not have done so previously?"

"With Artie out of town, she's scrambling to keep up."

"How exactly is she convincing them?"

"She's, um..." Myka looks down at her lap and adjusts her wrist watch. "Do you actually need to know?"

"I do now," Helena says, swerving in her seat to face Myka.

"She's posing as your therapist."

"And I'm a babbling idiot."

"No...our pitch is you're obsessed with Victoriana."

"Convenient," Helena grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you want to see the play or not?"

"What do you think?"

"I think we wouldn't be here at all if Abigail hadn't asked us to snag volume nine of 'The Illustrated Library of Shakespeare.' And I think she'll fix this for now so we can see a play like two normal people who see plays. We'll worry about the book tomorrow."

Helena's scowl stays firmly in place.

"I'll make it up to you tonight at the hotel," Myka says, eyes pleading.

"Placating me for performing the Warehouse's bidding is not in the least desirable—"

"Ooh, look, he's coming out," Myka says, patting Helena's leg as she rises to talk to the head of security. "Stay here."

Helena stays put but her scowl grows all consuming.

-END SCENE-

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

Bering and Wells: Field Trip ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 7 Title: Oregon: To one thing constant never

Summary: With Warehouse staff stretched thin, Myka and Helena are asked to dash from Myka's parents to The Oregon Shakespeare Festival. The pickup hits a snag when Helena, lost in memories, bungles the retrieval. Emotions run high when Helena reveals an unshakable impulse that threatens their newfound bliss.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6

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

BONUS SCENE

The next day, in the parking in the lot of the festival, freshly off the phone from the Warehouse, Myka turns to Helena.

"Artie's booking us a flight. He wants us to bring the book in person—"

"We are not altering our plans again," Helena sneers. "He can pick it up from us."

"I think he needs it sooner," Myka mumbles. "It'll be quick, just a day or two. Maybe we can push our bookings up?"

"As if that's worked in the past."

"True," Myka says, shoulders slumping as she sighs defeatedly. "Then we'll skip Mendocino and head straight to San Francisco from there. I'll grab some of my stuff since we might stay in the city longer." She turns the key, revving the car to life.

"I'll drive to Mendocino and meet you in San Francisco. You go on to the Warehouse."

"But Artie said you can come," Myka explains, looking over her shoulder, backing out of their parking spot. She puts the car in drive and moves towards the exit.

"There's no reason for me to do so."

"But you haven't met Abigail. Or Steve, really. Plus Claudia's dying to see you—"

"Myka, I can't."

Myka steps on the brake and turns to face Helena. "Is this a Regent thing? Because Artie wouldn't have said you could come if you couldn't."

"It's not a Regent thing."

"Then what?" Myka huffs.

"We've not time to discuss this now."

"Then tell me the abbreviated version."

A honk from behind jolts them both.

"Alright, alright!" Myka grumbles, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

"You go on. I'll follow our plan," Helena says. "I wish to feel the land shifting underfoot, as if Elizabeth, Christina, and I had made our way through California in my own day."

"Wouldn't that have been on a train? Or a carriage maybe?" Myka asks.

"Is a car not the modern equivalent?"

"I guess," Myka says, her face the picture of concern. "You know, most of San Francisco was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake. There's not much left from back then."

"No matter. It's the spirit in which it's encountered."

"Then I want to 'encounter' it with you."

"Then have them pick the book up from us. You're not obligated to obey their every beck and call."

"I guess not," Myka says, frowning as she stops at a red light.

"Their prerogative led us to rush here, waylaying our plans," Helena presses.

"And the plays."

"Which we may have seen, in our own time, had we not been browbeaten into a retrieval—"

"We weren't browbeaten, we were helping Abigail—"

"The light's green."

"I see that," Myka grumps, the car jerking forward as she presses on the gas too hard. "So that's why you won't come with me? You're mad we came here in the first place?"

"It more than that. My relationship with the Warehouse must remain distant. Better if I retain none at all."

"How exactly is that going to work? Because I live there."

"I'd rather not discuss this while you're driving."

"Then I'll stop." Myka flips her turn signal and veers left at an intersection. She swings into a parking lot turns off the engine. "You said I'm your One. That we're partners."

"You are both of those things to me."

"But you can't come to the Warehouse, maybe ever? Explain." Myka shifts in her seat to face Helena as fully as possible.

"I've come to understand distance may be the only remedy for certain...triggers."

"What triggers?"

"Where to start?"

"Anywhere, really," Myka gruffs, holding onto Helena's petulant gaze.

"A hundred years in bronze weighs heavy on one's soul."

"You were fine there before."

"Was I?"

"You said it was your tether!"

"I'd have said anything to—"

"Gain access, dupe everyone, and destroy the world. I know." Myka scowls. "But you wouldn't do that again."

"That's no longer my vice," Helena says.

"Then what is?"

Helena looks off into the distance. "A secondary plan, utilizing artifacts catalogued since my bronzing."

"W-What kind of plan?" Myka says, her back straightening.

"One in which Christina would be returned to me."

"Wait, you tried again when you were there?"

"How could I not?" Helena laments. "I've hatched countless schemes since."

"But you said you'd made peace with not having kids."

"Moving forward. But I may never find true peace with Christina's passing. Apparently, it's not uncommon."

"How do you know?"

"At the precinct, after particularly gruesome cases, they conducted psychological evaluations. I'd breezed through most, but one in particular, concerning the death of a little girl, was difficult to shake."

"Oh, Helena." Myka scoots forward and takes hold of Helena's hand. "What happened?"

"I recounted my story, albeit heavily modified, and learned about triggers. Avoiding them entirely was an acceptable solution, so the Warehouse...but you? You were a conundrum."

"I was a trigger, too." Myka slips her hand from Helena's but Helena grabs it back.

"You remained a symbol of hope, of all that was good in this world. I ached to be near you but feared disappointing you again. When you turned up in Montreal, I was drumming up the courage to approach you."

"But you weren't there yet."

"I wasn't," Helena says, squeezing Myka's hand. "Asking you to separate yourself from your home, from your calling, was difficult to justify. But after hearing of your illness, nothing else mattered but being by your side."

Helena cups Myka's jaw and strokes her cheek with a thumb. "But I must protect myself, and you, from those demons."

Helena shifts closer and guides their lips together. Their kiss lingers until Myka's phone rings.

"Artie," Myka says, answering in an instant. "We can't come. We'll keep the the book safe until someone can pick it up—"

Myka moves the phone away from her ear at Arties loud volume.

"Ok, ok! But H.G.'s not coming. Put me on a flight."

Myka places her hand over the microphone and glances at Helena. "He said Mrs. Frederic's there and 'needs it yesterday'—"

She's interrupted by Artie chiming in.

"I'm not taking a flight with two connections because it leaves tonight! Put me on a red eye."

Grumbling emanates from the other side of the phone.

"Five-thirty's fine. Send me the details."

More grumbling, then silence. Myka hangs up the phone.

"Artie seems his usual congenial self—"

"I'm really proud of you," Myka blurts, turning to face Helena again.

"Whatever for?" Helena asks, head tilting, brow furrowing.

"For fighting your demons on your own. Though I wish we'd been doing it together."

"From now on, we shall," Helena says, meeting Myka halfway as she leans in for another kiss.

Hands reach across the console, twining in hair, groping at necks, arms, shoulders, as if the space between them is too great.

Minutes later, a tap on the window jerks them apart.

"Ma'ams, bank won't open again until 9AM," a man says as Helena rolls down the window. "I'm going to have to ask to come back tomorrow."

"Bank?" Myka croaks, scanning the parking lot, eyes locking on a glowing sign at its entrance. "Oh, bank."

"Terribly sorry officer. We pulled over to take a call before becoming...distracted," Helena explains.

"Just a security guard, ma'am. But I'd appreciate it if you move on. I didn't want to disturb you but my manager's going to wonder why you were here so long."

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. We'd have been stealthier were anything afoot," Helena says with a wink.

"Helena!"

"Just reassuring the boy."

"We didn't mean to....we were just..." Myka stumbles over a more direct explanation.

"We've been granted one more night together before our separation."

"But we do have a hotel room."

"And mere hours before I'm to deliver you to the airport."

"True." Myka's lips push together, her face contorting into one of a new understanding. "Not enough hours. We should go."

"Thank you again for accommodating us," Helena says to the security guard.

"Um, sure?" he says as Helena rolls up the window.

"We'll make this work," Myka says, slipping a hand over Helena's thigh as she drives away. "I know we can."

"I adore your enthusiasm," Helena says, covering Myka's hand with her own, threading their fingers together.

-END-

-TBC-

NOTES: A quick reminder - this Christina is the daughter of Helena's original "One" back in the 1800's - Elizabeth. I think that story is in the second installment of this series. Also note this text probably pretty rough as I'm out of town and have sporadic internet (remember DSL?) and so haven't been able to use my usual text checkers (let me know if anything's super bad!) I'm putting it up now so I won't fuss over it as I'd like to not fuss over *anything* this week. Also, the first manip is one of my favorites - there's only one I can think of that tops it, but it's not public yet (I think you'll know when you see it.) Anyway, here are some of the people HG mentioned. And here are some of the amazing panoramas of the SF earthquake. Also Sarah Bernhardt - look her up, she was *quite* the character.

#BERING AND WELLS #w13 #fan fiction #roadtrip!AU #fan art #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #canon divergent #sorry this took so long to finish!#really happy to get this out there finally #I had to get my head back into it #going to try to get next one up sooner #as once the semester starts (in three weeks)#everything will be nuts for awhile #but we'll see once I'm back home and not on vacation!

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sanghyukstattoos · 3 years

Text

City of Major

Summary: Major Yoo Taeyang makes every excuse he can to see you, he likes you but unknowingly, he has also fallen into a plan intricately crafted by you and Captain Kim Youngkyun

Genre: Mystery au? [Warnings: descriptions of anxiety (fear of death; recurrent traumatic memories and cues for them to resurface whether verbal or situational; repulsion towards an individual concerning sex + the individual's involvement in a sexual crime but not the principle offender), mentions of guns, death (murder and death of another team, many witnesses), sexual assault (also referred to as rape) and physical assault (refers to the physical assault as a punishment, implications of reinforcing hierarchy in a derogatory manner) references to being dispatched in the military, result of civil wars/indirect reference to poverty]; Fluff-flu; smut (so brief that if you blink, you'll miss it)

Characters: Yoo Taeyang x reader x Hwiyoung I Kim Youngkyun

A/N: None of the images in the collage are mine, refer to here for more; For more SF9, read here, for iKON, read here and for optional bias writings, read here

As he steps outside the building and slips past the guard, the cool air becomes his. He adorns a striped shirt with subtle colours so that he does not stand out particularly in the dark, except for the occasional illumination by the streetlights over- head. His steps are light, careful not to alert the two people ahead, in this case, he makes sure to tread lightly. One eye is out on his surroundings, for stray animals or motorbikes. A third carefully watches him from the back, smiling at the unknown.

There's nothing in sight, at least for the next metre or so. Youngkyun's first time following a pair just so happens to be the two of you. One of the two is Major Yoo Taeyang, not forever defined by his numerous accomplishments but by his dutiful services to the military. The second of the two is you, never sought-after despite your unlawfulness, but penned by your achievements towards the community.

Now that Youngkyun's been drafted to this base- coincidental occurrences, not anything that either he or the Major would wish for, he can tell the truth. Some people will believe him like the higher-ups who have let their doubts about the Major's reports fester for months but wave at him when they see him. Ruthless killer. Others will doubt but come around. There's nothing Youngkyun can do now, but sit and wait on his pot of gold.

For every moment that he remains in the proximity of a place that worships an individual such as the Major, Youngkyun is reminded, very frequently of what he had to undergo whilst he was taking orders from him. He's close when you and the Major pause, right in the middle of the street as if you have done this many times before, automatically, with no fear of being interrupted. Then again, it is the place itself. It is deserted for miles with boundless high-rise buildings. Youngkyun slips into a dark corner, watching you from there. It's the side entrance to one of the buildings, two staircases to navigate in the dark.

Your safety has been on his mind since the first time you've been involved, with him, in this plan. Except him, everyone is in the right place. He is supposed to be in bed, snoring to the lull of soothing dreams. But when he remembered what was occurring today, his eyes snapped open with a blurry view of his ceiling. Half asleep and just like that, he got out of his bed and dressed in a hurry, not bothering to question the rationality of his actions.

His eyes squint to make out the figures, looking away when they meet, connecting their lips in the dark of the night. They pull apart and exchange something, most likely words of affirmation. Guiltily, he begins to move when they do. He pulls back, slithering back into the unlit corner. Further down, away from the figures, close to Youngkyun, he sees an automatic light perk on from the corner of his eyes. There are no alleyways either. So, there is someone else behind him.

Youngkyun sighs, he can't move unless whoever's following him does. He looks both ways, making sure that he doesn't lose the direction you headed in or get caught in a two-way intersection with the person behind him. Ahead is an alleyway, narrow and enclosed by two large green bins with black tops. Youngkyun makes a run for them. He looks behind as he runs, twice turning his head in caution before slipping into the small space.

He sighs when he gets there, he's locked. The bins are against the wall and he's standing in between them. It feels like he's floating, an obvious interpretation because although little light catches his figure, anybody could see him. 'I'm not great at this'., he thinks, racking his head for a solution. The figures now disappear out of sight. Not being able to crouch or look past the wall, he turns his attention to the figure that was following him.

You've left, he sighs. He also takes two steps back, quickly, out of extreme caution, instinctively raising his hands. A figure clutches the gun with both their hands, pointing it at his face. Their posture is relaxed, far from the average- not bent at the knees or directing a glare at Youngkyun. There's real fear that fills his system, freezing his legs to the ground and hands at the side, unable to reach for his gun. A hand pats his trousers and it's taken away.

The fear is much more prominent now, clutching Youngkyun's throat, squeezing it. It's more of a tug than a squeeze. A figure, enshrouded in black emerges from behind, swaying a little as it makes its way to oblivious Youngkyun. It presses into the tufts of his hair and touches the scalp. ''Don't move'' a scruffy voice says from behind him, walking to the front where Youngkyun can see him. The figure that made himself apparent never leaves his gun's aim on Youngkyun’s tummy when he clamours Youngkyun's pockets for any weapons that he may be carrying.

Youngkyun's throat runs dry and his fingers begin to tremble. He looks at the figure in front, not tearing his eyes off him. They finish, chuckling as they pocket his weaponry, only weaponry.

The one on the left has black hair, brown eyes, and wears a skin tight shirt, made from the material of gym clothes along with cargo trousers. Youngkyun knows who he is, by face not by personality. He tailed Youngkyun and his group- peeking from behind buildings, on foot rather than in a car. Everybody wanted to see the husband of an undercover cop that day. They have contacts everywhere, from the owner of the restaurant in the building to the guard sitting inside, payment to the gang in the area perhaps.

Youngkyun can take the two but is outnumbered by weapons. The figure on the right is unknown to him. His dark circles are prominent, uniform worn-out, maybe from a recent mission. Youngkyun had heard of it but they could not track them. 'Or maybe that isn't it', Youngkyun thinks. The figure is bulky and imposes his presence by towering over Youngkyun's one point seven nine metre frame. He has a scar on his chest, a diagonal line, peeking out from his shirt and an unshaven beard.

''Come with us, our-'' the one on the left speaks.

''Why'd you search me?'', Youngkyun asks.

''Formality. Our boss wishes to speak to you, over.. certain misunderstandings.''

''What misunderstandings?''

''Over Major Yoo Taeyang's report, from the next state over.'' he said, whispering the last bit.

''I can't give you that information, details are confidential.'' Youngkyun says, pushing the most terrible of memories away. They came first.

''You murdered that reporter didn't you?'' he says, predetermined, rehearsed, as if he knew that they would come to this point.

Youngkyun feels a slight chill run through his hands in the warm, damp air of the night. Sweat clouds his back, staining his top in various places. He feels cold, his blood freezing. They sound so convinced about it.

''Come on, soldier'' the one on the right impatiently grabs Youngkyun's hand, hustling him forward. He's stopped by the one on the left.

Pulling his hand from the bulky man's grasp, Youngkyun states, ''You have some misunderstandings as well. That man is dead not because of me.''

The man makes a face as if he has heard everything he needs to. ''You have all the reason in the world to deny it. Let's go.'' he says.

The gun pointed at his torso, an easy angle to just pull the trigger is only out of sight when Youngkyun sits in the car. It's classy, a contrast to the two men.

They are efficient but not by much of the standard. From hasty steps behind him to the accidental flickering of the light, everything was predictable, save for the man hiding in the pitch black of the alley. Neither of them caught him flinching then.

''You'll meet her.'' the driver says, he was the one on the left of medium height and novice, almost- professional with this new experience. Youngkyun jumps at the word her. The driver chuckles, ''Slow down, she's not enthusiastic to see you.''.

The bulky man sitting next to him speaks up, ''Just a formality.''.

Youngkyun repeats the words, staring out of the window.

The driver drops the passengers off outside a dark blue building, decorated with luxurious apartments. A ground floor apartment's lights are on and people are moving about, happily dancing and giggling to music that can be heard by Youngkyun and the ruffian man.

The two pause to stare at the scene, Youngkyun is unimpressed, motivated by other feelings but the other guy is in mock awe. They press on, the guy says nothing all the way up the three flights of stairs. They pass by an elevator each time but make no move to use it. Easier to run away if they were being shot at.

You sit in the apartment, taking in a deep, good breath after hastily preparing for Youngkyun's arrival. Youngkyun knew you way before you were indoctrinated into your family's business. You were stubborn, righteous and had a few sets of rules that you lived by, no matter what. You were also justice-loving, ironic given that your family's business wasn't selling groceries or something, it was one of gangs in the area.

Youngkyun knew that Yoo Taeyang wanted to use your family. But that's as far as he knew. It was only half the story. If you were not going to use Taeyang back, you would not hesitate to shoot him. You wouldn't kill him to honour one of your principles. That did not mean that you wouldn't harm him towards the point of death.

You proved yourself with all the experience your family could provide you with. You knew that Taeyang was climbing up ranks in his head and trying to make it reality too, by buying off your family. It went from little stocks in the business to sleeping with you, every time he had a day off. He wasn't a bad guy either, just a little narcissist with twisted values from his father.

He insisted that he had good intentions. But people committed the worst crimes in humanity with their good intentions.

The figure nodded to you, leaving Youngkyun at the door. Youngkyun was relieved to see you but that went away quite quickly. Much more was what you were wearing, night clothes. Lace loose at the shoulders fell shortly below your buttocks, another strip tied around your waist. You left the door open and turned to the living room.

He shut the door behind him, locking it, taking his shoes off and admiring the open space. There was very little in the middle except for an antique glass table on a large, comfortable rug. Plush red sofas with jewels embedded in the handles stood out against the wall, two tall glass cupboards filled with ornaments and foreign gifts from around the world were placed in the corners.

You sat on one side of the glass table with your back against the sofas while Youngkyun took the opposite, crossing his legs and placing his hands firmly on his knees. His breath stopped short when you raised your arms to remove your hair tie, letting hair fall all over your shoulders.

You noticed his eyes following your movements. You chuckled, ''What do I have for you? Is that your question.''

''Uh-yes, yes it is.'', he says, clearing his throat.

You chuckle, wondering why this nervous behaviour of his. ''Is your behaviour flighty because of those men?'', you question.

''Yes you should stop doing that. It scares me every time.'' he says, with more confidence, leaning on his palms.

''I'm sorry, maybe next time.'', you say, carefully taking into account his anxiety. ''You weren't supposed to be there today.'' you continue.

Why were you there? is the question.

''I've made my mind up. The recording? Push the date up further, today. I'll do it today.'' Youngkyun almost rambles on. He'll kill two birds with one stone today.

''You don't-'' you start. He really doesn't have to. He should take his time and prepare.

''I have to, you should now. The full story.''

You sigh, ''come with me.'', standing up and walking in the direction of your room.

Youngkyun walks past you to inspect the room, purely out of instinct. You motion with your hand and tell him to do as he pleases before he turns to you and apologises. He had this right. A surge of anxiousness overcomes him, for many reasons.

Youngkyun had been with you before and you had been there, to see him break multiple laws. Him. You were a middle ground, neither here nor there or a grey area between your rival gang and the police. You knew snippets of what Youngkyun had been through on his missions under Yoo Taeyang. You needed to hear the full perspective from him. From someone who had observed and been through it all.

Youngkyun knows that you want to help him. Nothing of semblance to push his anxiety further down the edge, like hidden cameras or audio equipment, the newest probably hidden somewhere, in something easy to look over like an ornament.

You had no ornaments in the room, except for the paintings. Painted by you, having taken over hours and hours to complete, to reach that stage of luxury. Taking a seat to calm his spinning head, he faintly clutches the rich covers underneath. They give him warmth, which he doesn't need in this weather and the urge to fall asleep on them.

You haven't moved from your place behind him, watching him search the place with inquisitive, trained eyes, meant to detect things. ''It's safe here'' you are soft about it, trying to encourage him, coax it out of him.

''He will go to jail.'', he says after a pause.

''Evidence?'', it can't be circumstantial.

''Eyewitness testimony.''

''Who?''. He is one of the witnesses.

''Can't say now.'', protecting them.

''What did he do?''. Another way of asking, How did he do it? Earn his rank plus the commendation of his seniors?

You sit next to him, holding a recorder in your hand, urging him to say it again as you begin. ''Major Yoo was the one who sent those soldiers to stop the raid of a gang on the resources held at another base. They expected them to be armed but they did not expect them to know that they were coming.''

''Where was this?''

''Past the front entrance of South Central, two blocks down.''. It didn't mean anything to you.

''Did he give those orders himself?''

''That he did.'', a preamble to all of Taeyang's troubles.

''What happened to those soldiers, Captain?''

''They died, we have reason to believe that they were ambushed. A reporter working in the area colluded with the gang, soldiers- ten individuals sent there to stop the attack on a high status official. Presumably a raid on the base's resources, had tons of it all stacked and going nowhere, not to the hungry people in the village. Major must have not known, none of them made it back because of the information he had shared with the reporter. The failure was the result of planning irresponsibly.''

''How?''

''He must have changed his report when he realised his mistake. They noticed so many people missing and investigations were open for quite some time. But Taeyang's elaborate, smart as hell, first reason he got that position, that and his capabilities in the field, calm and composed. He reported it differently, worded it in a way that allowed him to evade responsibility. It was premature, they didn't have enough information to go in in the first place but they were still sent.''.

Easier to control his wrong-doings from there, once you are high in status, people will come for you. Being high-status is also the fastest way to lose your job, if you aren't careful, you think. It is one of the cautions you are aware of as a leader.

''He's done it before.''. Youngkyun thinks. He isn't actively working on this case. They need a draft, someone to summarise it up. Surely they have asked other members of Youngkyun's team to do the same. Investigations into the Major have been conducted for sometime now. It is only now that they made themselves apparent.

''Done what?''. The closer you get to the truth, the harder it is to ask him questions. Especially given the fact that you were new to this. You didn't know what questions to ask. You wish he would just tell you everything, straight up.

''Frame someone else for his mistakes, must give him immense anxiety.''

''Anything is relevant right now.''.

''When I was under his orders, he made the mistake of replacing a code book. Going out would make it look like our country was in a pretence to the other, they had a contract or something. It was burned when we got it back, he was let off, save for his assistant.'', he clenched his teeth about. You knew about this.

''Pinned it on him?''

''I don't even know if that's possible. He had officials gloss over their reports, to cover for him because of what they believe he can achieve. To escape like that, he murdered once and he'll do it again, trust me.''

''Murder?''. You held back any visible frustrations now. Pushing him would gain nothing. ''Anything else?''

''He let go of a man from the same place as where the soldiers were killed. Committed sexual assault and homicide but Major let go of him.''

''Why is that Captain?'', you said, horrified, already unsettled, finicky, nervous at the hair tips.

''The man was protected by the gang- high in status, high enough for them to intervene and protect a life. Major could not start a war so he cut a deal, 'let go of the village and they'll release him'. All went well.''. Ironic for them to protect a life. Could it hint that there were discrepancies in the leadership?, you ask yourself but don't say anything about it.

''It's not out jurisdiction if the individual is not from here.''

''oh, but she is, was, the head of the resistance group, dual-nationality.''

''That's a lot of things to tie him for.'' you murmur, sighing at the boat-load of information.

''Tie him?'' he asks, curious. Are you considering punishing the Major by the law?, he thinks. You always did say that the law moves slower than it should.

There is no answer from you. You want to deny his question that you know he is currently asking. You could give it a try, again.

''Why were the resources held up?'', you continue.

''Take control of the resources y/n, take control of the village. Probably used it as leverage but not sure what. They don't have a lot to offer but the gang does, information on other gangs. Taking other's out would risk them gaining more power and we couldn't have that.''

''You think Taeyang has something to do with this?''

''He doesn't run the tide on that, his friend does, childhood friend. But you can't assume that she's going to help him, I know her and she wouldn't. She's got a mole in camp.''

''We'll have to come back to that.''. Human nature. It isn't even in your intention to come back to this topic. You want to know.

''I'll find out about it.''. It's a place to start, to wrap the mission up in bow tie and send it off.

''Don't get yourself into danger.'', you say, genuine about it and eager to prove him wrong. He thinks that you could care less about him. The like has always been there.

He nods, resting his head in his palms, elbows digging into his thighs. He takes your advice to heart. At this moment, he finds it harder than ever to separate you in his world from his profession. He wants you but how does he tell you about it?

''If you knew and you yourself did not die- were there groups?''

''Three, back up and because the villages are huge too. More soldiers means that work can be carried out in a time efficient manner. I wasn't in their group, one day- a day after the first four weeks were over they came and told us. They relayed the news, ''They're dead''. It was so professional, they answered the how's. It hurt y/n, it hurt all over. I wasn't in the same group as them but I ate with them, joked with them, worked with them outside of our team, together. We are one team less, y/n, one team less. That was a lot for us to think about, compartmentalise but we didn't have enough time to do it. We ended up covering for them, breaking our backs, taking orders while some bullshit went on in the background.'' Youngkyun ends it frustrated, referring to the rape and the injustice that that man was let go. Tears rim his eyes, he clenches his fists at the thoughts, recounting those painful memories.

You grasp his hand, soothingly running your finger over the clenched skin, waiting for him to relax before you pull yourself closer and take him into your arms. He tries his best not to cry right there. He lets go of his tense posture and snuggles into the warmth you have to offer which you take as a good sign.

You find yourself unhappy for him, pained rather. That he holds all of that, in there, this sensitive guy with un-coped, heavy amounts of emotional trauma at the back of his head. You feel for him. You run your fingers through his hair and kiss the side of his head, letting him go to sit up straight.

You want to say something but nothing is to be said. Words are meaningless right now. You sit in silence for some time, enduring the harsh humidity that makes your skin dry, waiting for him to snap out of it- everything, when he is ready.

'Let's go!'' Sanghyuk would have said, pulling Major Yoo towards the restaurant to ease the awkwardness they felt with him. Lee Sanghyuk was one of the few soldiers killed in the blast of gang members and weapons. Taeyang tries his best not to think about it. Better profile for lying, he thinks.

He walks alone to meet a different correspondent. The staff politely greet him but turn their heads down and ignore him. Perhaps they have heard the nasty rumours about him. He finds you sitting on the far side, right in the corner, wedged in a seat for two and he smiles brightly. He can't tell if he really likes you or not, lines are beginning to blur. Some things are just not part of the plan.

He greets you, wrapping his arms around you in a loving embrace. ''You visited! Is this your first time at the base?'', he asks. You like to think that he's put a lot of effort into this relationship. Sometimes you like to think that he sits on his bed at night, runs over the conversations he's had with you and picks apart little details. You find it humorous. But it's a real possibility.

He loves your lips, especially when they touch his skin. He lingers over yours, pressing softly, feeling you for the first time this afternoon. Your hand curiously travels his uniform when he pecks your cheeks, your neck. You know where this is going.

He swoops in for your lips, taking you by surprise. Again?, he thinks. Delectably, he wonders why. He thinks of nothing; his groin stirs. ''Do you want me to show you around? Or go home?'' he whispers.

Your coffee, not touched at all, full to the hilt, is left there. It's a short walk to your car. He tugs you along, looking back and smiling, very obviously excited. The next question is car or home? He walks faster than normal, something callous is on his mind.

Pretence or not, in this relationship, the both of you want something out of it. His motive is far more clearer than yours. That's what Youngkyun had also asked you, ''What'd you want out of this thing, with him?''. It was hard to explain. You wanted almost nothing and you were not stuck so why were you here?

He takes you home, yours more specifically. It's in the same building as the apartment that Youngkyun had visited but a couple of floors away. If he was to find you, he would look in the wrong place, not ever knowing that you were nearby. In the elevator, upwards, he firmly clutches your waist. You try to squirm out of his gasp. It's the moment of truth. About the man that he let away, it comes to mind and you are repulsed.

You feel the need to get away from him. He's behind, slipping his arms around your waist, feeling your tummy, pressing kisses of air at your neck and you can't take it. You endure it all the way up, occasionally cracking a smile, hoping he's not going to ask about the gloom on your face on the ride up. You'll answer his questions, but not his arguments.

The doors open, without a hitch or some noise, closing away when you step into the extra bright sunshine that decorates the hallway floor and it's walls. Your mood is ruined but his? Strong and going on. He tugs you to your apartment, flashing back a smile which credit is due, momentarily makes you smile. The feeling his smile evokes is temporary, replaced by visual flashes of what he must have done.

You push them away, cautious enough on your feet to alert yourself of what he has done. You have distance because you never saw it with your own eyes. They were not your family members, nor your friends or distant relatives. You have to hand him over to Captain Kim but not whilst torturing yourself in the process.

''Let's go'' he says in a genuine tone of voice. You are surprised and have to remind yourself. Anticipation builds up, creeps into your skin with goose-bumps or tiny tremors, maybe only tiny to you. You chuckle and throw a smile that you hope looks like one, entering your apartment. ''The chapter can close here if you want too'' Youngkyun had asked you, out of concern for your well-being. He had told you what he had to, the same disgustingly gruesome but life-changing details as on the night the two of you had recorded it.

It would be given to them, the team consisting of high-ranking members, higher than the Major, someone that Youngkyun and his team know and trust, enough to find something in their investigative line into Taeyang's immoral doings. Youngkyun knows that he can't hide it anymore. He will be punished for holding back information. However, you will always admire his efforts to save his team and pull through, even when under the harsh gaze of secrecy that threatened to break their backs.

Taeyang doesn't miss the shadow of the figure sitting on the sofa as you kick off your shoes and enter the apartment. He's not shaken, just walking in like you'd walk into a store or something, curious. That is all. Kyun has confidence, the one that had been previously broken down. That estimation of how far in the future Taeyang will be behind bars as opposed to the confidence in Taeyang which he has none of.

Taeyang looks back, not as menacing as the manner in which you thought he would appear. He smiles. Like a knowing kind of smile. It makes your shiver from behind the counter. Kyun is closer to Taeyang than Taeyang is to you. Kyun could reach over the table if he attempted something. It could turn into a fight and he would be off with you- for negotiation or worse, since neither of them had weapons.

Which is why you choose the kitchen. It's open, giving you a view of both of them and contains all the objects you can turn into weapons in one place. It's also close to the front door. You could reach it in a couple of steps. If you ran fast enough. Taeyang is silently thinking as he pulls a chair and seats it opposite Youngkyun with only the barrier of the coffee table in between.

Taeyang smiles. You can see the curve of his cheekbones rise, even from behind him. He's not threatened, that's for sure. There is no hint of exasperation present. He moves to say something but doesn't, anything could give him away but none would be enough to implicate him. Some sort of unrivalled anger is provoked within you at that thought.

It's painful to watch this. They stay silent, waiting for the other to speak or maybe they have some unspoken agreement to stay like this. Placing all the weight of your palms on the marble countertop, you shift to the other foot, easing the pain you feel from standing. Youngkyun momentarily leaves his focus from Taeyang to look at you. He sees frustrated eyes but misses the look in Taeyang's.

There's a splodge of anxiety that belittles Taeyang. It nags at him for letting a loose end like Youngkyun onto the base, save for the fact that he has no control over that. Then it is for letting Youngkyun run his mouth. When you are in a position so high, people just wait for a chance to grab you down. He feels furious towards Youngkyun but also understanding. There is conflict. But eventually, the growing resentment wins.

When Youngkyun loses focus, out of concern when he hears you sigh, Taeyang stops thinking. He takes it as a moment of opportunity. It can't save him, but it can make him feel better. Seeping violence in and dismantling his opponent when at their weakest is what he was trained to do. That kind of mindset isn't trained but forced, coerced upon in circumstances of extreme danger and high mortality rate.

It's so fast. So sudden, in fact, too sudden. In your eyes, Taeyang gets up, only half way. His knees are still bent when he leans across the table, not by much. And swings a crack at Youngkyun's face. More specifically his jaw. The area between his ear and chin, not landing completely on the cheek. You don't see Youngkyun wring back.

First is a sound, a groan like the time he had come to you. He was bleeding from a fight, the closest place to come, he had said at the time but now, it is less worse. Your breath hitches. Perhaps you've been holding your breath for so long. You aren't sure. Taeyang could go feral, you aren't sure of that either.

You begin to take a step back. Only a second or two or three later, Youngkyun reels from the shock of being hit. He sits upright, fuming internally, displaying stern patience. His face is almost expressionless, save for the occasional unclenching of the jaw that was hit. He doesn't instantly react, waiting. You don't know what to think.

It’s like a power move, for Taeyang to put Youngkyun in his place before Taeyang would be sent to a worse form of hell, one below dignity for him. Like a punishment, you deserve more than this but this is all I can give you, Taeyang said in other words. Youngkyun reacts instantly when Taeyang gets up with his legs straight and feet tipped in the direction of the door.

He wouldn't run but he could come for you. You had feared it and now, it is about to come true. Youngkyun looks at you as he stands up, telling Taeyang, ''Don't do it.''. Taeyang instead chuckles, disarming Youngkyun, ''I'll walk''. Just then, as Taeyang hits the last syllable, soldiers arrive. Straight through the door. You hadn't heard the lock turning or boots thudding in the hallway.

First sight of them has Taeyang gritting his teeth. He complies, like a mouse in a game of chase. It burns him. He complies, seething at Youngkyun who chuckles. After he leaves, Youngkyun takes a seat, dropping his head into arms. He sighs, partly in relief, partly in the party that had just begun and maybe because, the bigger part of his deal was to keep Taeyang away from you.

You are stuck there. Where you chose to stand and where you are standing now. You try to move, to go to Youngkyun but it feels like Taeyang could burst through the door at any moment. In the face-to-face sense, you didn't know what Taeyang could do. Youngkyun senses it when you don't move. He expects the shuffling of footsteps but not absolute silence.

He gets up, coming to you, reaching for your hand and clasping them together. You hum, looking at him, shifting weight from one foot to the other. You try a smile, failing and then laughing at it which has him smiling too. ''You're okay, he's not coming back. That- what you saw, he can't try anything.'', he softly drops off to your listening ears, reaching to grasp your cheek and like turn-taking, you pull yourself closer to him too. He reaches for you in that moment, connecting your lips to his, softly moulding to yours.

He feels relief in letting you pour out the fear you felt, discarding it away in favour of being in arms. Letting him pick you up and take you to the sofa. Letting you gasp for breath when he lets go, placing you on the sofa with your legs on his thighs. ''I want to help you.'' he says, almost stumbling over his words to try and explain to you that he wants to help, only if you want.

He pauses after his whispers, his lips so close to yours that if you were to give a response, no matter how subtle, he'd know. You mull at his prospect, mind blank, looking like you are thinking. ''Stop asking.'' you say, so soft that it came across as a request, although feeling like a command, one stop sentence. He nods, instantly, absorbing your words, having his breath taken away by how you bring him down on your lips, knotting your fingers through his hair.

''We'll get you out of this gang, this place.'', he murmurs, sitting you down on his lap.

Taeyang could come back, there was a high chance that that event could occur. He was what? The best or second-best rumoured equal to the one in first place? With these people who you called soldiers beguiling you to stay, drawing you till you suffocated, now was the wrong time for Youngkyun's plans of staying with you.

''How? There's no way out, Kyun. They won't be so happy, to drag me back this time.'' you say, sucking in a sharp breath, fiddling with his clothes. He doesn't have a plan, at least not right now. All he wants to do is to get you away from here. Set up life somewhere else, away. The two of you don't have a plan, not yet.

Fervent whimpers leave your lips and desperate fingers clutch tightly at the bedsheets, pleasure overwhelming your sex with the way his cock pulls out and fills you again. He's sweating, core clenching from snapping his hips against yours, absorbing every detail of your body beneath him as you ask him to let you release. The sound of skin slapping and the smell of sex coats the room. Fragrance leaks onto your inner thighs at the end but it doesn't stop him, not from kissing your lips and leaving a trail of heat all the way to your inner thighs, and repeating it, again.

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