#my brain just tossed this to me like a grenade and took cover

[trans-l-lawliet]

Light Yagami looking fresh with a mullet

#death note #light yagami #dn #stars vs the forces of evil #svstfoe #my brain just tossed this to me like a grenade and took cover

[visual-explorxtion]

Scarlet Letter [Chris Redfield x Reader] - One Shot (NSFW)

Summary: In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, your captain, Chris, leads your team to find the research of the latest virus. But, the operation was unsuccessful. 6 months later, you meet him again.

A/N: Coming out of my cage, and I’ve been doing just fine🙃 I’ve shat this out of my ass unfiltered brain and have little to none expectations. Was suppose to be around 2k words but somehow shat out 4k instead. So, please expect nothing but 5 am bad writings🥲

Warning: Explicit content, like, hardcore explicit content if you haven’t catch the drift from the title by now.

Word Count: 4.4k

The scent in the atmosphere reeks of damp and saltiness- stiffening the senses in your nostril. The flooring beneath your heavy boots sways left and right as the hollow hallways creaked and groaned travelling further down the extent. The repetitive flashings of door to door is already making you sick in this dusky labyrinth. It's been 30 minutes since you set foot in this abandoned ship.

Your mission objective: to retrieve documentation and possible samples of the new variant strain of the virus. As easy as a retrieval mission may sound, the location of this requisition is also a motile laboratory. Admittedly, this is a dexterous way to cover any signs of your tracks– especially if what you are making concerns the wellbeing of the world and stirring another biohazardous warfare. But, to you, the work of fighting in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean is not the most ideal place in the world.

Cautiously trekking through the vessel, you've reached an intersection with hallways splitting into three different directions. A sturdy arm extends in midair, bringing your group to a halt. You all listen attentively, a few faint footsteps and unnatural growling swirls in the air but you can't quite pinpoint its exact location. The limb drops from your vision, instead it turns to face you all. The man's face is ragged, not only from exhaustion but also from the things he has seen through time. And yet, the amber burning in his eyes remains gleaming with hope. Chris Redfield, the captain of this retrieval mission, and your sole mentor since you've been recruited by the BSAA.

Chris glanced over you all once then began to sign with his hands. He splits your group into pairs; one team going left side, your group to the right and himself pushing forward. You all nod in agreement and move out to each direction of the crossroad respectively. Weapons engaged in position, lagging a few steps behind your teammate and check your watch. 0327 hour. Well...for you, time is of the essence.

In search of any signs of evidence but nothing seems to resemble what you were sent out to find. Corpses laid dormant in several rooms, blood tarnished the metallic floor deck but it seems to be running dry on the outer edge. Meaning they've died for a good few hours ago, but you don't see any signs of struggle. No stab or gun wounds, nor were they hit by any blunt instruments. Just blood oozing out, like the body itself is rejecting the vital fluid and pushing it out of the pores. Just the sight of this is rippling a chill down your spine. If this is the new strain of the virus, then you need to speed up your search for the documents, with evidence like this proves its value.

Another two steps along, you both reached a door unlike the rest of the ones you've seen. This one appears to be more sturdy and with an electronic keypad built into it. A room with a lock tells you that things that are usually classified or kept away from the prying eyes are often kept in a locked room. Maybe this mission wouldn't be so difficult after all.

Your partner carefully grabs a hold on the door handle and swiftly gives it a twist. To both of your surprises, it was unlocked. But that leaves a pit in your stomach as you know things generally don't work so easily. You nod and he pushed it open. The room is dimly lit and the beacon attached to your gun isn't doing any better. From what little light sources you both have, you can just barely make it out that you are situated in a conference room. A long, clear glass table sits tightly in the middle of the suite, with a few cabinets on either side and a laptop oddly placed at the far end of the desk.

"There. You go see if you can find any information. I'll stand guard"

They nod, speed away towards his objective and begin its continuous tapping on the keyboard. You took several glances at them impatiently before returning to inspect your surroundings for any imminent danger. But in return, they left out a hefty breath and shook their head.

"Dead end. Can't find anything on here." they sigh.

"Go look through the cabinets. There must be something." you tip your head towards the cabinet as you respond. Peering at your watch again. 0335h. Time is running out.

As soon as their back is turned away in your direction– immediately slamming the door shut and the electronic keypad emitted a small beep with its activation. You frowned and took three shots until the electronic part fizzled and the light darkens. They tugged at the door in frustration, but it wouldn't budge. As they look up to the smug grin on your face, fist clenched and pounding as hard as they could but the door stays deadlocked. You shook your head slowly, seeing the confused look on his face as you reached into your back pouch. In your hand, a palm-sized device– caught in red and blue wires, roughly composed with a digital face sitting just on top showing the number 30 on it. The blood on their face drained as they realised what you were holding.

"I sincerely hope you can make it out alive before this reaches 0." you smile, pressing a button and leaving the device on the floor. You turn and leave them effortlessly lashing out at the door.

***

Every twist and turn of a corner, you toss a bomb as you make your way back to the crossroad, heading to the direction where Chris set off. You wonder just how much he knows about this virus, or better yet, if he had any idea of your true intentions. Nevertheless, you won't let him compromise your only mission.

In your peripheral vision, you see Chris just up ahead. You ran to him breathlessly, staggering a step or two before reaching him.

"Captain! Are you alright? I heard gunshots." you gulped.

"I'm okay. What happened to the others?"

"We got separated in the middle of our search, then I heard gunshots so I went to inspect. Have you found what we are looking for yet?"

He nodded. "Yes. It seems that the new strain of the virus is worse than we think. I'll radio the rest of the team and get HQ to pick us up."

Chris walks off just a few steps, clutching the SD card for a closer inspection. Your shoulder shifts slightly and your hand gradually reaching for the back pocket and grasp for something. As he turns to press onto his in-ear radio, you plunge a cylindrical tube into his neck and dosed him. Arm sideswipes towards you, making you tumble back but catching yourself gracefully landing on your own two feet. Chris falters on his knees, just barely managing to pull out the syringe from his artery with the SD card spinning out of his grasp.

"What did you do to me?" He managed to push out a few words.

You stare at your feet where the SD card sits shyly just next to it. Picking it up delicately with your fingers and sigh.

"You know...I went through so much trouble just for this tiny thing." you wave the chip about as you make your way around the room. "But, no thanks to you...Captain." you smiled.

Chris sinking lower towards the ground as his muscles shake uncontrollably to keep himself upright. You stroll and position yourself in front of him, meeting him eye to eye.

"Hm. Somehow, I thought you might be smarter than this. All these...role-playing...serving under you." Force grabbing his chin and you inspect his face once more. "Did you enjoy yourself? Honestly, I had fun. But, all good things must come to an end." you whispered in his ear and drew your lips gently onto his. The warm sensation fills you for a split second before parting yourself from it.

Chris's face remains expressionless from the side effect of the drug, but you see a slight hint of awe in his eyes. Now, this is getting even more humorous to you. Glancing at your watch once more, 0400h. You stand, shoving the document chip in your pocket and letting your hand rest there as you lean against the window sill.

"Oh, Captain," you hear the distant pairs of footsteps gaining closer to your direction. "I'd wish we had more time." You smirk, just as the rest of the team surrounds you, gun in hand pointing in your direction and creating a barrier between you and Chris Redfield. Lifting up your left hand, hoping to prove your innocence but really, what good would that do?

You took an exaggerated breath and rolled your eyes, any minute now. As the team inches closer and closer towards you, out of the blue, a deafening 'BOOM' went off and shook the room. Without missing a beat comes another one.

"I believe that's my cue." Before they could react, the flash grenade releases out of your hand and a shock of light hits. Blinded by the flash, they fall prone and helpless to your defence. You took a few steps back, and with a charged run, you leapt out of the window and swan dive into the cold, pitless ocean to the muffled sound of explosions.

***

6 months you've been on the run and back to working independently. News about you spread quickly as you soon become a wanted criminal by the BSAA, but you also received more work thanks to the flamboyant advertisement.

Unwinding at a corner cafe in the middle of Paris, the sun shines just enough to be blocked out by your lavish sun hat while flicking through the top news pages. 'Increasing number of outbreak cases in several countries' seems like this is just the beginning of your newly found virus, and more importantly, turning a new leaf for your career.

Sipping a glass of '82 Lafite, breathing in your surroundings and admiring the view. Observing. The bustling street of passersby, the wind waking of emerald green trees and the leisurely patrons sitting around and behind you in this cafe. Sooner or later, this place will be a shitshow and overthrown by the hands of human-induced monsters.

You slipped a couple of bills and grabbed your lighter off the table before sauntering away before somebody did recognize you, not the first time you've had a run-in with an agent or somebody just wanting that bounty on top of your pretty little head. In this neverending cat and mouse game, there's only one winner, but you're not going to be the one that gets caught.

Wandering aimlessly down the streets to the sound of mild chatter and heels clicking against the cobblestones. Strolling at a comfortable pace and casually tipping your sun hat to adjust to the warmth of the sun, you abruptly stopped.

"I believe it is a criminal offence to publically stalk somebody. Or, did you forget that already?" you tease. Looking from behind, he stood there, dressed in black from head to toe. A perfect contrast to your floral white one-piece. "Captain... Well, I guess it would be best to call you Chris now." you faintly smiled.

Chris did not answer right away. He loomed, with that familiar upright frame but even more of a worn-out look on his face than the last moment you saw him. His cheeks concave a little, his stubbles have grown out to almost form a full beard and the light behind his eyes has diminished to blackened ash. It pains you to see him like this.

"I'm here to take you back," he ordered.

"And, what good would that do?" you paused, picking out your cigarette case from one of your pockets, a row of orange and white strips arranged neatly one next to the other. You drew one out and let it sit comfortably in between your slender fingers, out of your other pocket, a gold plated zippo and with a flick the cigarette sparked.

"Taking me back so you can get your ass praised? I'd suggest you go back and be a good little captain before the world goes up in flames." pressing the narrow stick against your lips and taking a deep drag, the warmth swirls and fills your lungs all the way with a slight tingle. The smoke rolls out in between your mouth and veils your face as Chris watches intently.

"I'm not here to turn you in," he spoke firmly and his eyes never left yours.

"Oh! Interest..." you gawked. Taking another long breath in. The ember burns away more and more like the distance between you and him. Drawing you closer until there is no distance left.

***

Mind hazed in red, you stumble backwards into your apartment, hands still entangled between each other's embrace and the passionate kisses. With each touch, your senses grow more numb, filled with nothing but lust.

You made an attempt at kicking off your heels and successfully discarded one side but your frustration did not go unnoticed. He grabs the back of your knee in one swift motion, fingers gently run along the underside and tug your heel off to the corner of the room. Skimming the edge of your sun hat, with a flick of the wrist it comes off and lands somewhere. You broke off his sultry kiss, gasping for air, face flushed in rose as his face mirror's yours. The colour of his eyes now burns as brightly as you can remember– like amber melted and infused to become a part of him. Its beauty encapsulated in the door to his soul. Tempting and mesmerizing.

Chris kept a hold of his gaze on your mouth– now red and puffy from excessively sucking on it. He leans closer once more, hoping to feel the sensation of you again, but you stopped him with the slightest touch of your index finger. The pad of your finger grazes tenderly along his lower lip, you could feel the vertical creases engraved across the top. Irritated, he parted his lips just enough for him to taste you, drawing in and softly nibbling on your skin with his canine, salivating down the palm of your hand. You snap your finger back and he growls, impatient for his desire.

Snatching a fist full shirt, you lead him through the hallway and enter a cosier area. Nothing in the room speaks personality; a cream wooden drawer, soft brown desk by the window, an unkempt double bed situated in the middle and a full body mirror with a sheet draped over it. You gave a shove and he collapsed onto the bed with a grunt. Spreading his legs wide open with a kick as he props himself up on his elbow.

Hands and knees crawling towards the prone stud and stopping until you both are face to face. His eyes scanning every part of you, searching for the slightest change of your emotion– a change that might sway your mind, rejecting him. You both lock eyes for a moment– trying to sense what goes on in their mind– his eyes flicker from your left vision to your right, taking all of your facial features in, memorising them. You leaned in close, just shy of an inch away, hovering just above his mouth, feeling his presence. He attempts to lean in closer but you withdraw a little as his voice comes out quiet with a plea.

Giving him one last glance over, you parted your lips for him as his tongue enters per your invite. Compassionate and needy, his kiss became more demanding as if trying to devour you all at once, marking you as his own. His teeth nibble and softly sucking on your bottom lip, it becomes even more puff up and a few droplets of blood oozes out as he licks them away, tending for your wounds. Hands entangled onto each other clothing, tearing them off of each other's bodies with any difficulty and tosses aside.

Chris's palms roam freely from your shoulder blades and slither down, taking in two handfuls of your ass and flipping you on your backside whilst he towers you on top. His mouth leaves you with a feverish haze, running his tongue over the length of your jawline and tasting every section of your luscious chest and working a trail of kisses down your abdomen. A firm grip shift to your thighs– almost spilling out– as he parts your legs wide opening, welcoming him to take a mouthful of you. You gasped when he took you in, hands helplessly reaching for the sheets, he drinks you in and teases you playfully by grazing you with his teeth and sucking on the spot. His burning hot tongue runs down your length, protruding your entrance several times before slithering back up top again.

Deep marks imprinted on your lower lip, stifling any noise that threatens to escape your throat, but that soon was broken free by your beloved captain. A hiss slipped, reverberating in your eardrums, as two rigid fingers explored your walls which made you tense up from this unfamiliar feeling. The continuous prodding made you twist and squirm even more so, as the pace quickens, the heat in your belly grew with the flaming desire, burning you over the edge and tightening around him. Gently, he retrieves his hand as he looks down at them, spreading his fingers apart. The white silken fluid cascades down the length of his forearm– gleaming with the scent of you– he runs his tongue along his limb, tasting every ounce of you without missing a drop.

Breathlessly, you watch him attentively playing with your discharge, still strung around his long, harsh fingers, lustfully smearing it across your pillow lips before nudging them into your mouth, giving you a taste of yourself. A bitterness intertwined with a hint of saltiness of his digits, his hand caresses your cheek as his mouth crashes back down onto your, feeling the heat of his rising through to you. Tongue twirls on top of one another, a lick of his canine and piercing his lower lip until he grunts in pain, antagonizing his pleasure and taking back your dominance.

You smirk at the brilliance of your work, blood trickles down the corner of his mouth as he swipes away with a flick of his thumb. The annoyance painted on his face made you even giddier, but his desire for control will make you wish you never had triggered something within him. Chris gave a rough tug, sliding you closer to his peaked length, gripping your hip so mean, bruises are bound to surface the next day. He positioned himself just barely touching your opening, loosely slipping up and down tormenting your craving for him to insert his dick deep within. Taking this as a challenge, your legs wrapped and locked around his waist, seizing the means of his movement but forward. A fiery breath scatters across the dip of your neck, creating goosebumps around the area, now covered by the moisture of his saliva.

He gazes at you, cocking one-side of his eyebrow, leaving you in confusion about his ulterior motives. In your new confoundment, his teeth sink deep into the curvature of your delicate skin as he plunges all the way to the hilt. You scream, can't decide whether it's from the pain of his chomp, or him stretching and filling your abdomen to the brim. Muscles twitch in discomfort, the size of this thing is tearing your physicality and sanity apart, all thoughts scattered from your brain, only white noise occupies your mind. Subconsciously, you wiggle out of his grasp, but only for him to throw your legs over his broad shoulders, slamming back down his length, hitting all your sensitive spots again. Your back arches from the force of his retaliation and your sweet moan echoes around the room.

His hip stirs with each thrust he takes and earns a moan in return, rearranging and moulding your internal organs into the shape of his. Subtly moving across your stomach, a hand tracing every curve of your midriff and stopping just below your belly button, lingering over your skin for a few moments before putting a light pressure where a thin wall of muscles separates his cock. Your head threw back in ecstasy and toes digging deep into the mattress, hands desperately grasp for his arms for strength as you scream out his name. Bedpost banging against the wall with each bit of momentum that caused the silk sheet to fall, exposing the full-length mirror just facing you. The animalistic position that presents before your eyes startles you and makes you turn away out of embarrassment. He constrains your jaw and twists you back into view.

"Watch it," he commands. “Look at how I’m fucking you senselessly.”

You witness the part where you and he connect, devouring his member inch by inch, feeling all the ridges and veins brushing over and over your sensitive spot, pushing you closer to the edge. Nails delving deeper into his flesh, creating new scars mixed with his old bullet wounds, you inhale a sharp breath as you unravel onto him the second time, clenching rhythmically to your descend. As the waves of pleasure crash before you, Chris slowly subsides his movement to let you adjust to your coming down, your vision returning to his face that’s filled with compassion.

Stamina quickly replenishes and before he could react, your leg hooks around his knees and pulls, he tumbles backwards, landing abruptly onto the mattress with a slight jolt. You flipped your position with ease, riding on top with his body heat still connected deep within. He seemed impressed by your skilled manoeuvre as he got handsy with your ass again, groping the rounded meat a handful of times before bringing his hand up and slapped it. The pain made you welp and clenches him tighter which earned a raspy moan slipping out of his lips.

Hip rolled against his hard length– prodding further into you– earning you another erotic hiss from his pent-up breath. In this position, your insides are being stretched wider between pleasure and pain. Your hands made their way to his chest for support as you began sliding back out, and all at once, dropping all the way down. He groans, the combined movement is wearing him down as you can feel his dick pulsing rapidly to indicate that he is on the verge. Your arm reaches backwards, a finger trailing up along his inner thigh, teasing the shape of his bulge and drawing circles around it. To his surprise, you grasp the base of his shaft, restricting his means of climax. Chris fists the sheets and growls in disapproval.

"Not so fast." you giggled.

Twisting and fighting as his loaded passion is met by the pain you've conflicted on him, which brushed your ego to see him act like this. Your little captain, patriotic and stone-faced on the battlefield, now falls weak under you– pleading for a sweet release. You comply, quickening up your pace, rolling your hips in between the intervals of riding, you positioned yourself at an angle, letting the head stroke your delicate spot harder. The repetitive motion numbs your mind, waves of bliss building up again in your abdomen as the slapping sound resonate louder around the room.

Blood rushing up to your head, with the white noise filling up your ears and thoughts once more, your body spasmed as you came, eyes seeing stars from the immense heat. You release the grasp of his dick as he cries out and injects you with his thick load– thrusting intensely with each discharge. His cum fills you to the brim, spilling down your thighs still freshly warm. You scoop up a little until it covers the tip of your finger and traces it along with your tongue before swallowing– salty with a minor chewy texture.

Your legs eventually gave out, still twitching from the aftermath, you flopped on top of the now exhausted Chris. Both gasping desperately for air, you listened closely to the pounding of his heart until it subsides to a normal beat. How very strange, being alive.

You put an abrupt stop to your internal thoughts so you don't ruin a good moment, considering this might be the first and last you get to do this with him. Pushing yourself off him, you lay silently with his arm tucked under your head, you sigh, seeing him fastly sound asleep. Thumb softly caress his cheek and faintly tracing the bags under his eyes, a slight pang hits you, recalling your own mistakes that lead him to this. Your eyelids grew heavier– struggling to keep yourself awake– you kissed him once more and whispered before succumbing to the darkness.

“I’d wish we had more time.”

***

Arm in search of the body next to him, but the cold emptiness is left in his presence. Eyes shot wide open, the room still shrouded in blackness with the pale moonlight seeping in. Chris sat up, trying to put the puzzle pieces together, remembering where he is. He scans the room, looking for a hint of you, but you were nowhere to be found. He sighs, picking up his undergarment off the floor and trudging out of the bedroom. The rest of the house is dim, but the moonlight gives him comfort and company at this moment, he knew you were already gone.

Taking a closer inspection around, he never noticed the simple furniture placed around the apartment that already occupies the space when you arrived. The lack of liveliness proves that you weren't going to stay for long. Of course, Chris was one of the reasons. Recollecting his items of clothing around the house piece by piece, he spots a red note sitting on the edge of the counter. A symbolic fragment that's surrounded by the monochromatic landscape. He reads to himself and shakes his head, skimming the bottom of the note where your initials are printed on. Hesitantly, he pockets the notes as he exits the place, leaving him with the final message:

"See you around. x"

#I forgot how to write fics #this is a literal mess to me #all I can say is that I was hoping to put this out on Valentine’s Day #but I just forgot how to write :/ #idk bon appetite #chris x reader #chris redfield #resident evil #re fanfic #yo it’s been too damn long and I don’t know how to write smut #re fanfiction #⭐️.doc

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Dynasty Chapter 10

“You brought him here?” shrieked a voice, stabbing through Peter’s temples. “You idiot!”

“Look,” said a defensive voice, “We need a clean sample.”

“We won’t be needing anything if we’re shut down,” snarled the first voice.

Peter opened his eyes and saw a woman in a lab coat glaring at a man wearing body armor. Good body armor too, a muzzy part of his brain noticed. Sleek and almost form fitting, like that new stuff Tony was making. A quick try to get up proved his suspicions: he was strapped down. It looked like he was strapped down to a gurney of some kind.

“So, uh, anyone want to fill me in on what’s going on?” he asked dryly, not expecting an answer.

The female sighed, brought a hand to her head, and muttered, “Idiots, every last one of you. Mr. Parker,” she said firmly.

Peter’s skin crawled. He could tell that he was still wearing his suit, so there should have been no way for her to know who he was. “Parker?” he asked, trying to sound quizzical.

She made an irritated sound. “Please don’t pretend with us. We know very well what your other identity is and we are no threat to you.” She emphasized the words as her left hand clutched her white coat.

“You’ll have to forgive me for finding that hard to believe,” Peter drawled. “Since, you know.” He tried to move an arm that was strapped down. He wasn’t sure what he was strapped down with, since he could break almost anything.

“I’m sorry my coworker is a moron.”

“Hey!”

“I asked him to get a fresh blood sample for our program, and he took that to mean that we needed to kidnap you.”

“And, uh, how was he supposed to get the blood?” asked Peter warily.

“Please, you heroes bleed all over the city. It’s not that hard. They were supposed to be watching,” she added with a glare at the man in the armor, “for you to get into an altercation that ended up spilling blood.”

“We need the sample now,” muttered the man.

“We don’t need to compromise the facility!” the woman snarled back at him. She took a deep breath, looked at Peter, and gentled her voice. “Since they brought you here anyway, I’m just going to ask. Mr. Parker, may we take a small sample of your blood?”

“Am I really in a position to refuse?” asked Peter warily.

“Absolutely,” the woman said firmly. “We would never dream of pricking you with a needle without your consent, Mr. Parker.”

“Don’t want to piss of that damn mad man,” muttered the guy in body armor.

Suddenly Peter understood. The reason the woman was being so polite was not because she cared about Peter as a person, but because they were terrified of Wade. No wonder he always felt safer at Wade’s place—it was probably the only place these people wouldn't go.

“So, out of curiosity,” Peter asked, “if I say ‘no’, what happens?”

“We knock you out however he knocked you out in the first place, remove the transmitter inhibitor on your chest, and drop you off as close to Stark Tower as we believe is safe.” Peter looked at his chest and saw an odd black lump stuck there. “We have no intention,” the woman continued, “of antagonizing either you or any of your—associates.”

A ripple along his skin warned him a second before the wall to his right exploded and Deadpool strode in, the eyes on his suit narrowed and calmly tossing a grenade from hand to hand. “Lucy,” he called. “You got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

“Oh, shit!” swore the guy in the body armor. He swallowed hard. “How—how did you find this place?”

“Behold the powers of the author space!” roared Deadpool as he rushed forwards pulling one of his katanas. At the last minute, instead of decapitating the man, Deadpool slammed the flat of the blade against his head, knocking him down.

Pity that body armor hadn’t included a helmet, Peter thought absently as the man dropped like a load of bricks.

“Mr. Deadpool,” the woman in the lab coat said warily as she backed away from him, both hands in the air, “we have done nothing to harm him.” Apparently, while she was well aware of who Peter was, Deadpool was still a mystery to them—and one they didn’t want to try to solve.

“You kidnapped him!” snarled Deadpool.

“That was a miscommunication,” the woman said as she continued to back away. “We have done nothing except talk to him, Mr. Deadpool.” It was clear, from the look on her face, that she was terrified.

Peter was having a little trouble caring, at the moment. “Hey, DP,” he called distracting the mercenary. “Can you give me a little help over here?” he raised what he could of his hands to wave them.

Deadpool whirled to face Peter, on the gurney. The eyes roamed over him taking in the undamaged suit, the odd black box on his chest, and the straps holding him in. Deadpool sheathed his katana. “Sure thing, Buddy,” he said cheerfully. “No,” he added to himself as he trotted over to Peter, “I don’t think he’d like to recreate this in the bedroom.”

“Hey White,” said Peter, recognizing the response.

“Hey Spiderman,” said Deadpool calmly. He reached under the gurney, twisted something—and the straps fell off. He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

“A little woozy, but fine.” Peter heard the woman running and, irritated with her, webbed her to the floor watching her fall hard to the cement. His head flipped around at the sound of jet engines.

Deadpool somehow managed to make his mask roll its eyes. “Look who finally decided to show up,” he growled.

Peter raised a hand to shush him. He heard—something. What was that odd sound? It was familiar, somehow…

He carefully made his way through the place. It looked (aside from the wall Deadpool blew up) like nothing more than lobby, or maybe the public entrance of a warehouse. The floor was cement, it wasn’t that big, and there were two chairs on either side of a door.

He flipped open the door (wincing as he accidentally ripped it off its hinges) and stared. On the other side of the door was a room that looked suspiciously like an elevator, all stainless steel with tracks for the doors to shut. That’s not what grabbed his attention though. What got his attention was the little girl inside it. She was small, barely three feet tall, and had long, fluffy light brown hair. She was wearing what looked like a large dingy white nightshirt.

When he opened the door she flung herself into one of the corners and covered herself with lightly scarred arms. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorry!” she shrieked, as she trembled like a leaf. As Peter stood there, she began to quietly cry.

“No, hey,” Peter said as he crouched to her level. She flinched, but he kept his voice as calm and soothing as possible. “It’s okay,” he told her. “You don’t have to be afraid.” She peeked at him with large, amber eyes, but kept her arms up, still shaking. “I’m Spiderman,” he said, to introduce himself.

“What? How dare you insinuate I’m anything less than sane?” ranted the man behind him.

“And that’s Deadpool. He’s a little—odd, but he’s a good guy too,” added Peter. Deadpool leaned on Peter’s frame and from the corner of his eye he could tell the mercenary was waving at the girl. Oddly enough, this made the girl relax a bit, and the arms came down as she watched them warily. “I just want you to know that you’re safe now,” he told her.

The girl’s eyes widened and, in a move almost too quick to be believed, reached forwards and grabbed Peter’s costumed hand with a tight, almost bone-crushing grip. “Can you save the others too?” she asked. “Make them safe?”

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

[not-close-to-straight]

You Give Love a Bad Name (Three)

MASTERLIST

**************

Chapter Three: Somewhere Between “Oh Shit I’m Gonna Die” and “Ho Ho Holy Crap I’ve Never Been So Horny”

“Hon?” It was late by the time Bucky made it back to the house, his head spinning from the shock of it all, the information overload that began with Natasha and ended somewhere fuckin’ crazy. His fingers were shaking on his gun but he held it anyway, his nerves were shot but he walked through the door anyway, his heart breaking but he forced it away so he could be cold and calculated and everything the Winter Soldier always was. 

“You’ve got twenty four hours to make that woman disappear or the company will step in and do it for you.”

“That’s my wife, Rumlow.” 

“Does it matter?” 

“...No.” 

“Hey Tasha, did you make it home yet?” He called faux cheerfully, easing the safety off on his gun. “Sorry I missed dinner, but I can’t wait for left overs! Your cooking is always mm-mm-good!” 

A quiet laugh from somewhere in the house, up the stairs and echoing in the hall and Bucky closed his eyes for a split second because Christ he loved Natasha’s laugh, but right now it was just a precursor to what promised to be a painful death at the hands of the Black Widow. 

“Oh hello darling.” Natasha called and in the quick silence that followed came the unmistakable sound of a shot gun being loaded. “I skipped making dinner tonight, thought we could order take out!” 

“Take out.” Bucky darted across the open hall and took cover again behind the huge china hutch. “Is that some sort of assassin joke?” 

“I don’t know, is you demanding to keep the house at some frosty sixty five degrees some sort of Winter Soldier joke?” 

“Natasha--” 

“You lied to me!” 

BOOM a hole the size of Bucky’s head tore apart the wall in front of him, and he yelped, ducked and rolled out of the way. 

“I lied to you?” He shouted in disbelief. “Tasha, they literally call you the Black Widow! How long was it going to be until you killed me anyway? Strung me up in some web of last seasons jewel tone scarves and ate me for dinner?!” 

“I’ll have you know I never once killed a husband, and honestly I’m offended you think so.” Natasha loaded another shell and blew out a deep breath, counted to ten so she wouldn’t burst into tears. “My worst crime against you is being hot enough to make your brain short circuit so you missed every sign of me not being a housewife!” 

“Yeah, and my worst crime--” Pop pop pop Bucky lay down cover fire as he advanced through the house and tried to get closer to the stairs. “--was apparently being hot enough to attract your attention! What exactly did I do to deserve you stringing me along for three years?” 

“Stringing you along?” Natasha cursed when a bullet whizzed by her head, then vaulted over the railing and down into the living, tucking and rolling to lessen the impact. “And how exactly was I doing that? By having dinner ready every night? By buying you new toothbrushes?” 

“Newsflash sweetheart.” A quick flash as Bucky ducked into another room. “Your cooking is fuckin’ terrible. Pot roast on Tuesday was so tough I needed a damn chain saw to get through it.” 

“Newsflash, sweetheart.” Natasha swallowed back the devastation clawing up her throat and snarled, “I’ve never cooked a day in my life! I order in catering and my world famous pies come from a bakery in Jersey!” 

“Oh, so she shoots and she lies.” Bucky picked up one of those infernally shiny decorative trays Natasha had always insisted on and in a rare moment of gratefulness for his wife's horrible taste in decor, used it to peek around the corner to see where Tasha was posted up. “What else don’t I know about you? Are you really a 34 B cup?” 

“My love.” Natasha caught sight of the glimmer at the corner and leaned further out of sight. “If you’d spent more time getting to know the girls instead of rabbit humping away at the final destination, you’d be fully aware I am a perky two sizes bigger than a B-cup.” 

“Damn it.” Bucky rubbed his hand over his face because damn it he was not going to laugh right now. Not when he was trapped in his house with the Black Widow and fighting for his life. He was not going to laugh, even though the sarcasm from Natasha made him think of that one night in the hotel and how she’d been so funny and so damn sexy all at once. He was not going to laugh even though this was the first time in almost three years Natasha sounded like the woman he’d fallen in love with.  

“You still alive, baby?” Natasha called, mocking and teasing and so damn sad and that was enough to pull Bucky from his more morose thoughts. “Let’s finish this already, I have drinks and pedi’s with Maria in the morning.”

“Call her and tell her you won’t make it.” Bucky breathed in once, twice, then yanked his other gun from his back holster. “Come out of hiding, Widow. vykhodi i poigray so mnoy. Come out and play.” 

*************

The battle destroyed the house. 

Bullet holes in the walls and through the expensive flooring they’d put in just last summer. The china hutch knocked over and thousands of dollars of dishes shattered. Drywall punctured and a television sized hole contorting a door frame when Bucky hadn’t bothered to check his strength and launched the sixty inch thing towards the hail of bullets from Natasha. 

Wires frayed from speakers that had been torn down and used as projectiles. Curtains in tatters after Natasha had launched into one of them and used it as a rope to kick Bucky square in the face. Knives from the kitchen everywhere, the wall of the den missing after Bucky had chucked a grenade, blood smeared on the wall when Natasha cut her hands on glass and lost her balance. 

A shotgun snapped in half because Natasha winged it at Bucky and he simply broke it before tossing it away. A dagger in the hall where it landed after carving a line across Bucky’s cheek bone. Thousands of spent ammo cases that glowed copper in what was left of the lights. The door to a hidden safe ripped away because Natasha was far stronger than even the most in depth intel had suggested, the weapons inside turned on the advancing Winter Soldier who had stuttered mid step because he hadn’t known Natasha could do that. 

The house was destroyed and when the guns clicked empty and the knives were out of reach, the fight turned physical, master assassins trading punches and kicks, dodges and jabs, retreating and advancing and staring into the face of the enemy with the same steely resolve they’d faced down countless other opponents. 

Except Bucky pulled his punches when Natasha didn’t, held back from sure blows when Natasha climbed his body like a tree and threw him to the ground with her thighs clamped around his neck. She was shockingly strong but Bucky was stronger and only when the redhead pulled another knife from somewhere and held it to his throat did Bucky let his strength surge again and grab her wrists in a single bruising grip to force her still. 

“Let me go.” Natasha kneed him in the side and Bucky wheezed, but didn’t break his grip even as Natasha rolled them over and got those deadly legs around his neck again, effectively burying Bucky’s face at the vee of her hips and missing the hilarity entirely.

Bucky didn’t miss it though. “Ooh, it’s been a long time since you let me eat you out.” he grinned and Natasha snapped, “Well maybe if you’d done it more often, I wouldn’t be tempted to snap your fucking neck!” 

“Take your own advice, sweetheart.” Bucky lunged to his feet but Natasha didn’t let go, he shoved her into a wall hard enough to crack the plaster and the vicious redhead only winced and sassed, “You saying I don’t give you enough blow jobs, Bucky?” 

“I’m saying--” Bucky was starting to see spots when her legs tightened at his jugular. “M’sayin’ if you spent more time deep throatin’ and less time doing hot yoga with the girls--” 

“You’re such a pig!” she screeched and Bucky only, “Oink oink oink!”ed until Natasha arched her back to break his hold and connected a swift kick to the side of his head. 

“Ow! Fuck!” Bucky didn’t mean to throw Nat half away across the room-- or maybe he sort of did?-- but boy howdy did he knew he messed up when she slowly, painfully got to her feet and wiped the blood from her bottom lip, eyes blazing. “Oh shit. Okay. Sweet heart, that was actually an accident. Bullets and everything aside? I’d never just throw you across the room, I promise.” 

“Well I fully meant to kick you in the head.” She countered, and Bucky’s heart sank when Natasha reached behind and pressed at a spot on the wall and a handgun dropped out into her waiting palm. “No harm no foul, darling. Both just doing the job.” 

“Just the job.” Quick as a flash, Bucky tucked and rolled towards the fireplace, wrenched the sawed off rifle from behind the bricks and whirled around with it ready to fire--

--and met Natasha face to face, her pistol pointed squarely between his eyes. 

“Tick tock, husband.” There were suddenly tears in Natasha’s eyes, and Bucky squared his jaw, straightened his shoulder and told himself to be strong. “Either your company comes in to finish the job, or mine does. Tick tock.” 

Be strong, Widow. She told herself, and tightened her grip on her gun. Be strong, you don’t love him, you don’t love him, he’s just a job. 

“Tick. Tock.” she bit out through clenched teeth. “Or are you going as stupidly chivalrous as always and tell me ladies first?”

You don’t love him, you don’t love him, you don’t love him. 

“Damn it Tasha, don’t test me.” 

A shot gun shell locking into place was a sound every person in the world recognized, and it made Tasha’s blood run cold in her veins. 

You don’t love him, you don’t love him, you don’t love--

“Tick. Tock.” she said again, mocking and devastated and all the other things she didn’t want to be feeling right now. “Come on, Soldier. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” 

“Show me--” Bucky huffed what sounded like a laugh and Natasha blinked at him. “Ah fuck, this shouldn’t be funny, Tasha. This ain’t funny.” 

“Then stop laughing.” she hissed. “What are you doing?” 

“It’s not funny.” the words were whispered now, nearly breathed and Natasha narrowed her eyes uncertainly. “Jesus Tash, this isn’t funny but all I can think about right now is how much I miss you.” 

“How much you-- you what?” 

“This is the closest I’ve felt to knowing who you are since the first day we met.” Bucky’s gun lowered inch by inch and Natasha’s heart caught up in her chest. “You’re beautiful like this. Wholly in your element, bein’ funny and sassy and fuck, I miss you. The last three years have been packed full’a lies, Tasha but the beginning wasn’t. I love you. And I miss you.” 

The rifle dropped away, clattered to the floor and Bucky put both hands up. “I won’t do this. I won’t.” 

“Damn you.” Natasha put both hands on her pistol, widened her stance and snarled, “Don’t be like that! You don’t love me and I don’t love you and we are just each other’s jobs! Fight me!” 

“No.” Bucky shook his head, took a few steps away. “No, babydoll. If you want this, take it. But I’m not going to do it. I love you.” 

“You are not allowed to say that!” Natasha was shouting now, almost screaming. “That night at the beach you were working a mission that I set up! You showed up and you fucked my mission up and I brought a building down on you! You are not allowed to say you love me, because I watched the Winter Soldier through the scope and ordered a building blown around you! You don’t love me. You are supposed to be dead and instead you showed up in New York and I was a job so you made me fall in love with you but you-- you don’t--” 

Bucky took a step forward and she jerked the gun back up. “--no don’t you dare. Don’t you come near me. You made me love you--” she stuttered, stammered, bit at her lip until it bled and then cursed, “--damn it, Bucky. You made me love you viciously and now I hate you for it. I hate you for it. This is a job, so finish it.” 

“I won’t.” Bucky said hoarsely. “Vy ves' moy mir, you are my whole world, Tasha. I never meant to love you, but now it’s too late and I do. So I won’t do it. You want to finish it, then finish it, but I’m done fighting you.” 

“You cannot be the bigger person right now.” Natasha protested, begged. “Three years you’ve been petty and sort of obnoxious, don’t change now. You unscrewed the toilet lid and took it off just so I’d stop bothering you about leaving it up. Do not be the bigger person right now.” 

“You said you love me viciously.” Bucky took another step forward, hands up so she wouldn’t jerk away again. “It’s been so long since you said that I almost forgot how good it sounded. Say it again. Please.”

“No.” 

“Tasha.”

“I--” the gun wavered, tears slipping out the corner of Natasha’s eyes as her resolve crumbled and the self control she’d been clinging to started to shred. “I love you.” 

“Viciously.” Bucky stripped the guns from Tasha’s hands and tossed it away, framed her face in both his hands and pushed her into the wall. “Say it. Say you love me viciously.” 

“I love you.” They weren’t sure which one was crying when their lips met, tentative kisses that tasted of sweet sweet sorrow and full of everything they hadn’t ever said to each other in three years of marriage. “Bucky, yes.” 

“C’mere.” Tasha was so little and for once Bucky didn’t check his strength when he swooped his wife up, when he grabbed her tight into his body and crushed their mouths together, when he got his left hand on her shirt and just tore it away, breathing a curse over the myriad of cuts and dried blood on her perfect skin. “Oh babydoll, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“It doesn’t hurt.” Natasha tossed her head back and gasped ragged over each tender kiss on the cuts. “But don’t stop, don’t stop, I’ve missed you. I love you.” 

“Viciously.” Bucky pleaded hoarsely. “Say it, Tasha please.” 

“Viciously.” she half sobbed. “Bucky, I love you viciously.” 

Don’t stop. 

Bucky didn’t stop, not when they tumbled onto the broken couch and Natasha felt around for a knife to slash at his jeans and shove them off his hips. He didn’t stop when Natasha scored fire down his back with her nails, when her ankles locked around his waist and brought him in deep sooner than either was ready and the burst of pleasure pain popped light behind their temples. 

“I’ve missed you.” Bucky dug bruises into Tasha’s waist as he held her down, closed his eyes and hissed when she bit at his pulse, at the hinge of his jaw, when her teeth scraped his tongue in a messy, brutal kiss. “Fuck Tasha, I’ve missed you. Missed my wife. Need you.” 

“You weren’t a mission at first.” Natasha promised when they fell off the couch and Bucky brought her up on top of him. “You weren’t, I swear. When Fury told me to chase you I thought-- I thought--” 

“Pierce told me the same thing. I know. I know.” Bucky murmured as they moved together, running his hands up her perfect body, over the barely there scars her nightgown always covered, the tense of muscle and flex of power that made him wonder how he’d ever thought she wasn’t every bit as powerful as him. “I never meant to lie to you, Tasha. Not like this. Never like this.” 

“I never meant to lie to you either.” she reached for him and Bucky came willingly, sat up to chase a kiss, wound their fingers together and held tight so Tasha knew he would hold her, take care of her, ground her when she fell apart. 

Oh I love you viciously. 

***********

***********

“I can’t feel anything in my left hand.” 

Later, after they’d fought and fucked and finally tore apart gasping for air, later they lay amid the destruction of their home and what was left of their fake marriage and just talked. The comforter from the guest bedroom was spread out on the floor, Natasha wrapped up in Bucky’s shirt, and Bucky with a throw pillow over his dick because he was too hot to bother with clothes. 

“No?” he rolled over onto his side and picked up Natasha’s left hand, kissed each of her fingers and then her palm. “Why not?” 

“Shrapnel.” Natasha was soft and rumpled, her lips swollen and cheeks still flushed red and Bucky couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss her. She was intoxication and he would never have enough. “Carved into my left side. Took a plastic surgeon to fix the damage but we never fixed the nerves.” 

“Ain’t no thang, baby.” Bucky rotated his left shoulder purposefully. “Remember my wind surfing accident?” 

“Mm-hmm?” Natasha swept her tongue along the line of Bucky’s jaw and practically purred when her husband shuddered beneath her. “What about it?” 

“Not a windsurfing accident.” Bucky tugged a few times to disconnect the cling that kept his silver arm quite literally under wraps, and watched Natasha’s mouth drop open as it fell away. “That building you brought down on me caused some pretty serious damage, and old man Pierce is all about building terminators these days.” 

“This is my fault?” Natasha touched the silver limb carefully, up to scars that had been revised at least three different times to make them all but invisible. “Bucky, I--” 

“Didn’t say it was your fault.” Bucky shook his head. “Not your fault, just like you trying to take a shot at me yesterday morning wasn’t your fault. Plus it’s not the first time I got good and hurt. See this line right here?” he traced a faint line low on his body. “Botched appendix removal, my body kept trying to heal over mid surgery, I almost died from the shock.” 

“Super solder serum saved you?” she guessed and he nodded. “That’s both gross and amazing.” 

“Speaking of amazing.” Bucky pinched at her bicep playfully. “I saw you rip that safe door off. You juiced too? Always heard rumors that the Black Widow got a pint sized dose of what they gave me.” 

“I’m strong enough.” Natasha said dismissively. “But sure, that’s why we’ve been chasing each other for decades on end. Why most of my scars heal up quick too. This one was Bogota. I fell off a helicopter during a rescue.” 

“Afghanistan.” Bucky craned his neck so she could see the thin white scar at his hairline. “Bullet about took my head off.” 

“Our first wedding anniversary I was so high on tranquilizers to deal with almost getting run over, I don’t even remember the night.” 

“S’alright, sweetheart, Valentine’s Day last year when you wore that pretty pink lace thing?” Bucky pointed down at the dick-covering throw pillow meaningfully. “I slid down a banister thinking I was real slick chasing after someone, turns out there was a big ol ball on the end of the railing and it connected with my tenders. I could barely walk much less get it up in the way you deserved.” 

“My love, I think tonight has been the first time in years you’ve gotten it up in the way I deserve.” she teased, and Bucky shot back, “Well maybe if you didn’t wear granny night gowns all the time my dick wouldn’t be so shy!” 

“I wear granny night gowns to cover all my bruises from work!” she laughed out loud. “What’s your excuse for wearing tighty whities and long sleeves to bed?” 

“I like they way they cup my package, and also to hide my arm.” Bucky shrugged. “Why do I get th’feeling that if we’d kept doing the deed like we did at the beach, all this would’a come out sooner?” 

“I almost wish it had.”

“Me too.” Bucky wound his finger around a strand of Natasha’s hair and tugged lightly. “Was it you in Saint Paul last winter? One damn time we were sure the Widow had come out of hiding long enough to fuck up my mission.” 

“The week I said I was visiting my mother and you said were at Brock’s bachelor party.” She confirmed. “I didn’t know the Winter Soldier was in Saint Paul.” 

“Yeah well, apparently wearing polos and playing golf is the world’s best cover. Turned me from Most Wanted to Most Ignored over night.” 

“By the way?” Natasha raised her eyebrow, then smiled when Bucky leaned in and kissed it. “I hate your khakis. If you don’t stop wearing them, I’ll burn every last pair.” 

“That’s fine, I only wore them so the neighbor women would stop ogling me.” Bucky admitted. “Figured you were the only one I wanted looking at me anyway, plus it’s easier to stay under the radar if no one notices me for any reason, right?” 

“Same reason I started wearing modest dresses and got rid of any high heel over two inches.” Natasha agreed. “Easier to blend in if I look like the rest of the pretty plastic housewives.” 

“There’s nothing plastic about you.” Bucky brushed over Natasha’s nipple and grinned when it hardened beneath his thumb. “And you could wear a potato sack and still be the most beautiful woman on the planet, Tash.” 

“I’ve missed you being ridiculously sappy with your compliments.” she admitted, and Bucky admitted softer, “I miss feeling like you want me to say that sorta stuff.” 

And later still, when they’d ordered delivery pizza and laughed until their stomach hurt because the poor delivery kid looked so damn confused over the destruction and then over Natasha wearing a lot of not much, Bucky inhaled most of a pepperoni slice and asked, “Not to put a damper on our sorta spectacular make up sex but um-- you know what I’m thinkin?” 

“You’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking, which is that it seems highly suspicious that we cohabited for three years together and somehow never really ran into each other on any missions and that it almost seems too much of a coincidence that we both ended up on the same mission on the same day.” Natasha wiped a bit of cheese from his chin. “That’s what you’re thinking.” 

“Actually I was thinkin’ that when you sit cross legged like that I can see all of your hoo-hah.” Bucky admitted and Natasha practically cackled with laughter. “But yeah, it’s sorta weird that we used’ta interrupt each others missions all the damn time but the whole three years we were together, other than Saint Paul we didn’t even check into the same time zones.” 

“Last week one of my techs went missing in a quick snatch that literally should have never happened.” Natasha pointed out. “My company has some of the highest levels of security out there, and yet he was snatched and tossed walking home from a bar he’d never been to with a woman he’d never seen?” 

“One of our gals.” Bucky confirmed. “No idea how she stumbled on an actual tech for your end of things, but she did, called it in and we moved quick. Easiest kidnapping of my life.” And then after a pause, “Too easy, maybe.You guys couldn’t find him at all.” 

“And we tried for the better part of a week.” Nat took a drink straight from the two-liter of mountain dew. “We tried but he was gone.” 

“We weren’t even being all that stealthy.” Bucky said slowly. “And he gave up his information real quick. Told me about you being active again and about the hostage situation taking place at the border. I didn’t even have to get scary with him, just threatened to eat him is all.” 

“That’s not scary?” 

“I’m the Winter Soldier, Tash. You think threatening to take a bite outta someone is my scariest version of torture?” 

“Touche.” She took another drink. “So one of my guys got snatched way too easily, you got the information with barely even a threat and after three years of missing each other, you and I were on the same mission, staring at each other through a rifle scope from a thousand yards away. If you were reading this file as an outsider, what does it look like to you?” 

“Like the powers that be were fully aware of us but made sure we were never aware of each other until the time came t’knock us both off.” Bucky answered immediately, and then, “Oh fuck me.” 

“How much time do you have left on your directive to get rid of me?” Natasha asked quietly. “Cos my clock is down to two hours and some change.” 

“Two hours and some change.” Bucky confirmed. 

“Shit.” 

“So what are we gonna do?” Bucky sat back against the couch and hauled Natasha up into his lap, getting rid of the pillow so he could set her pert butt right against his thighs. “You wanna run? You wanna fight? What?” 

“...you want to do this together?” Natasha blinked at him a few times. “Really?” 

“You’re my wife.” Bucky smoothed his hand down her back and rested it at the curve of her hip. “And more than that, the first time you pinned me down and rode my face--” 

“Bucky!” 

“--I knew I’d do anything for you. So what’s it gonna be, baby? Three years of marriage for nothing? Or are we gonna Bonnie and Clyde this shit?” 

Natasha looked down at their entwined hands, at the ring on her left finger and the gleam of Bucky’s silver palm. “Didn’t Bonnie and Clyde die?” 

“Yeah, right before they went down in the history books as one of the best stories out there.” Bucky nipped lightly at her earlobe. “I could go down in history with you, especially if it means fucking with Fury and Pierce after they tried to trick us into this whole thing. What’d’ya say? Wanna blow some shit up?”  

“I could blow some shit up.” 

Bucky pulled her into a sweet kiss, slow and nearly tender as the last of the walls between them came tumbling down. 

“Shot to the heart.” he sang softly, teasingly, as they parted. “And you’re to blame. Sugar, you give love a bad name.” 

“That used to be our song.” Natasha laughed and hummed the next line. “I can’t believe you remember that.” 

“It’s still our song.” Bucky corrected. “And we got about two hours before someone else comes and tries to finish the job neither one’a us finished. So why don’t we find some clothes, steal us a car and get the fuck outta here?” 

“I’m with you.” Natasha got to her feet, then leaned down to give him one last kiss. “And I’m sorry for trying to kill you.” 

“I’ve had uglier people try a lot worse.” Bucky said solemnly. “Finding out you’re a total bad ass instead of a super boring housewife is the best anniversary present ever.” 

Natasha tossed her hair behind her shoulder and finger gunned at him and Bucky clapped his hands over his heart, laughing out loud as she ran for the stairs to change, singing along to their song as she went. 

Darlin’ you give love a bad name.

********

A mile west of Mr. and Mrs. Barnes’s house, Brock Rumlow sat in the back of a van with a rifle held tight to his chest, watching the countdown clock on his next hit tick down to zero. 

“This seems wrong is all I’m saying.” one of the other men said. “I worked with Barnes for damn near ten years now, how come all the sudden he’s on the hit list?” 

“None of your business.” Rumlow grunted. “You see the guy, you put a bullet in the guy, you get another mission tomorrow and do the same thing.” 

“But it’s Bucky.” 

“Yeah, and now it’s Bucky’s time.” Rumlow racked in a round in the chamber. “Personally, I’m looking forward to seeing just how many bullets the mighty Soldier can take before he bleeds like the rest of us. What do you think, twenty? Twenty five?” 

“I think you’re a sick bastard.” 

“And that’s why I’m next on Pierce’s list of soldiers to super juice.” Rumlow grunted. “T-minus one hours and forty minutes boys. Stay steady.”

***************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

***************

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#ncts fics #winterwidow #bucky barnes #natasha romanov

[skywillsometimeswrite]

Falling

This is my (incredibly on brand last minute) entry for @hermitcraftheadcanons writing contest! Info can be found here.

Funnily enough, I was going to do whatever random AU/headcanon that doing /random on their blog would give me and it gave me, no joke, one of the AUs that @target-block and I have very much fleshed out together. The RVB AU inspired by this ask!

A little background for anyone who doesn’t know about Red vs Blue I’ll explain a little context: Impulse and Doc are partner mercenaries who were ordered to start a civil war that the majority of the rest of the Hermits are stopping after being dragged into it unwillingly. If you have questions about this AU, I’ll be more than happy to answer! And for any extra references, I used this episode as a guide.

CONTENT WARNING: CURSING, GUNS, GRENADES, FACING DEATH, FREE FALLING

Read it on AO3

Impulse stared at Doc, the few steps above him, in the middle of the painfully annoying and colorful soldiers. He could feel the mechanical eye underneath the helmet boring into his soul and it took all his will power to stand up against it.

“Doc? What are you-” he gestured vaguely to the group around them, “What are you doing? You were supposed to kill them!”

“No. No more killing.”

“What?” he asked again, clenching his fists. “What about the mission-”

“You said it yourself. Fuck the mission. I’m not doing this because I was told to. I’m doing this because I want to.”

Locus’ voice made something inside him crack, some thread that he didn’t realize had been pulled taut snap. A wave of unnerving calm covered him and he slumped forward, replaying the words in his head again. 

“Alright. Then you can die with the rest of them.”

In one swift motion he grabbed his energy sword from his back, activating it and tossing it haphazardly at where Doc stood, watching him and Tango duck away from it. He kicked up the gun Doc had thrown at him and shot to his left, making the architechs scrambled away before bringing his shield up to deflect any incoming bullets from the rest of the group that had stopped his plans for so long. When Stress, Keralis, and Jevin had run away he lifted his shield back to where he assumed the first three would be shooting at him.

Bullets didn’t hit his shield, but rather something stuck to the outside of it. He watched through the blue tint as Mumbo reloaded a gun that he recognized all too well, and that made the beeping grenade on the front of his shield that much more terrifying. 

“Guess we did learn a thing or two from you mercs, huh?” Came Grian’s all too smug reply that Impulse would have retorted to were his mind not racing to find a way out of this situation. He couldn’t just put his shield down because then it would just fall and probably detonate-

“Hey, Impy. Catch.” Tango’s voice cut through his thoughts and he looked over, eyes widening as a grenade landed next to his feet.

“No, wait-”

The grenade exploded, sending him flying backwards off of the communications temple, plummeting down into the clouds and to the inevitable death below. His arms flailed in the air as panic refused to let any Into his lungs. There has to be a way out of this, there has to be a way to survive this-

Suddenly, all Impulse could see was red. A horrible mix of anger and fear mixed around inside of him. It reminded him of Doc’s eye. He clenched his fists once again at the very thought of his old partner. He managed to grab one of his knives out of his suit, throwing it upwards as if it would reach up and imbed itself into that traitor's head. Into that mechanic eye that used to give him nightmares. Into that robotic arm that could easily crush his windpipe if Doc had ever gotten tired of his voice. Into that brain of his that had been so willing to follow any and all orders until when Impulse needed him to the most.

The knife didn’t get very far before it fell right alongside Impulse.

He bit back against the wetness that was slowly trying to fill his eyes, and the tightness in his throat that burned and hurt more than the explosion that sealed his fate did. 

“I care about you, you’re my partner, my best friend. But if you’re going to keep going on like this, Impulse, I don’t want to be there when you fall.”

He closed his eyes against Skizz’s words, the last words his old friend had said to him. Traitors. Both of them are. Cowards and traitors and liars-

He coughed as he choked on a sob. Skizz should have seen this. He deserved to see this. He was supposed to keep Doc and him straight. Keep them from going overboard. If he hadn’t left them, abandoned them, then he wouldn’t be falling to his death right now. Doc wouldn’t have betrayed him. He wouldn’t have started this war, wouldn’t have ever met Scar or Tango or Xisuma or any of those idiots that collectively ruined his life. 

He stared up at the clouds that looked so far away and barely registered in his mind how close to the ground he was. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before refusing to go out like that, like a coward, like Doc would expect him to-

He ground his teeth and opened his eyes, turning to stare at the ground head on and take the brunt of the impact. If this was how he was going to die then he would do it with as much pride as he had left. It was all he had left.

Fuck you Doc. Fuck you Skizz. Fuck you Tango, Scar, Xisuma, False, Ren and all you other roaches that refused to die. 

His last thoughts were filled with malice, and he distantly hoped that it would be enough for the universe or whatever twisted god was out there to latch onto and form into a curse or whatever it did. Maybe, we wondered, he could come back in another life and finish them off with his own two hands. 

He smiled, the image sweet in his mind and he didn’t even register when his body hit the ground.

#keeping this under 1k words was hard #i had to cut out a lot of dialogue #sky writes #work: falling #hermitcraft #impulsesv #red vs blue au

[arctic-the-archaic]

Day 2: High-Speed Chase

“—eading down east side, Commander!”

“Copy, shifting.”

Commander Fox depressed the accelerator on his BARC Speeder, zipping with ease through the crowded skylanes.

Some bounty hunters had stolen some high-value data from a Republic Data-Center. Him and The Guard had been ordered to get it back. Fox didn’t fail his objectives.

In the distance, he could hear rapid blaster-fire and the occasional bang or boom of a speeder crashing. Aurek Patrol had been the closest to the scene at the time, so on Fox’s order, they had engaged. The Commander himself had been back at the Republic Military Base, but had sprinted to a speeder when the call came in.

The blaster-fire grew louder as he neared the chase. Zipping around a corner, Fox came across two air-speeders, three occupants each. He recognized all of them from bounty-hunting bulletins. Probably trying to take the ‘score’ for themselves. He thought as the wind buffeted his form. Don’t shoot at me, don’t get in my way, and you’re not my problem.

He flew past the two speeders and looked up at a skylane above his. He had given Aurek Patrol’s Commanding Officer free reign to engage at his discretion due to Fox’s lack of knowledge of the situation. The Commander reserved his own judgement for when he arrived on the scene.

Time almost seemed to slow down as more adrenaline entered the Commander’s bloodstream. His brain entered an analytical mode when in a dangerous situation; That was exactly what was happening. There’s no way this thing can elevate to that level fast enough to keep up. He thought, realizing his dilemma with the BARC. His eyes darted around for a moment, then, Bingo.

There was a section of building jutting out at just the right angle to act as a ramp to get him up there quicker. He steered his speeder across the skylane and depressed the accelerator as far as it would go before quickly connecting his HUD to the speeder’s electronics system and overclocking the repulsors in an effort to give himself some extra height, hoping to whatever deities that existed that this worked. The speeder hit the ‘ramp’ and flew upwards…

A hodgepodge transport that looked like a sneeze could take it apart flew above him, followed by several turbo-laser bolts flying towards his men from Aurek Patrol that were pursuing on jetpacks and speeders. Apparently it was armed. Not good.

Fox’s mind registered three phrases,

Civilians threatened…

Troopers threatened…

Lethal Force: Authorized.

As he flew through the air from his jump, Fox pulled an impact grenade from his belt and lobbed at the transport’s engine nacelles. The grenade landed home, slamming into one of the engines and detonating, sending the transport spiraling onto a section of unused artificial land and crashing with a screech of metal on metal. Fox nodded in approval as his speeder stabilized at the desired level and he saw a Coruscant Guard gunship descend towards the crash site to check for survivors.

Note, add impact grenades to standard unit-wide equipment. Some part of his mind mentally marked down.

Focusing back on the chase, Fox accelerated through the traffic and came upon two Starhawk speeder bikes each carrying two bounty hunters. Seriously? What is with these guys? Fox scoffed.

Before he could zip past them, the passenger on each bike turned and began firing a blaster pistol at him. Fox easily dodged the poorly aimed shots as his mind registered the threat and analyzed the quickest way of elimination.

Speeder blasters too inaccurate. Precision required. Hand-blasters acceptable.

Fox took one hand off the controls and drew one DC-17, firing two quick and precise shots into the backs of his two attackers, making them slump in their seats, unconscious and injured but not dead. He fired two more shots, each one hit one of the repulsors on the bikes, sending them careening into a nearby empty walkway. Two Jet-Troopers peeled off to go arrest them as Fox shot forward again.

Now nearing the bounty hunters’ vehicle, he could identify them. Embo, Aurra Sing, and Cad Bane. Of fekking course. The three top hunters in the galaxy. I thought today would be an easy day for once, no stress. But nooooo…

Fox watched as one of his Jet-Troopers flew forward, attempting to get a disabling shot on the speeder only for Cad Bane to put a blaster-bolt straight through the unlucky trooper’s head. He felt his composure slip for a moment, MURDE— He took a deep breath. Then exhaled. Targets armed and dangerous. Locate efficient way to neutralize and capture.

The hunters flew down a few levels and began zipping through side passages, Fox only a few meters behind them. Finally, deciding he’d had enough, Fox opened up with the high-powered blasters on his own speeder, doing his best to avoid civilians if the shots missed. Finally, the Commander scored a lucky hit and the hunters’ speeder fell from the sky, sliding onto and unused landing pad. He watched as the three disembarked, and then fired a few blasts into the speeder, making it explode. When the smoke cleared, he saw Embo’s hat flying at him. He tried to avoid it, but it clipped one of his repulsors and sent him crashing to the landing platform.

As Fox climbed to his feet, he silently cursed himself for forgetting the Kyuzo bounty hunter’s impeccable throwing skill. Looking up, he spotted Aurra Sing slowly walking towards him with a single blaster drawn. What he also saw, was the blue glow of the Republic Data Crystal he was after in one of her belt pouches. He purposely stumbled in an attempt to draw her closer, he had to get the crystal.

Sing laughed as she stopped about a foot from him, “You were a very brave little clone. Chasing us all the way down here. Very skilled too. It’s almost a shame I have to kill you.” She raised her blaster, and then Fox struck. His left hand shot out, grabbing her blaster and jerking it from her hand. Before she could react, the Guardsman twirled on his heel and sweeped her legs out from under her, sending her to the ground. He tossed her blaster away and drew his own, putting three stun bolts directly into her head. That should keep her down for a while.

Fox crouched, quickly swiping the data crystal and depositing it in one of his belt compartments before snapping a pair of binders onto the stunned bounty hunter. Not a second later, blaster bolts flew his way from Bane and Embo, forcing the trooper into cover behind a stack of crates. As the two hunters peppered his hiding place with blaster-fire, Fox’s mind whirred for a solution. Come on, give me something…. He felt around on his belt, then, Aha! This oughta do. He palmed the thermal detonator, activated it, and then lobbed it over the crates. A moment passed, and then a blaster fired, followed by an early explosion. And that was when Fox rolled out of cover, letting loose a hail of blaster bolts at the two hunters, forcing them to take cover.

Fox focused on Bane, sprinting towards where Bane had taken cover, only for the Duros to explode out from behind the wall, knocking the Commander’s DCs from his hands, but not before he got off a single bolt into Bane’s side. Fox punched Bane in the stomach and went for an uppercut, only for Bane to catch it roundhouse kick Fox’s helmet off. He grunted, taking a step back, only for his eyes to widen and he quickly rolled to the side as Bane’s flamethrower activated. Not good. Eliminate. Now.

He moved forward as the flamethrower turned off, sidestepping a kick and catching a right-hook. He jerked his head forward, headbutting the Duros, sending him reeling. Without giving him a chance to recover, Fox slammed his boot into the hunter’s face, knocking him out cold. And then he remembered, Osik! Embo!

He turned around, only for that damned hat to slam straight into his face. Fox felt his nose break and grunted as blood began pouring down his face. His vision swam for a moment, but he saw Embo catch his hat and turn to run, only for a line of laser blasts to cut him off. He stopped and looked up, Fox did too, seeing four gunships descending from the sky, all with Shock Troopers roping down from them. Embo’s hands immediately raised.

A pair of medics jogged over to Fox, one with his helmet and the other with his blasters. “Sir, are you alright?”

Fox couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “Just another day in the life of a Coruscanti Guardsman.”

I couldn’t help myself. This demanded to be written early.

(The chase scene was inspired by Red VS Blue)

#CommanderFoxWeek #RvB Inspired #Clone Badassery #Writing #Star Wars

[meganshinsou-tm]

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter seven: do i wanna know

❧ genre:  tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: none

❧ chapter song: Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles | artist credit

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

All eyes were on Denki as he held two cards in his hand. There was a shit eating grin on his face and his own golden eyes glanced across the way at you.

"I hope everyone is ready to be naked except me," he chuckled and scratched at his bare chest that was littered in a chaotic mess of tattoos.

Granted, the man was already almost naked himself, only a pair of fitted briefs graced his shockingly well-defined body. You, along with Kirishima, Bakugou, Sero and Deku watched in anticipation when he laid down a card with a smile still on his face. Placing a hand on his knee he looked around the circle, proud, not even saying a word like he had already won the game.

Sero was biting on his lip and trying not to lose his composure while Kirishima and Deku quietly chuckled and shook their head. Denki quirked a golden brow and scratched his head. Bakugou tossed his head back and laughed before sitting back on his palms and showing off even more of his muscular build.

"You dumbass," was all the blonde chortled.

Denki looked at the cards laying on the floor in a pile then to his own, "I don't see why you guys are laughing, I have one card left while you fuckers have handfuls."

"Exactly Denki except you forgot one key part of this game," Sero snorted.

Denki looked from his friend and back to the one card in his hand, it was a death blow too, he was sure to win but that's when it hit him, "Oh shit – wait! UN – "

"UN – NO fucker! You're too late, drop em," you yelled out and chunked a piece of pizza crust at his face.

Finally everyone started to laugh, you and Sero both falling out onto the floor you sat on and grabbing at your sides. On either side of you, Bakugou and Kirishima both chuckled and shook their heads. Denki glared at everyone in the circle before throwing his last card down and jumping to his feet.

"Fuck you guys, I hate UNO!"

"Too bad, rules are rules Denki, well try not to laugh too hard," Deku snorted and trailed his fingers up the man's calf.

Denki kicked at him only making the green-haired man laugh more before taking a drink of his beer. Kirishima snickered and felt something brush against his leg, his crimson eyes looked down to see your head nudging it while hands covered your face and muffled giggles were spewing from underneath. His eyes couldn't help but wonder down your shirtless body. It was hard for him to focus on the game of strip UNO all night with you sitting right next to him, so close. Bakugou teasing and touching you didn't help.

Kirishima looked over to the blonde on the other side of you to see he wasn't paying attention at all, but more joining in on the teasing of their friend who was about to be completely naked. 

So far, the red-head was doing good on your bet of being nice, throughout the multiple rounds of UNO the two of you would sometimes help each other out, becoming so close to being naked yourselves, not that either of you minded.

Smirking, Kirishima went to move one of your hands away from your face, revealing blushed cheeks and tear pricked eyes, lips parted and gasping for air between laughs.

He took a deep breath and stared for a minute longer, trying to burn the image into his brain. Your eyes looked up at him, his hand still holding yours and you not caring to make him let go. Sniffling, you wiped your eyes with the other hand and smiled at the man.

"You know staring isn't nice Ei, I'm sure that could cost you the bet."

Kirishima rolled his eyes and placed his entire palm on your face, making you laugh. "I'm not staring, maybe I'm admiring."

Two hands wrapped around his and moved it from your face, casually holding it to your chest like a stuffed animal.

"Maybe you're full of shit. Eijirou Kirishima doesn't admire me, he despises me."

Kiri titled his head and clicked his tongue, a somewhat irritated expression on his face, "I don't despise you (Y/N)," he replied as his thumb subconsciously rubbed across your clavicle.

"Well you have an odd way of showing your admiration, maybe I should make these bets with you more often ... I like this Eijirou," you replied. 

Those last four words just melting from your lips softer than anything Kirishima has ever heard.

He swallowed harshly and the two of you stared at each other while his thumb still rubbed your skin and your hands held his arm close. Being like this just felt so natural and so – right. The urge to lean over and kiss you was welling up inside of his chest and making it tighter, at the same time his head kept round-housing his heart, demanding it stay down and remember that this can't happen, not as long as he lived the life he did.

"Hey Darcy and Elizabeth, eyes up here," Denki suddenly called out.

Kirishima looked away before you did – him, Bakugou, Sero and Deku both groaning in disgust at the same time and the red-head quickly looked back down at you, chuckling. You went to turn your head but Kirishima moved a hand to stop it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you little one, you may never be able to get that image out of your head."

You chuckled and moved Kirishima's hand. 

"I can handle a dick Kiri, they're all the – whoa, what the fuck!"

Quickly your hands were shielding your eyes and you giggled, peeking out from between your fingers. "Denki, is your dick – pierced?"

"Yes ma'am, wanna look closer?"

Kirishima cut eyes at the electric male, "Really dude?"

"I'm just asking, it's not every day you see a pierced dick," Denki replied with his hands up.

You only chuckled and rolled back over, looking up at Kiri. 

"I'm good Denki, I know what they look like. My ex was pierced all over. I just have one question," you smirked then sat on up your elbows, (h/c) hair falling down and brushing against Kirishima.

Your eyes zeroed in on Bakugou, he looked over and quirked a brow before smirking while he shook his head, "The answer is no, I didn't pierce that fucker's dick. I didn't even pierce my own."

"What?" Your eyes widened and you sat up fully, "You're pierced too?"

The blonde smirked and grabbed your thighs roughly making your back fall to the floor again with a yelp and pulled you closer to him, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

"Mhm, wanna see for yourself princess?"

Your eyes couldn't help but wonder down Bakugou's bare chest, taking in the colorful grenades and roses, then trailing over his torso and abdomen before landing on his crotch that was extremely close to your own. With a smirk you reached a hand out, grabbing his belt and staring him in the eye. Getting brave, the male leaned forward, his hands trapping your torso on the floor and his face inches from yours.

"Maybe some other time, Kacchan."

Deku spit out his beer and cackled, Sero joined in and Denki chuckled as well. The only one not laughing was Kirishima. 

Instead his eyes were alight with fire, staring at how Bakugou was hovering over you, both shirtless and looking down as if you were prey for him to feast on. The blonde glanced over to see his friend looking clearly threatened, he smirked and looked back at you before lowering his lips to your ear and whispering only loud enough for you to hear him.

"Just wait princess – when that time comes, I'll fucking ruin you," he spoke in a tone dripping with lust before his teeth took your cheek between them.

Your fists clenched and you couldn't deny the heat coursing through your entire being or the small grunt that Bakugou coaxed out with his bite, he chuckled with his mouth still full of your flesh before releasing it and kissing at the teeth marks softly.

"Get a fucking room you two, preferably Sero's," Denki interjected.

Sero scoffed and took the naked man's shirt, twirling it before making it snap on his thigh. "No one is fucking in my room, you two can go somewhere else with that and Denki – put your fucking pants back on!"

You giggled and pushed the blonde off, he smirked and sat back, taking your hand to help you sit back up. Your palm pushed his face and he chuckled as you twirled around to face away from him and sat crisscrossed. His red eyes looked at your back and the scar it held. You flinched when you felt a finger lightly running the length of it but quickly relaxed.

"Look guys, I'm not fucking anyone tonight – I mean unless sweet Deku asks," you cooed and looked straight at the freckled faced man who was drinking his beer.

Just as before, he spit it out and his hand came up to hit his chest while he coughed. Laughing, you moved back to your spot between Bakugou and Kirishima, leaneding over the red-heads lap and patted Deku's knee.

"I'm joking green bean, I love you."

Kirishima rolled his eyes and sat back on his palms, "You're so not joking, if Deku really did want to fuck you, you'd let him and probably anyone else in this room."

You glanced up at Kirishima and smirked. 

"And is there something wrong with that Red? I don't belong to anyone, so I'm free to do whatever and whomever I damn well please. Even you," you smiled, moving the hand on Deku's leg over to his own and squeezing it.

The red-head smirked and leaned closer, the tip of his nose touching the tip of yours. 

"You wouldn't be able to handle me little one."

"Oh but I'd love to try," you replied with a cocky smile before quickly nipping at his nose and moving from before him.

He side eyed you, staring at him all proud. Shaking his head Kirishima playfully pushed your face and picked his cards back up. "Shut up and let's finish this game."

Everyone grinned and quickly the game was back on. Between Bakugou and Kirishima, you were getting your ass beat and struggling to keep your clothing on. It all came crashing down when Bakugou placed down a 'reverse' card, meaning you had to remove another article of clothing, which was your pants. 

With a cocky smile he looked to you.

"Strip princess."

You softly punched his shoulder before placing your cards down and laying flat on the floor. Of course every pair of eyes were on you as the button and zipper of the jeans were being un-done.

"You know I should charge all of your asses for this," you spat out while lifting your hips and pushing the garment down.

Bakugou and Kirishima both stared and wore smirks, until the jeans were down to your knees as you sat back up. 

There were multiple hand-prints burned into the plump flesh of your thighs, dragging down and smeared like blood. Soon the three other men were staring, no one saying a word as you chunked the pair of jeans over your shoulder and looked up to see that all eyes were glued to one area. Looking down you hummed, placing your hands on your thighs and rubbing them gently.

"I uh – I kind of forget they're there. I've had them for so long."

Soon a hand was gripping your wrist and moving it from the burned skin, you looked to see it was Kirishima and there was a look on his face you've never seen before. It was almost as if he were concerned or just highly pissed off.

"Did the same asshole who stabbed you do this?"

"What – stabbed," Sero and Denki both questioned with shock.

You snatched your wrist from Kiri's hand and looked around the room, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The men weren't looking at you with disgust or anything of the sort, but with pity and you hated that. You didn't want pity or sympathy for the past, it was over and done.

"Uh – ", you started while rubbing the side of your neck nervously, " I – uh."

"What's going on here?"

Your eyes glanced up to see Shouto standing behind Denki and Deku while shoving his phone into his pants pocket. His eyes scanned everyone before landing on you, falling on the scars that dressed your skin. Subtly his eyes widened and looked directly at your own. Shouto didn't need to ask what the marks where, in fact they were similar in color to his own scar that adorned his face.

"Well we were just about to learn who the fucker is that did that so we can track him down and light his ass up," Denki growled as he pointed a finger to your scars.

"Calm down Sparky, like I said it happened a long time ago. I'm fine obviously."

"Are you though," Kirishima quietly asked with a stern voice, his red eyes burning into you.

Looking back, you nodded at him, "Yes, I am."

Shouto walked around the circle and stopped behind you. He removed his heavy coat and lowered to sit on the floor, you grunted when his arm wrapped around and pulled you between his legs as he casually laid the coat over your lap, shielding the scars from prying eyes.

"If she doesn't want to elaborate on it topic any further, then don't push it."

"Yeah guys, lets just get back to the game okay, she'll tell us when she's ready," Izuku added and squeezed Denki's shoulder to reassure his worried friend.

A defeated "fine" rung out around the men and the game continued without another word. 

Shouto hooked his head over your shoulder, making you turn to look at him.

"Thank you Shouto."

"It's nothing (Y/N). Now, tell me how you play this?"

With a grin the two of you quietly talked back and fort as you explained the rules. A draw two card meant an item of clothing had to be removed, if you placed down a wild card then one piece could be put back on. A wild card plus draw four meant the next person had to remove two items of clothing and if anyone got down to one card and forgot to call out UNO they would have to strip completely.

Shouto hummed and the two of you worked together against the other five men, Denki called out that your team was unfair until Shouto shot him a look that instantly had the golden-haired man shutting up. As the game went on, it got to where everyone in the group was now down to just their underwear. 

You looked at all the men, taking in just how extremely muscular they all were, and somewhat covered in ink. You won't lie your heart did a flip when Kirishima had to remove his shirt earlier in the game, revealing his covered chest that had a dragon sprawled across it that flowed with his theme of thick clouds and flowers. At the moment your eyes were on him, just admiring the detail and color of his tattoos, until a foot kicked at your knee.

Looking over you saw Bakugou smirking as he pointed toward the pile of cards, on the top laid a draw two. Your eyes widened and you looked down, all you had left were your bra and panties. 

Unbeknownst to you, Kirishima was panicking on the inside for you! 

Shouto looked over to see the color draining from the red-heads face. Soon, Shouto pulled away from your back, hands going to the hem of his sweater and pulling it off, chunking it sideways to Bakugou. The blonde shook his head with a smile and flipped both of you off.

Turning your head to look at Shouto, shirtless behind you, you froze. 

For the first time you were seeing his own tattoos – thick brushstrokes of black ran from his forearms and up to his shoulders, flowing around two opposing oni masks on each pec. One white and frozen in ice, the other red and engulfed in flames. There was also Japanese calligraphy going down his torso. It all came together so nicely and was just as stunning as he was. 

Looking back at the oni masks had you facing forward again and examining each of the men. You didn't realize till now but everyone had a mask somewhere on their bodies, Kiri's on his left bicep that faced you, Deku's on his right forearm, Denki's was hidden in the map of random tattoos on his lower stomach, as well as Sero's that hid in the geometric designs of his sleeve, then Bakugou's – which was on his shin that wore a samurai helmet along with a dragon.

"Is that like a thing between you guys, the oni masks," you questioned and laid down a plain card.

"Pretty much, like a 'family' tattoo," Deku answered as he looked down at his own piece of ink.

You smiled at him and looked at your body, bare and plain. 

"I feel so naked compared to all of you, you know tattoo wise. I don't think I'll ever be able to catch up but I wouldn't mind another one. In fact – I want one from each of you, Sero and Shouto."

Sero's black eyes looked up and a triangular smile crossed his face. 

"Really? What are you thinking about getting?"

Shouto rested his head back on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist as he felt you shudder; he activated his quirk just a bit to help kill the chill in your body. You smiled and kissed his temple and thanked him briefly before replying.

"Well I really like those sternum tattoos, they look really pretty."

"Those are pretty tough – pain wise I mean," Sero replied.

Kirishima smirked and laid down a card, "She's tough, she sat like a rock through that little rib piece."

You looked over to Kirishima and smiled at him, he smiled back and reached out a hand to ruffle your hair. You and Sero continued to talk back and forth about what exactly you wanted. You wanted to keep it ocean related. Deku thought himself and suggested an octopus, Denki agreed on the idea as well and mentioned how you could either dress it up or keep it minimal.

"Oh yeah that sounds really cool, would you want to do that for me Sero," you asked with a smile.

The black-haired male smiled back and nodded. 

"Of course I would sweetheart, anything for you. We can knock it out this week."

You nodded in return and the UNO game continued, but not for much longer. In the end Deku wound up winning. As everyone tossed their cards into the pile, Bakugou suggested taking a smoke break to which Shouto and Denki agreed on. Clothes were placed back on. Kirishima and Sero tagged along with their three friends outside into the cold, Deku excused himself to the bathroom and you were left alone with Shouto's coat draped over your shoulders. 

Looking around you inched closer and closer to a keyboard that sat along a wall in what seemed to be a sort of nook of the house.

Sitting down on the small bench, you turned the instrument on and started to play random keys. After a few minutes Denki came back inside, he grabbed a blanket off the couch and smiled as he hopped over to where you were.

"Scoot over lil'mama," he commanded.

Smiling, you did so and the two of you played around on the keyboard. Shortly after Deku came along and sat in a chair close by, the three of you making small talk with each other, all while a whole other conversation was going on outside between the other men.

"What," Kirishima questioned Bakugou who was chuckling at him.

"Nothing, it's just nice to see you finally got some fucking sense. Should we be expecting the wedding soon?"

Kirishima rolled his eyes. 

"Shut the fuck up Bakugou, we have a bet going on. If I can be nice to her all night then I get a hundred bucks. Other than that it doesn't mean shit."

"That's a little fucking harsh man, are you seriously gonna go back to being a total dick to her after tonight," Sero questioned, an overprotective aura starting to emulate from him.

The red-head shrugged his shoulders, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. 

"I don't know okay, why are you all on my back about this shit anyway?"

Shouto took a final drag from his cigarette before removing it from his lips and crushing the butt of it on the bottom of his boot. He looked at Kirishima and flicked the used item at him, causing the male to look at him confused.

"Because – she may be tough Eijrou, but she's still a person. Just because you want to suppress these feelings for the girl doesn't give you an excuse to treat her like some dog shit you stepped in. I understand why you don't want her getting close and if making her hate you is what you really want – then go for it but she's not going anywhere. You've all already become so attached to her and her with you, meaning we have a weak spot now."

Bakugou scoffed and exhaled a cloud of smoke. 

"Let someone else try to lay a fucking finger on her, we'll take care of em. I still want to find the bastard that did all that other shit to her and do it all back to him tenfold"

Sero shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, "Well I think it's safe to say we all do, but if she doesn't want to open up about that part of her life right now then we need to just drop it. Shouto is right though Kiri, she's not going anywhere, so why keep up this act? Just in one night the two of you have done a complete 180 and honestly, it's nice to see you two not at each other's throats. You really want to just demolish all the progress you've made, just like that?"

Kirishima looked out into the dark and snow as he thought. 

Sero and Shouto were both right but he just couldn't get over the fact that someone could use your life against him had the wrong person found out you were his. 

He sighed and looked to Sero.

"I'll tone it down, but I'm not sure that I should risk anything else. Shouto's right, she's a weakness, but the second the wrong fucker finds out that's she's specifically my fucking weakness, it's over and if anything ever happened to her because I was stupid enough to let her in, I'd never forgive myself."

"But say she does find out what we are, I mean she will eventually, we can't hide this shit from her forever. What if she accepts you as you are, accepts the danger and consequences, it could –"

"I wouldn't fucking let her Sero! Being with someone like us is like a death sentence," Kiri snapped.

The men looked at him and could see he was clearly frustrated, the red-head moved from his spot and walked towards the door. 

"I'll ease up on her, that should be enough. Now fucking drop it."

Kirishima walked back inside, slamming the door shut behind him and moving to the kitchen in search of a drink. He stopped when he saw you at the fridge, searching it and humming while subtly dancing with yourself along to music that was now playing on the speaker in the living room. 

Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms and quietly watched you look in the freezer part of the appliance and perked up at the sight of a pint of ice cream. Your body continued to bounce and bop along as you took it out and grabbed a spoon from the utensil drawer.

"Run~, don't tell me bye-bye. Run~, you make me cry cr– ah what the fuck," you yelled out, dropping the spoon once you turned around to see Kirishima there with a smile on his face.

Kirishima chuckled and quirked a brow as he pushed off from the wall. 

"I could ask the same thing little one. Do you always raid people's fridge like a gremlin?"

"For your FYI, this place is like a second home, I'm welcome to whatever I like," you replied while bending over to pick up the spoon then sat it and the ice cream on the counter before attempting to hop up onto it but struggled.

"One, you were only one word away from finishing that phrase without having to use the acronym and two – " he paused, coming behind you and lifting you up by the hips, making you yelp as he sat you down on the counter, "you're welcome for the lift, I'll be taking that hundred bucks now."

"Hah! You still got one more hour Eijirou," you teased before placing a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, "Shit that's cold – here you can have an indirect kiss as a token of my gratitude!"

Kirishima smirked at you scooping another spoonful and offering it to him.

"No thanks, that spoon was on the floor you animal."

"For like one second! Stop being a pussy and just accept my indirect kiss," you instructed before slipping the spoon between his sharp teeth.

"You little shit," he growled, taken off guard before running after you once you bolted from the counter and to the living room.

Squealing, you tried to outrun him and call for help but he caught up to you in no time. His arms scooping you up before falling back onto the couch. You laughed and squirmed in his lap from being tickled so harshly and trying not to make a mess with the pint of ice cream still in your hand.

"You're a pain in my ass you know that," he chuckled and continued to tickle.

"Y-yes, I have succeeded – hah, in life!"

This only made Kirishima tickle you with more force, your laughter reaching a higher pitch along with squeals and pleas. This whole situation was the opposite of what the man needed right now but getting along with you actually came to him so easily and just made everything that much more difficult for him. 

He meant what he said to Sero, he would ease up on you but he had a feeling that would be his downfall and that sooner or later, he'd completely succumb to you.

"Yo fam, I'm glad you're getting along and shit, but can you please keep from getting ice cream on the couch," Denki requested from the other side of the room.

"Only when she begs me to stop!" Kirishima smirked.

You smirked back, trying to stay serious but the giggles and smiles wouldn't stay back.

"Oh getting kinky are we?"

Rolling his eyes and grabbing a couch pillow, Kirishima placed it over your face, lightly pulling your head back against his shoulder.

"I change my mind, go to sleep."

“Eijirou," you whined underneath the pillow.

The red-head moved it out of the way and craned his neck to look at you, "Yes?"

After wiping tears from your eyes and catching your breath, you looked at the man with the biggest puppy dogs eyes and lips pouting as you melted more into his chest, head lulling on him. 

"Please stop Eijirou, I'll be a good girl."

Kirishima's fingers still dug into your flesh, but stopped tickling, he inhaled deeply staring at you and trying his hardest not to break from the pathetic yet adorable look you gave, not to mention how your voice was like velvet when it spoke.

"Tch, you're so eager to please huh," he breathed out and let his hands finally rest on your hips before hooking his chin over your shoulder.

You hummed and started to eat the ice cream, after taking a bite you offered one to Kirishima, to which he didn't deny this time. You smiled and sunk down lower into his chest and lap, snuggling close and sharing the cold treat together. 

It wasn't long before Bakugou, Shouto and Sero made their way back in. Bakugou smirked upon seeing you and Kirishima all cozy on the couch together.

"Tone it down my ass," he mumbled to no one in particular before joining everyone in the living room.

The guys talked among themselves, you and Kirishima would chime in here and there as you ate the ice cream. You learned more about everyone's interests and hobbies and they learned more about you. 

Between conversations, Kirishima would make small talk with you himself. As the night went on you learned so much more about the red-head in one night than you did in a month. Apparently he was a big foodie, went to the gym before and after work on most days, he played video games in his spare time – he'd actually spend a lot of nights gaming with Sero. 

You also found out that his hair was indeed dyed red and that black was it's natural color. With a smile you asked if you could touch his hair, he smirked and allowed it. Turning in his lap sideways you reach a hand over, running your fingers through the thick and surprisingly soft spiky locks.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this, I just really love your hair. In fact – you all have really amazing hair. Eventually I will pet every single one of your heads!"

"That’s what she said," Denki snorted from his spot on the other couch.

Rolling your eyes, you flipped him off and focused on Kirishima again. 

His hands were rubbing your back and resting on your thigh casually, your arm rested around his shoulder and your hand played with the back portion of his hair. Neither of you registered what was happening, it just felt that normal. The red-head looked down to your thigh as his finger brushed across the jeans.

"Did they hurt?"

You looked down and tugged the corner of your lip up briefly while shrugging.

"Well they didn't exactly feel good but I survived. I wasn't able to heal them completely as you can tell but they look a lot better than what they did, trust me."

Kirishima sighed and flattened his palm over your thigh, he could still vividly see the scars even if they were clothed now. His gut churned and blood boiled as he imagined what you must've endured, how hard you probably cried and screamed. 

Lost in thought, Kirishima didn't notice how you rested your head on his chest and curled up closer into him with a yawn. He didn't notice how his arms subconsciously wrapped around and held you, one hand petting your (h/c) locks and the other holding your thigh and his thumb rubbing it.

"Who the hell did all of this to you," he asked softly, his cheek resting on your forehead.

You huffed a breath of air, pulling your hands close to your chest and turning to nuzzle more into him, feeling more and more tired in his warm embrace. 

"Eij, I think prying counts as being rude. You've been doing so good on this bet," you replied with a yawn.

Kirishima held up his wrist and checked the time on his watch before lowering it back to your thigh, "It's almost 1 am, the bet is over, so I'm allowed to pry."

"Ugh ... it was my ex alright," you replied with a tired aggravation and snuggled even more against him, the top of your head brushing under his chin.

"Your ex could be anyone, what's his name?"

"Kiri, please, let's just drop it. Maybe another time," you whined into his chest.

Kirishima sighed in defeat, not saying anything else. He looked around to see all his friends either quietly chatting or passed out on the floor and couches. You slowly started to grow heavier in his hold while small sleepy moans left your lips. With a smirk the man gently motioned for someone's attention, catching Sero's. He asked his friend to go start his truck and to turn the heater on full blast, letting the vehicle warm up so it wouldn't be freezing cold once he decided to leave.

After a while all the men started to get up themselves to head home. Kirishima rose from the couch with you still in his arms, Bakugou gathered your things for him and everyone walked outside besides Denki who was fast asleep on the floor. Sero lightly pat your head and kissed it before waving everyone off, Shouto and Deku headed for the vehicle they came in with Bakugou and he followed Kiri to his truck. The blonde helped by opening the door for him and watched as Kirishima sat you inside the vehicle with the utmost care and covered you with his own jacket.

He shut the door and turned to see Bakugou lighting up another cigarette with a smirk. 

"You really think you can keep this bullshit up?"

"I don't know," Kirishima replied as he looked back through the window at you sleeping.

"Well you better figure it the fuck out, before someone else takes her – maybe me," the blonde chuckled before being decked in the shoulder.

The two men playfully shoved the other before saying goodbye and parting ways. Kirishima got into the vehicle and buckled up, his eyes glanced down to you and he smiled before putting the truck in drive and heading home. After driving for a while you started to stir awake, arms stretching and yawns leaving your lips. You curled the jacket on you closer, sitting up straight and looking at Kirishima.

"Have a nice nap little one," he questioned warmly.

"I guess so, sorry I passed out on you Kiri."

He shook his head, reassuring you it wasn't a huge deal. The two of you sat in silence a while longer until you laid back against the console facing up and looking out the sunroof of the vehicle at the blurry stars.

"Hey Ei, I know its past midnight and the bet is over but – do you mind rubbing my head. I don't usually drink and now I have a major headache."

The red-head didn't even give it a thought, his arm reaching over and fingers instantly massaging your scalp. A toothless smile formed on your lips with a hum.

"So – once I get out of this truck, are you going to go back to hating me?"

The question was so loaded and you sounded so small when asking it.

"What is with you and thinking I hate or despise you (Y/N)?"

"Well, from the start I've never exactly gotten a warm feeling from you Kiri. First you strongly stated how you felt about me working at the shop. Then there's you always giving me the cold shoulder or just acting like you don't want me around at all. I mean – what have you done to make me think otherwise? You were only so nice to me tonight because of a stupid bet."

Kirishima sighed and rubbed his head briefly with his other hand, he already had to go through this conversation with the guys and he really didn't feel like going through it again with you.

"Look I have my reasons for acting like a dick towards you and I know it's not right, I promise I'll ease up okay?"

"And what exactly are your reasons Kiri?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, I said I'd be nicer, so that should be enough."

You grabbed his wrist, stopping his hand from rubbing your scalp any longer and looked directly at him. 

"No, that's not enough! I've thought about it over and over, what exactly I did to make you not like me and I can never put my finger on it, you tell me there's a reason and I want to know, I deserve to know!"

Kirishima groaned and stopped the vehicle, you released his hand and sat up to look around, seeing that you were home. You turned in the seat towards the tattooed man and titled your head. 

"I'm waiting."

"When you tell me who your ex is and why he went to so far to hurt you, then I'll tell you why."

"No! These are two completely different situations Kirishima, my past has nothing to do with you, it's just that – the past. This is now, you don't get to just hate me for no reason," you snapped back, hands bracing the middle console as you leaned over it and closer to the red-head.

He growled and leaned over the console as well as the argument heated up. 

"I already told you I don't fucking hate you – you fucking brat!"

"Then tell me why you're such a dick to me you spiky haired bastard!"

Your faces were now less than an inch away from the other, both breathing hot and anger filled air, eye contact never breaking.

"Why do you fucking care so much huh? You've got everyone else wrapped around your little finger, is that not enough for you? Or do you have to capture everyone's fucking attention in order to survive?"

Your eyes squinted at him and your fingers came up to flick his forehead. 

"Fuck you Kirishima, continue being fucking bitter for no apparent reason and see where it gets you."

"I'm sure I'll get further than some little attention wh–" he stopped abruptly and clenched his jaw before anything else could come out.

You quirked a brow and looked at him in a challenging way. 

"I'm sorry, a what? If that's how you really feel Kirishima then grow a fucking pair and finish that – mph!"

Your words were cut short by a pair of lips colliding with your own and a hand pulling at the collar of your coat. 

Everything happened so quickly, one second you were in your own seat and the next you were straddling Kirishima's lap in the driver's seat, lips chasing each other in a fit a rage and passion. His hands tried to grab at your face, hips and ass but you slapped them away each time until he finally got fed up, taking your wrists in one hand and holding them up to pin against the roof of the vehicle. He overpowered you with ease, his free arm wrapping around your waist and pulling it closer to his, flushing your chest with his.

You managed to break away from the kisses, panting onto his lips as his sharp teeth nipped on your bottom lip. 

"Why are you – "

"To shut you the fuck up," he growled in response before capturing your lips again.

Kirishima's mouth was in control of everything, setting a slow and rough pace that was also desperate. It felt like kissing fire, it was hot and wrong but at the same time pulling you in even more with it's flames. Sharp teeth nipped and tugged at your lip, causing you to gasp at the slight pain before they disappeared and found the flesh of your jaw.

"Eijirou," you whined, feeling your wrists grow sore from how harshly he pinned them and arms starting to feel like jelly.

He released them instantly, tangling the now free hand into your hair and pulling your head to the side to expose more skin. Your hands wrapped around the side of his neck and one trekked into his own hair and lightly tugged when his teeth dragged along your neck. 

Kirishima was losing it, something in him broke and there was nothing to hold on to, to keep him sane. The way your body melted into his rough touches along with the way his name and other intoxicating sounds fell from your lips, it was overwhelming and he craved more. You were craving more yourself as your hands brought his face back up for another hot kiss before breaking it and staring into his dark ruby eyes.

He stared back into those (e/c) eyes with a small smirk, your cheeks were flushed as you panted. Your lips were kiss swollen, plump, soft and – bleeding?

The smirk on Kirishima's face instantly faded and he stared at the crimson colored liquid on your skin, the sight made the gruesome images of his own reoccurring nightmare flash before his eyes. 

Your body cold and limp, covered in blood while he held you close and cried. 

All the color drained from his face and immediately his hands were harshly pushing you back against the steering wheel, causing the horn to go off and you to jump. He loosened the hold just enough for the horn to stop but still keeping you at a safe distance.

"Fuck," he hissed, "your lip."

You looked back at him, confused before bringing a hand up and touching your lip. Pulling it back there was a small droplet of blood smeared on the pad of your fingertip, you smirked and shook your head.

"That's nothing Ei," you replied before pressing your fingers to the lip and healing it, "See, we're all good. Maybe next time warn me before you just attack me like that though."

You chuckled and Kirishima quirked a brow. 

"Don't worry, there won't be a next time."

The light-hearted mood in you quickly dissipated at Kirishima's cold tone. To say you were confused was a fucking understatement. This man had just come onto you, he initiated this whole thing, his lips were on yours first, his hands were pulling you closer – it was all him!

"Wha – what the fuck was that then Kirishima?"

"It was nothing, just drop it. Now get your stuff and let's –"

"No! I'm not going to just drop it! You came onto me! You don't get to kiss and touch me like that and just say it's nothing!"

Kirishima groaned and suddenly you were pulled back close to his face, a hardened fist curled into the collar of your jacket, slowly ripping it with a look on his face that emulated pissed off.

"Like what huh, like how I kiss every other broad? News flash little one, you're not special – maybe to those other idiots but not to me."

Your glared at the man before you, "I call bullshit Kirishima, you're hiding something fro – "

"Think whatever you want, I said it meant nothing – you mean nothing to me, got it?"

A knot was forming in your chest, fire spreading through your veins at the harsh words that Kirishima hissed in your face.

Looking down, your hand gripped at his, ignoring the pain when his hardened skin cut your palm. You jerked it from the clothing and he released the quirk but it was too late, blood was dripping from your hand. 

He went to grab it, to inspect it but you clutched it to your chest and moved from his lap to the other seat, quickly grabbing your bag, digging through it furiously. Tears were wanting to fall but you sucked them down with a sniffle. 

Kirishima caught the smallest of glimpses of your face, teeth clenching and lips quivering, glassy eyes that blinked away small tears. His jaw tightened and his heart shattered, the words he said in a fit of rage suddenly hitting him. Kirishima didn't mean it and he definitely didn't intend on harming you. 

Before he could backtrack and apologize, your hand collided with his chest, making him grunt and look down as it vanished and a bloody $100 bill fell into his lap.

"You fucking earned it," you replied with a seething yet shaky tone.

Kirishima went to turn and say something but you were already slamming the truck door shut, walking away towards the building and disappearing into the snow. He looked down to the piece of worthless paper, a hard hand crumbling it to pieces.

You hurried inside to your apartment, quickly opening and closing the door behind you before sliding down it and sinking to the floor. Your head fell into your hands as sobs erupted from deep within, shaking your body violently. 

For the rest of the early morning those words played on an endless loop but your mind and body wouldn't let you forget the feeling of Kirishima's lips and hands, and the way he held you close all night.

"I don't believe you," you whispered out to no one in particular.

Curling up into yourself, slumping over on the floor and screwing your eyes shut. The crying went on for what felt like hours, more and more until exhaustion finally took over your emotionally wrecked body and into its own arms.

#crimson ink #kirishima eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #tattoo shop au #hitmen au #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #slow burn #eventual smut #angst #violence

[lieraburaaisuh]

Truth and Valor [Star Wars Fanfic]

Synopsis:

While on a backwater planet for a job Drogan Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri finds himself in a bizarre situation. After saving a kid from a group of humanoids who'd ganged up on him, he comes to find that the boy has no recollection of anything; even his own name. With no way to know who he is or where he comes from the only thing he can do is keep the boy close until he can remember who he is

The strange things that happen around the boy and his odd insights are only a coincidence. At least that's what Drogan tells himself. Otherwise he'd have to acknowledge that he may have bitten off more than he can chew when he decided to take the boy in.

Warnings: Assassination and death, cursing, trauma/brain injury, and memory loss.

Note: This is the First Story, Part 1 of The Ties That Bind series. All 8 chapters, 20.7k words, plus artwork!

Chapter 1

Laying on his front with a Verpine sniper rifle tucked against his shoulder he followed the first target, finger against the trigger. Taking a slow and easy breath he let it out slowly. Between one heart beat and the next the first body was falling. With the efficiency of long practice he switched targets and dropped the second target before the first even hit the ground. Shuffling away from the edge of the cliff he stood and slung the rifle across his back. Pulling out a small probe droid he tossed it into the air and sent it to take holopics of the deceased as proof of their termination.

Heading back to his ship he dropped into the pilot’s seat and pulled out the datapad connected to the droid. Checking that the targets were easy to identify by their holopics he crossed them off his list and recalled the droid. So far the job hadn’t been too difficult. Normally a couple of politicians and nobles dropping dead would have had someone up his aft by now. Lucky for him there was already a civil war brewing on this dirtball of a planet.

Once the droid was back on board he took off and headed for the last, and most difficult, target. Rumour placed the male Twi’lek out in some old bunker hidden in the rocky canyons outside the largest city. If the intel was right he could be off the planet and heading back to pick up his credits within a day.

Setting the ship down just inside the edge of the treeline he locked down the controls, a handy trick he’d picked up from his sister’s husband, and did a quick once over of his rifle. After a quick meal he walked out into the windy crevices made of crumbling dirt and stone. His cloak threatened to strangle him as the wind whipped it about but he refused to leave it behind. It was far too useful.

Coming closer to the location of the bunker his plan was immediately derailed by the sounds of fighting. Taking a knee he brought up the rifle and peered through the scope. The entire area looked like an insect colony that had been kicked. Keeping low he crept closer to the ledge of the canyon to get a better look. Movement off to his left had him dropping to his stomach and crawling the rest of the way forward. “Shab.” ‘Fuck.’ He cursed under his breath.

Below him a group of six humanoids surrounded a child. Kid couldn’t have been older than ten. Blood covered one side of their face and soaked into the left side of their simple shirt. The kid had no weapons and yet they fought tooth and nail. Standing defiant in the face of greater numbers, their attackers all older and much larger. He watched them stagger and knew their strength was fading.

Glancing toward the bunker then back to the kid he growled. Memories of his three nephews and one niece’s smiling faces flashed through his mind and he knew he couldn’t just leave the kid. Mind made up he reached back and grabbed a stun grenade from his belt. Priming it he chucked it behind the group and turned away to brace himself. Screams of confusion and pain were his cue to move.

Hauling himself up he pulled up his rifle and shot two of them in the chest. Slinging it over his back he jumped down. Sliding along the rocks he switched to his pistol and shot the remaining four. Standing with gun in hand he made sure they were all dead before he holstered his weapon. Anyone that ganged up on a wounded kid didn’t deserve his mercy.

Turning to the kid in question he showed his weapon free hands and spoke gently. “Hey there, kid. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” The child, a boy by the looks of it, stared at the bodies around him. His left eye was closed, either due to injury or because of the blood, while his right eye was a deep green. He looked back at the bounty hunter and took a couple steps forward before he started to fall. Moving fast he caught the kid before he hit the dirt. “Talyc haran!” ‘Bloody hell!’

With a sigh he laid the kid out on the ground nearby and searched the bodies for anything useful. There was nothing that would lead him to the target and he wasn’t enough of a sha’buir to steal from the dead. Picking the kid back up he slung him over his shoulder and started back toward the ship. With an unconscious kid and the area full of enemies his plans were effectively screwed. He’d have to lay low and wait for things to calm down before taking out his target.

He had to dodge a patrol or two on the way back and shot one of the searchers when they practically landed on him from above, but the journey back was otherwise uneventful. Once he was up the ramp and the door sealed behind him he heaved a sigh.

Laying the kid out on one of the bunks he fetched the med kit. The gash on his head wasn’t too bad but it looked like he’d lost quite a bit of blood. For the next standard hour or so he checked over the kid for any other less obvious injuries, cleaning and tending to any he found. Now that he had a better chance to look him over he thought the kid might be a little older than ten. He looked pretty small either way. Beneath the dirt and blood his hair was a surprisingly bright blonde, almost silvery in color. His skin was milky white, at least the places that weren’t burnt by the harsh sun. When he was finished he tucked the kid in and headed to the cockpit to relocate the ship. Even if no one had come knocking he didn’t want to push his luck.

Kicking back at the small table in the back of the ship he pulled apart his rifle and gave it a thorough cleaning. With the kid still unconscious he decided a shower and some caf was in order.

After four hours he decided he might as well rest. If the kid woke up while he was sleeping he trusted that he could overpower him in the event the kid ended up being hostile. Though he highly doubted it.

When the kid didn’t wake up after ten hours he began to grow concerned. The boy was still alive, he had a pulse and didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing, but he just wouldn’t wake up. He was loathe to give the kid any stimulants in case he was allergic to something. After fifteen hours he wondered if he should find a local doctor. By twenty hours he grabbed his kit and was preparing to go find a doctor, even if it left his ship undefended. Checking on him one last time he noticed the boy stirring and let out a relieved sigh. ‘Thank the stars.’ He thought to himself as he helped the boy sit up and drink some water.

Seeing his eyes properly for the first time he sucked in a breath. The right eye, the one he’d seen earlier, was a vibrant green. While the left was a deep, icy, blue. He’d never seen someone with two different eye colors before. It was unsettling. Like two people staring back at him. The boy lifted his hand and probed the wound on his head, hissing and cringing in pain. “Woah, careful. I found you in a pretty bad way earlier.” The boy frowned at him slightly, looking confused. “What were you doing out here?”

He tried to keep his voice as gentle as he could, speaking to the boy as if he were family. The boy slowly shook his head. “I don’t… know.”

“Alright then. How about a name? I’m Drogan, what about you?” The child sat there for a moment before he grimaced in confusion.

“I… I don’t…” Eyes wide the kid looked up at him in confusion and fear. “My name… what is it? Why don’t I… who am I?” Panic set in and his breathing grew frantic as he clenched the blankets with one hand and reached up to his head with the other.

“Udesii ad’ika, udesii.” ‘Calm down, kiddo, take it easy.’ Sitting on the edge of the bunk he reached over and rubbed a hand on the kid’s back. “Calm down, kid. Deep breaths. You’re okay.” The boy seemed to respond to the firm commands well, taking a long, slow, breath. It took nearly ten minutes for the boy to finally calm down. They both devolved into an awkward silence. Neither sure what to say or do.

“Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. I need to go into town to grab a few things. I want you to stay here. The fresher is over there if you need it but I want you to stay in bed as much as possible. I won’t be long.” He stood and picked up his helmet from the table nearby, slipping it over his head. “Are you hungry at all?” The boy shook his head slowly and lay back down, watching him with those bright eyes. It was a far cry from his sister’s boisterous children.

“I’ll be back soon. Maybe by then you’ll remember your name and can tell it to me.” The boy frowned, looking away. Drogan sighed and headed to the nearby hatch. This situation was a little more complicated than he had planned for. Looks like he’d be finding a doctor after all.

‘Well, it could be worse.’ He flinched the moment he thought it. “Shabla di’kut!” ‘Fucking idiot!’ He cursed himself. He wasn’t the most superstitious man but he just knew something was going to go horribly wrong. It was only a matter of time now.

Chapter 2

Standing behind the doctor as the woman looked over the boy’s injuries Drogan tried his best not to hover. Behind his helmet his eyes followed her carefully as she worked, one of his hands placed idly near his blaster just in case. The planet was experiencing civil unrest and was in the midst of war. Anyone and everyone was his enemy here. Especially after the string of assassinations he’d performed.

Stepping away from the boy the doctor gave him a look and he motioned for her to precede him down the ladder, away from the child. Once they were alone she eyed him carefully for a moment before speaking. “What kind of dangerous situation did you put that child in?” Her voice was low but her tone was clearly agitated.

“I didn’t.” Was his firm reply. “I found the kid being ganged up on. He was already bleeding and staggering on his feet when I saved him.” The doctor looked skeptical for a moment before she decided to accept his words as truth.

“The blow to his head has caused some damage. His motor skills, speech center, and ability to gain new memories is unaffected. But anything he knew before is gone. It could be temporary or permanent. It would be best to take him back to where he came from. Familiar surroundings might prompt his memories to return.” Drogan scowled. If he knew where the kid had come from he’d have taken him home already.

“Thanks for your help.” He tossed her the credits he owed and walked her off his ship. Once she’d taken off back toward town he closed the hatch and slipped his helmet off. To a scared kid who hadn’t been raised Mandalorian he was sure the helmet would be intimidating. Clipping it to his belt he went back to the kid and saw him picking at the threads of the blanket, looking dejected. He grimaced, unsure what to do. He had a job to finish but he didn’t want to bring the kid into a dangerous situation. If he somehow ended up dying then the kid would be truly alone.

Deciding to let the kid have a moment to himself Drogan went to the cockpit, sat in the pilot’s chair, and rubbed at his forehead. He was starting to get a headache.

Going over all the information he had he decided it would be best to get the job out of the way as quickly as possible and leave the planet. He could decide what to do from there.

“Sir?” Jumping he grabbed his blaster and turned toward the wide eyed stare of the boy. Relaxing he released his weapon and ran a hand through his short brown hair.

“Careful, kid. I could have shot you.” It was a bad idea to startle a Mandalorian when he was in enemy territory. The boy was lucky he was trained to look before pulling the trigger.

“I’m sorry, sir...” The boy looked sheepish and apologetic as he shuffled on his feet. Drogan studied him for a moment. There was no way he could have missed the boy coming into the room. Even with the door open the plating on the floor would have made some noise. The ship was pretty old.

“What is it?” He finally asked. The child looked back up at him.

“I’m hungry.” He spoke as if he was embarrassed, as if he didn’t want to bother the man who’d saved him with something as inconvenient as hunger. It was endearing as hell.

“Alright kid, I’ll grab you something.” According to the doctor the kid was human so he could eat pretty much anything Drogan had on hand. He’d have to watch out for any allergies. The kid wouldn’t be able to warn him if he had any.

“Thank you sir!” Was the cheerful reply. Standing he reached toward the boy and ruffled his hair. It was a habit from home, when he interacted with his nephews. He never did it to his niece, she would kick him where it hurt if he did. The boy’s reaction was a bit odd in his opinion. From the corner of his eye he saw the kid reach up and touch his head, radiating confusion. As if he wasn’t used to being touched.

Pulling out some haashun he let it soak while he grabbed some of the fruit he’d bought from the locals. They’d assured him it was edible for humans and seeing as they were human themselves he’d taken them at their word. Once the bread was at the right consistency he called out to the child. “Ad’ika! Come on down here.” The table was large enough for two so he set out the food and waited for the kid.

The boy entered the large open space and looked around curiously before noticing him in the corner and scampering over to sit down. Drogan served the boy first and then himself. The boy thanked him politely before he started nibbling on the bread, looking unconcerned with eating food he may not have ever eaten before.

Taking a bite of the fruit he grimaced. The boy must have noticed because he looked between the fruit and his face. “It’s not bad. Just very sweet.” The boy nodded and took a bite, a look of delight on his face at the soft texture and sweet juice.

For a time the only sounds were the two of them eating. But as time wore on the child kept looking like he wanted to say something. Drogan almost rolled his eyes. “Ask.” He finally said, to the boy’s apparent surprise.

“You called me… ad’ika. Is that… a name?” Oh. Well he hadn’t been expecting that. He didn’t even realize he’d slipped back into Mando’a.

“It’s my native language. It means child or boy.” The look of disappointment on his face made Drogan feel terrible. The kid looked so lost.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I come up with a name for you? Until you remember your own.” He received a bright smile in response. The kid sure was pleased by simple things. Then again if he didn’t remember anything he probably didn’t have any preferences at the moment. He didn’t even know what skills the boy had.

Well there was a thought. He had been so worried about leaving the kid on his own while he went off to do his job but he didn’t even know if the kid was actually defenseless or not. It looked like he had been able to keep those adults at bay, or at the very least outrun them until he’d been cornered. For all he knew the kid could already be half trained and not know it.

Once he’d cleared the table of their meal he motioned for the kid to follow him into the port side cargo hold. It was set up as a training area. “I want to see if your body remembers how to fight.” The kid looked both nervous and excited. At least it was a reaction he was used to. His nephews reacted much the same.

Showing him how to throw a punch he watched the boy copy him. His form was fluid and stance solid. He nodded in approval. “Now a kick.” The child obliged, seeming surprised at how easy it was for him to do. The doctor had been right. His memories might be gone but his body remembered the years of training he’d received. From who or where, Drogan wasn’t sure yet.

Getting the kid into the rhythm of the fight he sped up, using only simple punches, blocks, and kicks. With all of his concentration on Drogan the boy didn’t even seem to notice what his body was doing. It was entirely reactionary and defensive. Good enough.

“Alright, stop.” The kid stepped back and bowed suddenly before he froze. They shared a confused look as the boy straightened.

“I… uh…” He waved the boy’s concern away, the strange behavior didn’t matter at the moment.

“How are you feeling?” The child blinked at him before a thoughtful look came over him.

“A little sore, my head still hurts a little, and I feel dirty.” Drogan realized the kid hadn’t had a real shower yet and felt a bit sheepish himself, though his expression didn’t change.

“Alright, you go wash up. I have some clothes for you to change into when you’re done.” The boy smiled at him and followed him when he headed back toward the cockpit. Drogan heard the sound of the fresher door opening and closing. Sitting in his favourite chair he started going over what he knew of the boy.

‘He’s human, well trained, obeys orders with no fuss, is very polite, and walks lightly on his feet.’ Someone spent a lot of time and effort in raising the boy, that was for sure. Whoever they were, they were probably dead. He doubted someone who cared about the boy would have let him wander around a dangerous area like that without them. The clothes he’d been wearing were very basic and made of a cheaper material. At the most the boy was the son of a wealthy farmer or poor merchant. But that didn’t really explain his training. What farmer or merchant knew that much hand to hand combat? Maybe the kid was from off world…

In any case the kid was under his protection for the moment. He could always search for information later.

He heard the door to the fresher open and turned around to look down the passageway. The boy looked much better than he had earlier. With his hair clean he could now tell that it was an almost perfect white. It came to just below his ears except for a long piece behind his left ear that fell past the shoulder. Looking at the loose strands Drogan got a strange feeling in his gut but he quickly pushed it away.

“The clothes are on the bunk.” The boy nodded and disappeared inside the other room, taking his time.

Drogan stretched, cracking his neck as he did so. What he needed was a good sleep and to plan his next move. He still had one more target to assassinate before he could leave, otherwise he wouldn’t be getting any of the credits. That had been the deal. It was all or nothing.

Getting up he walked down the passageway and stopped at the door to the single bunk. He leaned in and spied the kid immediately. “Hey, why don’t you come back down with me and we’ll find you your own room.” The ship itself was a highly customized PB-950 Patrol Boat. The space that had once been used for conferences was split into two rooms. Drogan’s personal bunk and his fresher. The only reason the kid had been allowed up on the control deck was because he had been unconscious and then because he had no idea if letting him move around too much was a good idea. Now that he knew the kid was mostly okay he’d be moving to the main deck.

The boy followed him back downstairs and stood with him in the lounge area. “There’s six rooms down here and you can pick any of them you like.” He pointed toward the doors that lead to each. The boy looked back up the ladder, a slight pout crossing his lips.

“Why can’t I stay up there?” Stars, was he at the mulish and questioning age already?

“Because that is my room. You aren’t allowed on the control deck without me present or my express permission.” The boy grudgingly nodded and turned toward the closest room. Opening the door he peered into the large cabin before stepping inside. Drogan waited by the ladder, leaning against it as he watched the kid explore.

In the end he chose the larger cabin on the port side, the one closest to the galley. As he settled in Drogan looked at the practically empty room and frowned. The kid had nothing on him when he found him. Not even a weapon. It made him feel bad for the boy. Heading to one of the storage rooms he rummaged around for the box he knew was in there. It wasn’t often his sister’s kids came on board but he still had toys for them just in case. Finding the container he hauled it into the bedroom and set it down on the floor.

“Here. Take whatever you like. When I have more time we can go looking for more things for you.” The boy hesitated before coming over and opening the lid. Inside was a set of old Mandalorian action figures, they had been passed down from his grandfather. Each had a different dangerous beast from various planets to hunt. There were a few three-dimensional puzzle games and toy blasters as well. The boy looked at the toys and settled on one of the more complex puzzles and a few of the Mando’ade figurines. By coincidence he picked the exact three figures that Drogan had always loved when he was a kid. The boy looked at them, then at him, then set them on the desk beside his new bed.

“Thank you.” He said, looking a little more at ease in the large room.

“You’re welcome.” They stood there awkwardly in the silence until Drogan cleared his throat.

“I have to go plan out what’s going to happen next. Are you alright in here? I have some holobooks you can read if you like.” When the kid agreed he fetched the few books he had and set them down on the desk for the boy to read.

“I’ll let you know if I have to leave for work.” The boy’s hand paused as he reached for one of the faintly glowing crystalline boards, face turned upward in a silent question.

“I’m a bounty hunter.” The words didn’t seem to mean anything to the boy as he shrugged his shoulders in response. Drogan grumbled under his breath. “Someone pays me money to find other sentients that don’t want to be found, for one reason or another.” Apparently it made sense to the kid as his eyes lit up and he nodded in understanding. Drogan gave him a slightly forced smile as he headed back up to the control deck.

Falling into his chair he put his feet up and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the monitors. Why didn’t he just tell the kid the whole truth? He was a gun for hire, an assassin. He had far more kills under his belt than live captures. It felt almost wrong to keep it from the boy but at the same time he didn’t know if being in the presence of someone who killed for a living would scare the kid or not. He’d have to learn the truth eventually…

‘Stars, what have I gotten myself into?’

Chapter 3

Waking with a start as something touched his shoulder Drogan shifted his body further back on his bunk and grabbed the knife from his waist in the same movement. As the light snapped on and his eyes adjusted he saw white hair and two bright eyes watching him. With a curse he shoved the knife back into its sheath and let his body relax. The kid needed a damn bell, he was far too quiet. “What is it?” He croaked, still not quite awake.

“He’s dead.” The words that came out of the child’s mouth made him freeze.

“Who?” The boy shook his head, looking distressed and close to tears.

“I d-don’t know. Th-there was a man… in my dream. His hair was black? He wore clothes like mine. I think… he was yelling? There was a flash of light and then he was just… dead.” Looking the boy over carefully he could see the poor kid was trembling from head to toe. Sliding forward he motioned for the kid to sit next to him. Instantly he had a child plastered to his side, gripping onto his shirt and sobbing. At first he was unsure what to do but after a moment of hesitation he placed a hand on the kid’s head and gently stroked his hair. It was something he’d seen his sister do whenever her kids were frightened or hurt.

It took a while to calm the boy down but no matter what question Drogan asked the answer was always “I don’t know.” It could have just been a nightmare but something told him it wasn’t as simple as that. It was vague but had enough detail that it painted a pretty bleak picture. The kid was absolutely certain that the man he’d seen was dead. Drogan could only assume it was a relative, and that the kid now had one less family member in the world.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.” He said gently. The boy looked up at him with red rimmed eyes and Drogan realized the boy would have no idea what that meant.

“It’s Mando’a. It means; they are not gone, merely marching far away.” He thought for a moment about how to explain a concept he’d grown up with to someone who had never heard of it before. “Mando’ade, the people of Mandalore, believe that the dead never truly leave us. As long as we remember them, they are always with us in spirit. It doesn’t make it hurt any less that they are dead, but it helps to know they are never truly gone as so as we keep a piece of them with us.”

The boy was silent while he spoke and scrunched up his face as if he was in pain when he finished. “B-but I don’t remember him.” Well… he wasn’t really wrong. He sighed.

“But you did. You still have your memories, ad’ika. They are just locked away. Whether you remember everything or not you still know that there was someone. As long as you know there was a someone you can hold on to them.” He couldn’t promise the child that he’d regain his memories, the doctor said that he may never get them back. He didn’t want to give the boy false hope.

“That’s true. I guess I know a little more now than I did yesterday.” That was… surprisingly mature for a kid in his situation. The boy was like an open book. Everything he said was just so straight forward and true.

“Haati.” The word escaped him before he could really think about it. But once it was said aloud he felt it was right. The boy looked up at him, disgruntled with the amount of words he didn’t know. Drogan chuckled. “Haat is the Mando’a word for truth. I think Haati would suit you as a name.”

Once the words finally registered the boy beamed at him. “Thank you!” The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “My name is Haati.” He said, as if to reassure himself.

He huffed and ruffled the boy’s- Haati’s hair. He was glad the kid had calmed down and the nightmare didn’t seem to be bothering him anymore. A yawn tore through him and he heard the boy snicker. Glancing over at the chrono he groaned.

“Can we go back to sleep now?” The boy blushed and nodded, but seemed to hesitate to get up from the bed. With a long suffering sigh Drogan got up and grabbed another blanket from storage. “Go to sleep, ad’ika. I’ll hit the lights.” Haati climbed into the bed and under the blanket. When the kid was well situated he turned off the light and stretched out on the floor. Luckily he’d had the room carpeted a while back when he’d converted the space, so he wasn’t laying on cold hard metal.

“Jate ca, Haati.” ‘Goodnight, Haati.’ He mumbled as he started to drift off.

“Jate ca… buir.” ‘Goodnight... father.’ Drogan could have sworn the child said something as he wavered on the edge of sleep, but in the end he let it go.

[***]

Waking up to a stiff back he sat up and stretched. Popping sounds filled the room as his spine settled back into place. Getting up off the floor he looked toward the bed and found it empty. The blanket was tucked in and the pillow placed just so, as if someone had taken the time to fix it. At least the kid was tidy and cleaned up after himself.

After a quick trip to the fresher he slid down the ladder and headed toward the galley, yawning along the way. What he really needed was a cup of caf.

“Oh, good morning! I was going to wake you, but you still looked tired.” Waving at the kid he shuffled over to a cupboard and pulled out some instant caf. He turned to find that the boy had already boiled some water and raised an eyebrow at him. Haati smiled shyly. “I wanted some tea.” Drogan just shrugged and filled his cup. He wasn’t really a talker when he first woke up.

Sitting at the table he was surprised when the boy set a plate down in front of him. Looking at it he could tell it was well cooked and looked perfectly edible, if a bit bland. Taking a bite of what he assumed were eggs he found it pleasant enough. “Tastes good, vor’e.” The boy stood there staring at him for a moment until Drogan’s sleep addled brain caught up with him. “Vor’e, means thanks.” The kid didn’t seem bothered by his curt answer as he nodded before turning to grab his own breakfast. Without another word he sat at the table across from him and began to eat.

They ate in companionable silence. Every once in a while, when the boy seemed distracted, Drogan would study the child across from him. He was a bit of a contradiction. Truthful, skilled, and mature, but also emotionally stilted and unsure. He acted like he had no confidence one moment, as if lost, then did something unexpectedly well the next. He’d probably be confused by the kid for a while until he either got his memories back or made enough new ones that his personality stabilized. It was going to be interesting to watch him grow and change, to say the least.

When he was finished eating he put the dishes in the sink and gave them a quick wash before putting them away. It was an old habit, something he did without thinking.

Turning around he looked at the kid and crossed his arms, uncertain of what to say. It had been almost three days since he’d aborted his first attempt at assassinating his last target. He needed to do some reconnaissance and find out if his target was still hiding in that bunker or if he’d moved shop. But what to do with the boy? He knew the kid could defend himself but he didn’t have a weapon. Could he even shoot a blaster?

“When you’re done meet me in the training room. It’s in the port side cargo bay. You’ll find it easily enough.” He left once the boy acknowledged the order.

Grabbing some of the smaller blasters he owned, ones that could easily be slipped into a belt or boot, he checked to make sure they were in working order and set up a couple of targets. It didn’t take long for the boy to join him.

“Sir?” Turning he held out one of the blasters to the boy.

“I’m going to teach you how to shoot, or remind you if you’ve forgotten that you knew.” He grimaced at how odd that sounded but the boy didn’t seem to notice. He picked up the blaster as if it might bite him, eyeing it like he might a dangerous animal. Drogan chuckled.

“It’s not going to hurt you, ad’ika.” Standing slightly behind him and off to the left he changed the position of the boy’s hands on the weapon and tightened his hold, making the child grip the weapon firmly. “You want to make sure you hold it properly. This is not a toy. It is a weapon. Make sure you show it proper respect. It is a tool that can kill as easily as it saves. Understand?” Two differently colored eyes went slightly unfocused for a moment and the boy remained silent.

“Haati?” He asked quietly, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He gasped and shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You okay ad’ika?”

“I just… that sounded so… like I’ve heard it before.” He glanced up at Drogan and the man squeezed his shoulder gently in reassurance.

“Then whoever told it to you was a good teacher.” So he may have been trained in firearms after all. For a moment he wondered if the boy might have been raised by a Mandalorian. But he discarded the thought as quickly as it appeared. If the boy had been raised by a Mando’ad then he wouldn’t be so confused by Mando’a. After all he spoke perfect Basic with no issues.

“See the targets I’ve set up? I want to see if you can hit them. Go ahead and fire whenever you’re ready. But if I say stop, you stop immediately.” He left no room for argument. He meant what he said. While he didn’t want to scare the boy he had to ensure he would be obeyed.

Standing back he watched the boy as he aimed the blaster at the closest target. Shifting one foot back slightly he turned his body. ‘He’s making himself less of a target and stabilizing his aim.’ With a couple of slow breaths Haati seemed to relax into the stance and fired a shot. Even with the more sophisticated blasters there was a slight recoil. The kid didn’t seem surprised or phased by this. Just took aim at a farther target and took a shot.

When he’d hit each target, except the farthest one, the boy lowered the blaster, taking his finger from the trigger and aiming it at the deck. “Kandosii! Very well done. It looks like you have some training after all.” The boy stared at the gun in his hand, a conflicted look on his face.

“It doesn’t feel right.” He muttered.

“What doesn’t feel right?”

“The blaster. The weight feels all wrong.” That gave him pause. Maybe the kid was used to larger guns with a longer range. He’d have to experiment with that later.

“I don’t care if it feels strange. From now on I want you to keep that on or near you at all times. I won’t always be here to save you if someone attacks. You need to be able to protect yourself.” It was harsh, he knew. But if it kept the boy safe and alive he’d take off the kid gloves in an instant.

“…yes sir.” Haati looked disgruntled but he didn’t disagree with him. It was a start.

Once he’d grabbed the kid a holster for the blaster and shown him how to put it on and take it off he let the kid go back to his room to play for a bit while he tried to call some of his contacts. He needed more information on the bunker his target was hiding out in. Or if the guy was scheduled to be somewhere in the near future.

By the time he was finished checking his contacts and cross checking information it was getting late in the evening. He’d completely forgot about eating a mid-day meal. Oh well. Hopefully the kid grabbed himself something.

Down on the bottom deck he wandered into the kitchen and looked over the supplies. He wondered if he should ask Haati to help him pick out something to eat, since the kid could clearly cook. Walking to the kid’s room he saw that the door was left open and could hear the boy talking out loud. He slowed and leaned against the wall, listening in.

“…I want to be, but I’m scared. What if he doesn’t come back?” That didn’t sound like someone talking to themselves. Who was the kid talking to? “Okay, it’s his ship so he has to come back. But what if he… dies? I don’t want to be alone!” The boy paused then sighed. “Okay, Dral.”

‘Dral? Who the hell is Dral?’ Coming around the door he saw Haati sitting on the floor, cross legged with his back to the bed. In his hands was one of the action figures, the other two were on the floor in front of him. “Haati.” He called softly, trying not to startle the kid. He failed. The boy jumped slightly and looked up at him with big eyes.

“Y-yes sir?” He sighed.

“My name is Drogan. I don’t mind if you use it.” The child flushed slightly. “Who were you talking to?” The child was pretty honest so he suspected he’d blurt out the truth when asked.

“Dral.” He held up the dark blue action figure, looking embarrassed.

“Dral? You named him?” The boy was puzzled and shook his head. Written on the sole of the boot was the name Dral. It was then that Drogan remembered the action figure had once belonged to his father. Now it made sense. One of them should have his own name on the sole of the boot. Each action figure had been bought by the father and given to the son when they were a young child. Starting with his great, great, grandfather. His sister’s boys had their own at home but Drogan had inherited the toys for his own children, whenever he got around to having them.

“Dral is my father’s name. Dral’cabur. That was his when he was a boy.” Haati looked at the action figure and smiled.

“What about this one?” He held up the dark brown action figure with white stripes down the left side of the helmet and continuing down the chest plates.

“Dha’kal, my grandfather.” He said as he crouched down. Picking up the green action figure he grinned. “And this one was mine.” Haati smiled.

‘I’ll need to get him his own. I wonder what color its armor will be…’ He blinked and looked away from the boy, frowning to himself. Haati was not his child. He felt responsible for him because he’d saved him but the child probably still had a home somewhere.

Getting up he motioned behind him. “I was thinking about dinner. Want to help me pick something out?” The boy put the action figures back on the table and happily followed him into the galley.

Chapter 4

Drogan woke feeling surprisingly well rested. But then it was probably the first full nights rest he’d had in the last week. The new morning routine he and his guest had fallen into was pretty simple. Get up, get cleaned and dressed, then head to the galley for breakfast. Afterward he’d drill Haati in hand to hand combat and target practice with his blaster. The boy was quite studious and absorbed everything like a sponge, even if he still looked uncomfortable every time a blaster was placed into his hands.

At mid-day they’d take a break to have a meal together before Haati went back to his room to read and play with the action figures. Drogan would use that time to check his contacts for any new information until dinner. When Haati would come into the galley and help him cook their evening meal. They’d sit and chat about simple things, like the earlier training or anything that the boy was reading. He had a lot of questions and each day became asked more of them as he became more settled and confidant. The lad was even picking up some Mando’a through osmosis alone it seemed.

Today, though, would be different. For the first time since he’d stumbled upon the boy his last target would be outside the bunker. Apparently the male was supposed to be making a speech to rouse his supporters, and wouldn’t let a ‘threat to his person’ deter him. Drogan wasn’t sure what this ‘threat’ might have been, it certainly wasn’t him, but he was glad the male wasn’t going to let it stop him. It would be much easier to kill him if he was in the middle of a speech than it would be to bust into the bunker on his own.

In full armor he sat at the table checking over his rifle. It was much earlier than their usual start time so he was a bit surprised to see Haati come into the galley. The lad was rubbing at his eyes and looking at him curiously. “Jate vaar’tur, Haati.” ‘Good morning, Haati.’ He said with a nod, his hands still working even as his attention was diverted. His father had taught him from a young age how to check and clean his weapons blindfolded and under fire. There was no way he was going to make a mistake just because he was a little distracted.

“Jate vaar’tur… Drogan.” He hid his smile as he turned back to his favored weapon. It had taken the better part of a week for him to convince the lad to call him by name, rather than ‘sir.’ There was a little hesitation there and he couldn’t help feeling like the lad wanted to call him something else, but he ignored it for the moment.

“What are you doing?” Haati asked as he slid onto the chair next to him, rubbing his sleep filled eyes.

“Checking over my kit to make sure it all works before I head out.” The lad froze so completely that it was almost disconcerting. Before he could ask he seemed to sink into the seat suddenly.

“Where are you going?” Drogan looked at the lad and swore Haati was almost pouting in concern.

“To do my job, ad’ika. No need to worry, I won’t be gone more than half the day.” He reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair with a small smile. “Less if everything goes well.” The boy blushed faintly at the affection he was being shown, glancing away as if embarrassed. Drogan supposed he was at that age. The age where boys still craved affection and attention from male relatives but wished not to be treated as children any longer. He chuckled.

“Feel free to go back to bed. I’ve already eaten breakfast in preparation for my departure.” Even as he said that he knew the lad wouldn’t go. There was a stubborn look around his eyes and the way he sat that told Drogan the boy would not go back to sleep. No. He would probably spend his time anxiously waiting for him to return. He wished there was a way to reassure him that he wouldn’t just disappear, that he would be coming back. But he knew nothing he said would be enough.

Though the boy didn’t know it Drogan had already made arrangements if he didn’t return to the ship. In three days if he did not return the ship was programmed to send out a pre-recorded message to his sister back home. There would also be a message for Haati, letting him know that he had a home waiting for him for the time being. Until the boy decided what he wanted to do with his life. If he wanted to find his own family or not. It was a grim thought, but Mando’ad were always prepared for death.

“Walk me out?” The boy hopped off the chair as Drogan stood and slipped his rifle onto his back. They walked together in silence, Haati’s lips quirked down slightly and eyebrows knit in worry. Stopping by the hatch he knelt and put his hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“Listen to me, Haat’ika.” The new term of address seemed to snap the boy out of whatever poor thoughts he was currently having as he looked up, curious. “I can’t promise you that I won’t get hurt because I know I can’t keep it. But… I will return to you. So long as I am able I will return to you. Do you understand?” Haati’s eyes searched his own, as if trying to read his mind, or perhaps the depth of his sincerity. Eventually he gave a stern nod in response, eyes alight with hope and understanding. “Good lad.”

Standing he slipped on his helmet and hit the door release. Once he was outside he waved at Haati and motioned for the boy to close the hatch before he turned and started the long walk to his target.

The streets of the town were full to bursting. If anyone was looking for a spectacle held by the leaders of the rebel faction in this civil war- they need look no further. Different species of all types and people of all walks of life mingled together, excitedly talking about the speech about to be given. Drogan didn’t care. His only thoughts were on completing the job and going home to his… guest.

He wondered if he’d find the boy on the command deck in his room, sitting there with his action figures. Back when he was a child Drogan would do the same thing when he thought his father would be returning soon. He would sit on his parent’s bed with his toys and play until his mother needed him for something or his sister pulled him away. That lasted until he was old enough to start going on jobs with his old man.

Finding a tall building at the edge of town that was easy to access, if one had the means, he waited until there was a suitable distraction and slipped inside. The town was small and seemed to be the kind of community that trusted each other. He didn’t find it difficult at all to get to the top floor and out onto the roof. Although he’d had to go through a window and climb the rest of the way up. Settling down on his stomach he found a comfortable position and pressed the gun into his shoulder gently.

It was maybe a standard hour later that the male he had been looking for finally came out onto the wide stage, waving to his audience like some sort of celebrity. Looking through his scope he followed the man carefully, waiting for the perfect shot. From the probe droid he’d left near the stage earlier he could hear the Twi’lek’s speech. Drogan didn’t care about the political landscape of this backwater planet. At one point he almost rolled his eyes but strict training helped him resist the urge.

About a third way into his speech the guards, who were probably getting bored, finally began to relax. It was the perfect time to focus and finish the job. Reaching for the trigger he took a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. Falling into that calm place that gave him the most clarity he felt his heartbeat slow and time seemed to stand still. Until the Twi’lek pulled something out of his shirt and raised it above his head. “…even a Jedi could not stop us!” Drogan pulled his finger away from the trigger as he jerked in surprise.

“Tal bal range!” ‘Blood and ashes!’ It was a common curse in his family, and used only in the most shocking of circumstances. His mouth went dry and he had to forcibly calm himself. The Jedi might have been at odds with the Mado’ade but he had no desire to be on the planet when they inevitably appeared. It was a warning his father had given him a long time ago, and it had always stuck with him.

"Never take a contract for a Jedi. They like to pretend they don't want revenge, but then they send out a squad to hunt you down. If a jedi attacks you first, that's self defense. But never, never, hunt them first." Killing a jedi, while considered a feat to be proud of, still carried a lot of risk behind it. He had a kid to look after and if the Jedi spotted him they sure as shit would assume he had something to do with the death of their cohort.

Focusing back on the brainless idiot who had brought all this trouble down on his own head, Drogan fell back into his almost meditative focus. Finally, with no other distractions, he pulled the trigger. The man fell to the sound of panicked screaming. The probe droid hastily took the picture as he recalled it.

It was time to leave.

Drogan wasn’t even sure how he’d returned to the ship. Only that he had fled the town as if a devil was on his heels.

The moment he was inside the ship he locked the hatch and ripped his helmet off. Clipping it to his belt he hurried to the command deck and strode purposefully into the cockpit. On the way he passed Haati, who was where he had guessed the lad would be. Sitting cross legged on Drogan’s bed with a holobook and one of the action figures.

The boy had obviously noticed his return and scrambled to follow him into the cockpit, looking worried.

“Sit down and buckle up, ad’ika.” He motioned to the co-pilot seat as he spoke, fingers dancing across the controls as he made the proper pre-flight checks. Without a word Haati did as he was told, looking anxious and confused.

“Wh-what happened?” Drogan’s face pinched and his hands paused. He turned to look at the boy and let out a sigh.

“I finished my job but we’re in danger here.” He shook his head and his hands started to move again. “So we can’t stay on this planet anymore…” A lump in his throat made him pause. ‘We? What am I saying?’

“What danger?” He thought he heard something rattling and glanced behind him toward the ladder, wary of anything abnormal.

There was only one word to describe the kind of danger they were in. “Jedi.” The boy looked puzzled. Of course he wouldn’t know what Jedi were. Even if he’d heard of them before his memories were gone. “They don’t like Mando’ad like me. But…” He felt a heavy weight in his chest. The boy was so earnest, he didn’t want to lie.

“But they’d be able to find your family much easier than I can. If anyone could do it, the Jedi from Coruscant could.” Hazel eyes met and held two differently colored ones. If the boy wanted, Drogan would leave him there to seek help from the Jedi. People who may be able to do far more good for him. The moment seemed to drag onward in silence.

Leaning over Haati reached out hesitantly before grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt, shaking his head. “I want to stay with you. Please.” It was a half whispered plea and it tore at his heart. The boy looked scared, as if Drogan would try to get rid of him somehow. As if he would be abandoned.

“Then you stay, ad’ika. I promise you I will never leave you behind. You have a home here with me. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.” ‘Truth, honor, vision.’ His words were spoken with such strength and conviction that for once the boy didn’t need to ask what the words meant. He could feel the weight of them in the air. Letting him go Haati gave him a bright smile and settled into the seat, content.

“Alright.” He said, clearing his throat. “We’re taking off now. Ready for your first trip to the stars?” A roguish grin spread across his face as he looked to the lad. An excited mischievous smile matched his grin for intensity and he chuckled.

Feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long while Drogan took the ship into the air and set off toward home.

Chapter 5

Coming out of hyperspace above Rorak 4 he looked down at the planet below with a grimace. He knew that if he wanted his credits he had to report to his employer in person. All part of the contract. But from his experience he didn’t trust a single sentient on the entire planet. Slavers, smugglers, crime lords. If he hadn’t needed the credits he would have bypassed the planet entirely and ignored the contract.

Glancing over at Haati he wasn’t surprised to see the boy’s face light up with awe and delight. Whether the boy had seen a planet from this high up or not was a moot point, because he certainly wouldn’t have remembered it. For a moment Drogan wondered what it would be like to see everything again with fresh eyes like that. Then he thought about the trade off and decided he never wanted to experience amnesia. Forgetting about his family, Mandalore, and the Resol’nare which he had wholeheartedly sworn to? It would be a fate worse than death.

“It’s so beautiful.” He heard the boy whisper and sighed.

“Yeah, from up here.” He grumbled. “Haati…” The slight hesitance in his voice must have tipped the kid off to his mood as the look of delight fled his face instantly. They had spent a lot of time together the past week and a half, and Drogan was beginning to notice some interesting personality traits that were slowly becoming more apparent the more time that passed. Like the boy’s almost solemn calm whenever faced with something challenging.

“I know you have a hard time remembering anything from your past. But this planet isn’t like most other worlds.” The slightly concerned yet curious look aimed his way wasn’t helping his conscience any. “There are a lot of… terrible people down there.” He hated to simplify something like this. He knew Haati was intelligent but he was so… naive and trusting. At least around him. He wasn’t sure how the kid would react to other people honestly. He’d been okay with the female doctor that had checked over his wounds but that was one person in a closed environment with a protective presence nearby. This would be so much worse.

“This isn’t… where you live?” The boy asked, biting his lip and fidgeting in his seat.

“No, this planet is where my current employer lives. I need to stop by and see him before I can get paid for my work. Once that’s done I’ll be taking us straight to Mandalore.”

The boy gave him a small smile, going from concerned to almost shy. “I can’t wait to see Mandalore.” The excitement and nervousness was there and it made Drogan smile. Reaching over he ruffled the boy’s hair, which earned him a small giggle.

“Alright. Back on topic.” He sent a request to the planet for permission to land. “Because I don’t trust anyone on this planet I want you to come with me when I meet my employer.” There was a look of excitement in those two colored eyes and he wanted to groan. “It will be dangerous. Very dangerous.” Turning completely to look down at the boy he put on as stern a face as he could, which would have terrified most sentients. Haati just fell quiet, listening intently. “If I give you an order I expect it to be obeyed. You will stick close to me at all times and not speak to anyone without my say so. Do you understand?” Two different eyes looked down for a moment, as if truly thinking about his words, before they flicked up once again in understanding.

“Yes Drogan. I won’t leave your side, I won’t talk to anyone you don’t say it’s okay to, and I will obey any and all orders.” A proud smile crossed his face unbidden.

“Good lad. Now get ready because we’ll be landing soon.”

The planet was exactly how he remembered it. Full of the worst kinds of sentients imaginable. All scurrying around pretending to mind their own business while greedily coveting what others had. With his helmet on, fully armored, and weapons on display there weren’t many who openly watched him. One quick glance and the majority of the crowd moved out of his way. Mandalorians had a reputation for a reason. Back on the ship he was a protective and kind guardian, not wanting to scare the boy now in his care. But the moment he stepped foot onto the planet he fell into the role of heartless mercenary as easily as breathing. Just like his father had taught him and his father’s father before him.

Walking just off his left and a little behind, Haati gaped openly at all the tall buildings with their flashing signs and strange architecture. This was one of the most affluent districts on the planet, where the wealthy crime lords came to relax and do business at their leisure. Of course, that didn’t mean it was any more safe than the rest of the festering pit of a planet. To his credit the boy never strayed from his side, sticking as close as he could without tripping up his protector.

Stopping at an intersection to check the information he’d been given, making sure they were going in the right direction, Drogan noticed a couple of thugs nearby staring at him intently. No. Not him… They were staring at Haati. Watching the boy with a look that left Drogan feeling sickened and enraged. Glancing down at the boy he tried to see what it was they were so interested in and cursed when it finally hit him. The boy only had the one outfit, simple backwater merchant’s clothes, since they’d had to leave the planet quickly. Unlike Drogan the boy had no armor to wear and thus nothing to hide his features. A human child with milky skin, hair like fresh fallen snow, and heterochromatic eyes. To a slaver he was a rare and exotic find, a slave that could be sold for an exorbitant amount. Even if he was male Drogan knew there was a market for that sort of thing.

The very thought made a tight knot of his stomach and a burning anger build in his chest. For a moment he had to seriously fight down the urge to kill the thugs for even looking in their direction. It would certainly put everyone on notice that the boy was under his protection and that he was not to be messed with. But when he thought of how it would effect the boy he stayed his hand.

“Haati.” He snapped, making the boy jump slightly and tense at his tone, focus solely on Drogan. “Don’t stray.” He ground out between clenched teeth.

“Yes, Drogan.” He muttered, looking chastised and a little confused. It was obvious the boy hadn’t noticed just how much attention he was attracting. It was the main reason he wished he could have left the boy back at the ship. Haati just didn’t know enough about the galaxy yet to watch out for himself. But if someone found their way onto the ship Drogan wasn’t sure if the kid could handle himself alone. It was a choice between two unpredictable situations, and he’d chosen the one where he could keep an eye on the kid. Just in case.

Shifting subtly he turned his head so his visor was pointed in the direction of the thugs and placed a hand on his blaster. It was the only warning they would get. If they tried anything their lives would be forfeit. He had no mercy to spare for stupid outsiders.

Turning down the right street he kept his eyes peeled for any followers. You could never be too careful. Paranoia had saved his ass more times than he could count. Beside him Haati kept pace, even as he looked around in naive awe. He would have worried about the boy keeping up if he hadn't been sparring with him the past week. The kid had excellent stamina and endurance for his age. Now all he needed was to get him some proper armor and- he sighed to himself, putting an end to that line of thought.

Thoughts like those had been coming more frequently the longer the boy stayed with him. If he kept thinking of the child as his own then he would never be able to give him back to his real family. Some part of him wondered, would that be so bad? If he took he boy in and raised him from this point onward. He could just claim him right now and it would be a done deal. Adoption was a simple ritual in his culture, though the responsibility he would be taking on would be immense. ‘But it wouldn’t be fair to the kid.’ He concluded.

Bringing all of his focus back to the task at hand he stopped in front of the high class nightclub and checked his information one final time. “This is the place. Stick close, speak to no one unless I say you can, and if anything happens don’t hesitate to blast your way out.” Haati shuffled, hand touching the handle of the blaster at his hip as he grimaced. Honestly Drogan still had no idea why the boy had such an aversion to blasters. Then again, he had mentioned flashes of light and someone dying as his earliest memory, hadn’t he?

“Let’s go.” Taking a deep breath and letting it out again he stepped up to the doors and shoved them forcefully open. A bit dramatic, but he had an image to project.

Striding inside with purpose he immediately realized he should have kept Haati back on the Chaab’kalar. Everywhere he looked there was some depraved activity or another going on. The air was thick with the scent of acrid smoke and sickly sweet alcohol. Females of different species danced sensually on stages to hypnotic music, wearing nearly nothing at all. Nearby patrons of all kinds lost themselves to the oblivion of expensive designer drugs, calling out raunchy suggestions to the dancers.

To his credit the boy barely glanced around, splitting his attention between the floor in front of him and Drogan beside him. He wondered if the kid had really good situational awareness or if he’d have to teach him how to ignore anything that wasn’t an immediate threat so he could look around without being distracted.

Without faltering he walked past the host like it was the most normal thing in the galaxy, head high and shoulders back. He only stopped when the man called for security, after Drogan ignored his initial attempts to stop them. Turning he spoke to the man in an even voice, purposefully letting a little annoyance color his words. “I’m here on business. Tell Lurdoon that the Mandalorian he hired is here to see him.” The host stuttered and eyed him warily, looking up at his expressionless helmet. Visibly swallowing whatever it was he wanted to say the man seemed to rethink calling security on him, probably worried about losing them. Finally he waved over a female Twi’lek.

“I’ll have someone alert Mr. Lurdoon of your arrival. Sitara will show you the way to the vip lounge.” Without another word he turned to the Twi’lek, who was doing a good job of not looking intimidated by his presence. The fake smile on her face was the only indication of her discomfort as she politely invited them to follow her to the back of the club.

Haati stuck even closer to his side and for that he was grateful. Out in the street he had a far better chance of protecting the boy than he did in a scummy nightclub owned by a Hutt crime lord.

Entering the back room he had to push aside his disgust at the sight of his employer. Lurdoon wasn’t much different from any other Hutt he’d seen before. Revolting, greedy, depraved, with no morals or honor. The giant slug lay across a dais covered in luxurious pillows, surrounded by female slaves that fed him and spritzed his body with something Drogan didn’t care to know about. Fortunately there weren’t any dancing girls in this room, although he was certain that the fat creature enjoyed that sort of thing.

The Twi’lek that led them into the room sashayed forward and delicately prostrated herself before the Hutt, waiting until she was called on to speak. Standing she motioned toward the two of them, but only introduced Drogan as a visitor. She didn’t spare Haati even a glance and after a second or two of agitation he realized that everyone assumed the boy was his slave. For a moment his mouth went dry and he felt almost dizzy with disgust. His right hand clenched, glove creaking from the strain, and he felt the urge to hit something. If they thought he was the same kind of scum as Lurdoon they had another thing coming!

A small hand sliding into his own and gently squeezing it stilled him immediately. Glancing down at Haati he could tell the child was frightened. Of course he was. Even if he’d ever been in a place like this, which Drogan doubted, this experience would be new to him without his memories. Thinking back to the first time he’d seen a Hutt in person Drogan could understand how intimidating they could be. Letting the tension leave him he took a few breaths and let them out as calmly as he could. He needed to keep his temper in check, if only for the boy. Giving Haati’s hand a reassuring squeeze he released it. He would need both free if he had to draw weapons.

“Ah, Mandalorian! You return. With good news, I presume?” Stepping forward he gave the Hutt a curt nod, a basic courtesy. Unlike his slaves Drogan would not bow in deference to the fat slug. This sentient might be his current employer but he was owed nothing, especially respect. Only his professionalism and his concern for the boy behind him kept Drogan level headed.

“I have the proof you wanted.” Handing the datapad over to one of the Twi’lek slaves he stood back and waited as Lurdoon was shown the pictures of the now deceased targets. It didn’t take long for him to be handed back the datapad, the Hutt finding the proof sufficient enough.

“The credits are being sent to your account now. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mandalorian. I know who to call the next time I need a reliable… employee.” The Hutt let out a rumbling chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The very thought of working for the crime lord again made his skin crawl. But he had an image to keep.

“If you have another job for me in the future, you know how to contact me.” Turning on his heel he started back towards the door, glad this was almost over and that they would be off the planet in a matter of hours. He was almost out the door when the Hutt called out to him, making him freeze in his tracks.

“Mandalorian. I see you have a guest with you who was not present the last time.”

Grinding his teeth he turned back toward the slimy crime lord. “What of it?” He asked tersely.

“Only an observation. I have never seen such a unique human before.” Biting the inside of his cheek for a moment he counted to five to keep himself calm.

Switching to Huttese, he didn’t want Haati figuring out what they were talking about after all, he let some of his anger fill his words. “He is not for sale! He’s- he’s my son.” He closed his eyes for a moment, cursing himself. When he opened his eyes again he could see the surprise on the Hutt’s face, his pupils blown wide. For a moment Drogan wondered if he’d only increased the creature’s interest in the boy. But after a moment of silence the Hutt waved him off.

“I see. That is… unfortunate. I hope I have not offended.” Drogan’s eyes narrowed at the blatant disrespect but he refused to speak to the Hutt again.

“Ad’ika, shekemir’ni!” ‘Boy, follow me!’ He winced inwardly when Haati stiffened and looked up at him in surprise. Honestly he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, or fall back into Mando’a. He only hoped the boy would follow his lead. If he tried to take back the words in front of the Hutt it could ruin the credibility of his previous statement.

“Elek, buir.” ‘Yes, father.’ Haati replied. The words that came out of the boy’s mouth almost made him falter as he stalked out into the main hall. While he had taught the boy the words for yes and no in Mando’a he had never mentioned the word buir, the word for parent, not wanting to color the way the boy perceived him.

‘Where did he learn the word for father?’ He was absolutely certain he’d never mentioned that word even once. Going over every interaction he’d had with the boy as they left the nightclub he wondered if the holobooks he’d given him had anything on them that might explain it. He’d have to check when they returned to the ship.

Back out onto the street he tried to let himself relax but couldn’t help he feeling that they were being watched. If it was one of Lurdoon’s goons he was going to send them back to the slimy outsider in pieces. Mandalorians were well known for many reasons, chief among them being their legendary tempers.

“Is… is everything okay?” Letting those thoughts sit in the back of his mind he looked down at the platinum blonde beside him and smiled. The boy’s concerned look deepened and Drogan remembered that he was wearing his helmet. Haati couldn’t see his expression.

“Everything’s fine, Haat’ika. We’re done here. Once we get back to the ship we can get off this planet and head home.” Relieved the boy smiled brightly at him with excitement. Drogan chuckled. The kid was certainly eager to see his home planet and meet his family… shit. What was he going to tell his family?

Leading the way back to the ship he checked his accounts and was relieved to see the credits had already gone through. The amount was nothing to sneeze at and would keep them going for quite a while. If he budgeted it correctly he could buy Haati some new clothes. Maybe even a blaster of his choice. Though that could probably wait. Neither of them could figure out why nothing felt properly weighted to him. It was like he was used to a weapon that weighed practically nothing at all. He’d think the kid wasn’t used to any weapon whatsoever but it was clear he knew how to handle them and how to shoot straight.

Coming into a busy intersection they were nearly swarmed by the crowd before everyone seemed to recognize the armor he was wearing and got the hell out of his way. Turning to Haati he was about to offer his hand to the boy so he wouldn’t get lost when something slammed into him; hard. It was only his years of training and experience that saved him from landing on his face as he tucked and rolled with the force of the blow. Crouched he glared up at the male Rodian as he reached for his blaster.

“Drogan!” Head snapping to the side he saw a brawny human male haul Haati over his shoulder and start running. Snarling he jumped to his feet to give chase but the Rodian started shooting at him. Dodging to the right he closed the distance between them. Using his blaster in this crowd would do him no favors. Instead he pulled the knife from his belt and slammed it into the Rodian’s neck before twisting it viciously. Ignoring the body he sheathed the knife and ran in the direction he’d seen the kidnapper go.

With Haati struggling and making a racket the crowd that had been between him and his boy scattered. Running full tilt he raised his left arm, planted his feet, and launched the whipcord from his vambrace the moment he was in range. The fibercord whip wrapped around the man’s neck and Drogan took vicious pleasure in hauling back as hard as he could. The man’s feet went out from under him and he made an aborted choking sound as he dropped Haati, desperately trying to untangle the cord around his neck.

Now that Haati was relatively safe Drogan stalked forward, like an enraged predator. Pulling out his blaster he shot the man twice in the chest before he untangled the cord and hit the retract button on his vambrace. Turning to Haati he crouched and reached out to examine him. “You okay?” There must have been something about his voice that pulled the kid out of his shock. His shoulders relaxed and he winced as he got up. Drogan would have stood as well but Haati threw himself against his chest, wrapping his arms around his neck with a frightened sob.

“Shh, ad’ika. Udesii. You’re okay now.” Rather than let him go and force him to walk back to the ship while he was openly crying, Drogan picked the boy up and held him. No one said anything to him as he left the bodies of the kidnappers cooling in the middle of the street.

He was on high alert the entire walk back to the ship but nothing came of it. The moment they were inside he locked the door and went straight to Haati’s room. He set the boy down on his bed and took off his helmet. “Hey, Haat’ika. You stay here for now. I’m going to get the ship moving.” Reaching out with his hand he finally noticed the Rodian’s blood on his gauntlet. With a grimace he pulled his hand away, much to the boy’s confusion.

“When I get back I’ll make you something hot to drink and we’ll just relax for a bit. Alright?” The boy stared at him for a moment then nodded obediently. “Okay… okay. If you want to take a nap it’s fine I’ll wake you up in a bit.” It was harder than it should have been to leave the boy there in his room, face still splotchy from crying. But Drogan wanted them far away from this place as soon as physically possible.

Once they were back in hyperspace Drogan finally let himself relax and took off most of his armor. It needed to be cleaned anyway. Heading downstairs he went into the galley and made the boy a spiced tea that he always kept a stock of. It was nice after being out in the rain, snow, or if he just wanted to relax. He was fairly certain there were some medicinal herbs in it but he’d never thought to ask before.

Going into Haati’s room he knocked lightly on the wall, since the boy had never closed the door. The overhead light was off but the small light built into the bed was on. He found the kid curled up, eyes closed. “Haat’ika, I have your tea.” He set it down on the side table as the boy slowly sat up. There was a searching look in his eyes that made Drogan wince. He was only thankful it was currently curious and not accusatory.

“I think… we need to talk.” Sitting on the edge of the bed he waited for Haati to grab his drink and get comfortable before he started speaking. “I told you that it was my job to find people who don’t want to be found. That I was a bounty hunter.” The boy nodded. “While I didn’t lie, I wasn’t telling the whole truth either. I also do work as a mercenary.” Haati gave him a slightly unamused look and he snorted, smiling before his expression dimmed. “A mercenary will do anything for money, or almost anything. I have my own set of rules I follow when it comes to taking a job.” No kidnapping or killing kids was high on that list. Along with helping slavers hunt down more innocent people to exploit.

“On the planet where I found you it was my job to kill some of the leaders on either side of the civil war.” He looked down at his calloused hands. “You don’t get to be as skilled as I am by training on your own. It takes real world experience. Mandalorians are a culture of warriors. We’re well known throughout the galaxy as being cold-blooded murderers.” It was why so many people feared him the moment they saw him.

A small hand reached out and grabbed his hand. Looking over at Haati he could see the boy’s eyes, bright even in the dim light. “I think I… already knew that…” He frowned. “I remembered a couple days ago what happened before I fainted. How you saved me by killing the people trying to hurt me.” Drogan sucked in a breath, not daring to speak or even breathe. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. You wouldn’t have saved me if you were bad. You wouldn’t give me toys and books and teach me to defend myself.” Haati gave him a bright smile. “I have amnesia, I’m not stupid.” That unexpected comment pulled a laugh from him.

“I see your point, ad’ika.” He continued to chuckle.

“Besides, why would I be scared of you?” Maybe he should give the boy some more credit, he was smarter than he thought. “You said I was your son. I really don’t think you’d hurt your own son.” All the air left his lungs and he openly gaped at the boy.

“I… what?!” Haati blinked at him then frowned.

“When you were talking to the big… sentient… thing. You told it I wasn’t for sale and that I was your son. Didn’t you?” Drogan wanted to curse.

“You know Huttese?” His brows came together in a frown. There were so many implications to Haati knowing Huttese, including the fact that he may have possibly been a former slave.

“Is that what it’s called? I don’t know… I just… It all made sense to me.” Moving away he pulled his legs closer to his body, looking lost. Drogan wasn’t sure what to tell him. How many things were locked up in that uncooperative brain of his?

“But you said I was your son.” The smile he received lit up the boy’s face. “Um… unless you were just saying that.” He felt his stomach twist at the dejected look on the boy’s face.

“You can be.” He blurted. “If- if you want to be.”

“Yes!” The fierce way Haati spoke, and the determined look on his face, was all he needed.

Reaching out he pulled the boy to him. “Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Haati Kurshi’cin be te Cin’ciri. I know your name as my child. You are now Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri.” And it was done. The boy snuggling into his side was no longer a waif he’d rescued on some backwater planet. He was Drogan’s son.

Chapter 6

A knock at the door in the late afternoon and the call of her eldest child had her smiling to herself as she wiped her hands on the hanging towel in the kitchen. She shushed her eldest boy and went to open the door, hand on her blaster just in case. A little while ago, no more than twenty minutes, she’d heard a ship fly overhead. Since her husband was a ship mechanic it wasn’t too unusual. But a knock at the door was.

Opening the door she was met with a familiar sight. Primarily dark green beskar’gam with a line of white stylized triangles in the center of the helmet, in what could roughly be called a tree shape, stood staring down at her silently. A bright smile crossed her face as she threw herself at the man returned home.

“Ori-vod!” ‘Big brother!’ With a chuckle her elder brother caught her up in a hug. When she finally let go she swatted his arm with a scowl.

“You were supposed to be home a week ago! You didn’t tell me you were coming or even if you were safe, you big idiot!” He gave her an exaggerated shrug that he must knew annoyed her.

“Just get in here and park your behind.” She turned to let him inside. “And take off your helmet! You know the house rules.” When he didn’t move she gave him an annoyed look. He took a breath to say something but she cut him off. “Oh, and apologize to the kids. You promised them you’d tell them some stories last time and you didn’t.”

“Stars, Jetta! Can I get a word in here?” He groused as he yanked off his bucket, giving her a disgruntled look. The switch from Mando’a to Basic had her placing her hands on her hips and glowering at him.

“Well? You’ve done something, or you wouldn’t be standing out here giving me that look.” Shuffling nervously on his feet for a moment the man took a step aside. Without the large form of her brother in the way she was finally able to see the boy standing behind him, looking wide eyed and nervous. He was about twelve years old with white hair and strange eyes. Once she’d finished looking him over she looked to her brother for an explanation.

“Who is this?” She tried to keep her voice even, the poor thing looked scared. Clipping his helmet to his belt Drogan stepped back and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Jetta, this is Haati.” Clearing his throat he gently urged the boy forward. “My son.”

For the second time in her entire life she was absolutely speechless. Her brother, the man who was far too awkward to even realize when a woman was hitting on him, had come home with a child in tow.

“Son?” She asked for clarification when her voice finally returned. He nodded.

“I adopted him. He is now Haati Kurshi’cin.” After the moment of shock was finally over her entire face lit with happiness.

“Well, come in.” The boy looked up at Drogan and received an encouraging smile. It eased something in the boy and he seemed to relax finally.

“I have to call our buire and let them know. Since I assume you didn’t.” ‘Parents.’ Drogan winced and shook his head, earning him an admonishing look.

“Do you really want to deny our buire the knowledge that you have finally given them a bu’ad?” ‘Grandchild.’ It didn’t take long for her brother to crack under her glare. No one in their right mind got in the way of Dral’cabur and his grandchildren. The man was a mountain. “That’s what I thought. Now come inside and I’ll fix you something to eat. You can introduce Haat’ika to his cousins.”

They came inside to sit down and the kids practically exploded with excitement. They all adored their uncle and were glad to see he was home. Jetta laughed to herself as he tried to keep the kids at bay while they asked a million and two questions. Her only concern was that they were going to overrun her new nephew. But seeing the small smile on his face she figured everything would be just fine.

Chapter 7

It was a little strange. Normally sitting in his sister’s home surrounded by the kids was the only time he felt he could relax outside of hyperspace. But the last couple weeks with Haati had given him the same feeling of being home. Whenever his boy was around he didn’t feel the need to be so guarded, to act like a ruthless killer constantly. And wasn’t that a wonderful thought? His boy. For the longest time he’d thought about getting married and having children but there had never been anyone he really thought he’d like to spend the rest of his life with. Start a family with. Now here he was, almost thirty, and although he wasn’t married he now had the son he’d always wanted.

“Cuyir gar ner ba’vod’ad?” ‘Are you my uncle’s child?’ Aran, his sister’s eldest boy at seven years, was practically bouncing in place as he asked question after question in rapid fire Mando’a. Haati looked at the younger boy, his brows drawn together in a concerned frown. He knew the boy would have answered the questions if he could but he just didn’t know enough of the language yet.

“Aran’ika, Haati only speaks Basic. He still has to learn Mando’a.” The boy stopped bouncing and looked up at him with wide eyes. Drogan huffed in good natured exasperation. “Like ba’buir Tianna had to.” Understanding crossed the child’s face as he finally caught on. Haati, on the other hand, looked even more confused.

“Your grandmother, Tianna, married into the Kurshi’cin clan. Before that she was aruetii. Your grandparents, the words are ba’buir and ba’buire, don’t talk about it much for some reason.” ‘Outsider, not Mandalorian.’ He suspected that they’d met during one of his father’s jobs and their introduction to each other hadn’t been the best. Yet somehow they’d ended up together anyway. He and Jetta had only brought it up once or twice but their parents reactions made it clear that it was something personal, something they were not meant to know. So they dropped it. It didn’t matter what his mother had been before becoming Mando’ad.

“Cin vhetin is an important concept in our culture. It means white field, or virgin snow. A blank slate to start your life as one of the Mando’ad. Your past is erased, forgotten, and only what you do after becoming Mando’ad matters.” He didn’t really think Haati needed it, to be honest. What with the boy not even remembering who he had been before waking up on Drogan’s ship. But it was something he had to learn anyway.

“As for you, Aran’ika. I adopted him, so yes, he is your cousin.” The little boy’s smile grew wide and his excitement returned.

“Why is one of your eyes funny colored?” Drogan couldn’t help the snort of amusement as Haati tried, and failed, to not look offended. His face scrunched up before his expression smoothed out again and he became thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I was born like this, I guess.” Seeing as he had his cousin well in hand, now that they were both speaking Basic, Drogan turned back to his niece and twin nephews.

“Hello Ruusan, did you miss me?” The five year old girl gave him a bright smile while the two year old twins crawled into his lap and started tugging at his armor, curious as always. Kebiin and Vorpan were like miniatures of their father, Taylin. The man was very quiet, intelligent, and observant. There were very few times Drogan had heard the man raise his voice and it had only ever been in warning. Anyone who thought Taylin was less of a Mando because he was a mechanic, and tried to take advantage, quickly found out it was the quiet ones you should fear most.

Glancing over to his sister he set the twins down on the carpet with Ruusan to play and joined Jetta in the kitchen. She’d already commed their parents and was in the middle of making a much larger meal than she had been intending to earlier. Taking off his gauntlets he motioned to the cutting board and she waved him toward it dismissively, accepting his help without fuss.

“He’s a quiet boy, good with the children.” There were questions in her tone of voice, ones that demanded an answer. She could tell that there was something off about Haati already. Raising four children probably gave her some sort of sixth sense. Drogan sighed.

“Echoy'la tome'tayle, he has Amnesia.” Her hands stopped moving and she turned to him, brows nearly in her hairline.

“You want me to believe that he has no recollection of anything at all?” He shook his head.

“He has muscle memory and can recognize languages he’s learned but doesn’t remember speaking. He already knows how to fight and shoot, decently too. Whoever he was before he was well trained.” Reaching over she put her hand on his arm, looking concerned.

“Are you sure he has no family?” Hanging his head slightly he wondered how to explain the connection he had with the boy, and his decision to take him in. As a mother she probably sympathized with the idea of having a child taken away.

He quickly switched to Mando'a so they could speak privately. “I rescued him from a group of militia on the planet from my last job. He’d already lost his memories when I found him. I thought I could help him find his family, give him back. But…” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to be embarrassed or feel guilty.

“From what he vaguely remembers, he had some nightmares that are very telling, the only family member he had was killed. Probably by the same people chasing him down.” His sister stirred the pot on the stove, one eye on the children and one eye on the food. But he had no doubt that she was listening to him intently.

“On my last job one of the targets had a stolen lightsaber. He claimed he’d killed a jetti and stolen it.” There was tension in her frame now, her mouth a grim line.

“I wasn’t going to stick around to find out if I’d be blamed or not. I gave him a choice. Stay there and wait to ask the jetii for assistance or come with me. He chose me.” There was emotion in his voice. It was the first moment where he’d really felt like he might want to keep the boy.

“I went back to my employer, on Rorak-4. I couldn’t leave him in the ship, just in case, so I took him with me.” Now she was glaring at him and he may or may not have deserved it. “He’s twelve, Jetta. Or near enough.” That didn’t make her feel any better and he knew it.

“My employer thought Haati was a slave.” The rage on her face pretty much matched his feelings at the time. “I know.” He said quietly.

“The fat bastard hinted that he was interesting in buying the boy and I just… I told him he was my son to get him to back off.” His cheeks flooded with warmth and his sister gave him a small smile and shake of her head. “I didn’t realize Haati spoke Huttese until later, when he asked me if I meant it when I called him my son.” She looked just as surprised as he’d been when he found out.

“Do you think he was a slave?” He shook his head. It just didn’t fit.

“He was too well taken care of and knew too much about how to defend himself. If he was a slave he would have been sold somewhere that would capitalize on his,” he scowled at having to think like a slaver, “exotic appearance.” The fiercely protective look in his eyes was met with an approving nod.

“When he asked if I’d just said it to make the slimy Hutt back off there was this look on his face. Like… like he thought I was going to reject him, abandon him.” Jetta’s expression softened and she smiled.

“So you offered, and he accepted.” He shrugged in response. She was right after all. Now there was no one who could take Haati away from him. Not without a vicious bloody fight to the death.

When he finished helping his sister in the kitchen he returned to the main living area to find Haati sitting on the floor with the kids, listening to them as they told him stories. With a small smile his son took out the two action figures he’d claimed as his favourites. Aran and Ruusan recognized them and went to grab their own, showing them to Haati excitedly.

“That one is Dral ba’buir, and that one is Drogan ba’vodu, where’s yours?” Aran asked when he recognized the two of them. Haati blinked and looked down at the figures, shrugging.

“I don’t have one.” He said honestly.

“Don’t worry, Haat’ika. You will.” He said with a chuckle. Just then the front door opened. Drogan’s hand went to his blaster for a moment before he recognized the ‘intruder.’

“Ba’buir!” The kids all cheered, jumping up and swarming the man. The giant let out a deep chuckle, picking them up all at once in a hug before setting them down again and usher them away from the door. His wife came in next, smiling in that gentle way she always had.

“Drogan, we’re glad you’re home.” Giving her a hug he leant down so she could kiss his cheek. “I see your sister reminded you about the house rules. Good. I made two beautiful children and I like to see their faces.” Drogan chuckled.

“Drogan, vaii cuyir ner evaar'la bu'ad?” ‘Drogan, where’s my new grandchild?’ Looking over at Haati he motioned his son over. The boy was quiet as he got up, hugging the action figures to his chest, and quickly came to stand beside him. He looked up at the six foot seven inch tall man with curious awe before looking down at the action figure in his hand.

“Haati, this is Dral’cabur, your grandfather, and Tianna, your grandmother. Dral’buir, Tian’buir, this is my son Haati.” He could tell the boy was a little nervous, the way he kept looking back at him was proof of it. Settling his hands on his son’s shoulders he felt the boy lean back into him, taking comfort from him as he met his new family for the first time.

“Basic?” Dral’buir asked him, his voice even in temper.

“Yes. He has a small issue that we’re trying to deal with. But it will take time.” His father frowned and his mother looked concerned.

“Mir’shupur. Echoy'la tome'tayle.” Brain damage and amnesia, not things to be taken lightly. Haati looked up at him, frowning in concentration. Trying to figure out what he’d said no doubt. Dral’buir was giving him a stern look and Tian’buir looked like she wanted to wrap the boy up in a hug.

“I’ve already discussed things with Jetta, she can tell you more. I’m not changing my mind.” In his life Drogan had only ever stared his father down once. He had a lot of respect for the man and they had very similar views on the world. But at this moment he was willing to do it again. Regardless of what the man thought Haati was his son and he would fight for his right to be a part of the Kurshi’cin clan.

Dral’cabur returned his stare for a long moment before nodding his head in acceptance. Drogan didn’t realize how tense he’d been until the man’s blue eyes drifted down to the child and he smiled.

“Haati, then. Did your buir name you?” The boy returned the smile with a bright one of his own.

“Lek, ba’buir.” ‘Yes, grandfather.’ Dral’buir’s face split into an even wider grin.

“Ori’jate! You’re learning fast.” ‘Excellent!’ There was clear approval in his voice and Drogan had to smile.

“Alright everyone, the food’s ready!” Lifting one hand off his son’s shoulder he ruffled the boy’s hair before steering him toward the table.

“Come on Haat’ika, it’s a special occasion. The first meal with your new family.” Haati looked up at him with a warm smile and Drogan knew he’d made the right decision.

[***]

After dinner the kids had decided to play hide and seek tag. At first Haati didn’t really understand the idea of the game but he got it pretty quickly and was soon laughing along with his cousins. Whenever he’d find one of the younger boys he’d pick them up and spin them around or tickle them to get a laugh instead of a pout.

Sitting with his parents he watched the kids play with no small amount of relief. Sometimes his boy could be so quiet and serious that he wondered if he’d ever actually had a childhood. Even if he didn’t remember his past there should have been the usual acting up for attention and emotional outbursts. But Haati was so obedient, like a little soldier. The thought made something twist painfully in his gut. Mando’ad might train their children from a young age but they didn’t start the harsher training until about twelve to fourteen. To be as good as he already was meant he had to have been trained in discipline since he was a toddler. Drogan didn’t like the implications of that.

“He’s a sweet boy.” Looking over at his mother he smiled.

“He is. A little fragile right now but he’s been well trained. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was one of us already. But he doesn’t understand our language like he does others.” No Mando’ad would go without teaching their child the language of their people. It went against the Resol'nare, the very tenets of their culture.

“Do you think he will swear to the Resol’nare” ‘Six Actions.’ Looking up at his father when he returned from the kitchen, Drogan shrugged.

“I’m not sure. I want him to understand more of our culture before I tell him about the Resol’nare. I don’t want him to swear when he doesn’t understand.” There was an approving look in his father’s eyes that made him feel a little embarrassed. Like he was a boy again and had given the man the right answer to a difficult question.

“I always knew you would be a good father. You just never found the right partner.” He groaned and put his face in his hands, ignoring his sister’s laughter and his mother’s playful smile. Every damn time he returned home it was the same thing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Thankfully he was rescued from having to hear more about his non-existent love life as the front door opened and closed. Standing in front of the door, helmet already clipped to his belt, was Taylin. He stood there looking at them all curiously for a moment before giving a small wave. The kids noticed their father was home and swarmed him, tugging on his arms and encouraging him to meet ‘Ba’vod’ad Haati!’

Taylin’s eyebrows rose as he was dragged over to the newest addition to the family. He looked at the boy for a moment then gave him a kind smile.

“Welcome to the family.” Haati seemed surprised that the man spoke to him in basic, since most of the family defaulted to Mando’a first.

“Vor’e.” ‘Thank you.’ Taylin gave him a polite nod before picking up the twins, who had latched onto his legs, and handing them over to his wife.

“I need to get clean, dinui’ike.” He said when they complained. Drogan couldn’t help but smile. Little gift was a good nickname for the kids collectively.

Now that their father was home the kids could finally be settled down for the night. Drogan’s parents decided to head home before it was too late and wished them a good night, promising to visit again soon to get to know Haati better. Nudging his son’s shoulder he smiled. Haati smiled back at him, all the nervousness from earlier completely gone.

“Time to go, Haat’ika.” His boy looked up at him, tilting his head curiously.

“This is your bavodu’e’s home. Ours is the Chaab’kalar.” Haati smiled very wide and he looked down at the boy with a questioning brow. His face colored slightly.

“I like that… our home.” Drogan chuckled and put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a small hug.

“Alright then, let’s go home.”

Chapter 8

Laying on the grassy hill silently he watched the target through the sights of his verpine sniper rifle. The wind shifted and he felt anticipation flood his veins as he held his breath. The crack of the rifle echoed through the open field and he grinned as a hole opened up dead center in the head of the target. The sound of movement beside him had Drogan turning his head to see the pleased smile on his son’s face and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Kandosii, Haat’ika!” ‘Well done!’ Reaching over he ruffled the boy’s short hair affectionately. It had taken a while to get over his dislike of firearms but the wait had been worth it. The lad was a naturally good shot. He had a good eye, steady hands, and an almost sixth sense for the right time to pull the trigger.

“Vor’e buir.” ‘Thanks dad.’ Canting his head the boy seemed to almost be listening to something before dismissing it. “Tug’yc?” ‘Again?’ Drogan looked up at the sky, judging the time the old fashioned way, and shook his head.

“Ca'nara at ba'slanar.” ‘Time to leave.’ Immediately the boy sat up and began packing. Getting up himself he brushed some grass and dirt off his armor before packing up his own gear. Watching his son he went over the past three months in his mind’s eye.

There had been some rocky patches and a few cultural misunderstandings, which had baffled the boy, but over all Haati was fitting in well with his family. Jetta was thankful for another set of hands to look after the children and the kids themselves adored their new cousin. Dral’buir had threatened to introduce his boy to the glory of explosives while Taylin offered to show him some basic ship repairs. Tian’buir had even made him some new clothes to wear. Drogan had to admit the dark green with white accents looked good on him. The symbol associated with the Kurshi’cin embroidered on his chest was probably his grandmother’s way of claiming him and letting everyone know it. Drogan smiled fondly.

Heading back home they stowed their gear and had a quick meal. After cleaning up he watched Haati head straight for the training room and chuckled. His son looked back at him quizzically with a pout. Drogan smiled in response. It was nice to see him shedding his stiff formal manner and finally start showing more of his personality.

“Not today, Haat’ika. We have some errands to run in town.” The boy stared at him for a moment then shrugged and headed for his room to change clothes.

The walk was long but pleasant. Drogan gave his son more lessons in Mando’a to keep his mind busy but by the time they’d arrived he could tell the boy was getting bored. Walking past their normal stops Haati looked up at him and raised a brow. It was definitely something he copied from his father. Drogan ignored the look and kept his expression passive. He was sure that if he looked over at his son he’d start to smirk and give the surprise away.

Not even stopping he walked to a shop, opened the door, and strode inside. He didn’t want to give Haati a moment to think about it. The boy quickly followed him inside and stopped dead just inside the door, eyes wide. The sounds of metalworking rang into the front of the shop. Drogan couldn’t help the giant grin on his face as his son realized where they were.

“Surprised, Haat’ika?” Two brightly colored eyes turned to him, wide with awe. An older man stepped out of the back and looked between him and Haati. He snorted, amused, before he came further into the shop.

“You didn’t tell him you were coming today.” The shopkeep asked in Mando’a. Drogan chuckled.

“I didn’t tell him anything at all.” The man gave him a matching grin.

“Come here, child.” Haati looked up at him and he nodded, motioning his son to his side.

“You’re going to have to change.” Haati looked up at him for confirmation, brows furrowed, and he sighed.

“Basic, for now. He’s still learning.” The man blinked, shrugged, and switched gears.

“You need to change out of that.” He motioned to the boy’s outfit. “So we can fit you with a flightsuit.” There was a changing room off to the side that his son darted into, all too eager to try on the article of clothing that would go beneath his armor. Drogan couldn’t help but feel happy for his son for how much he’d grown these past few months.

The shopkeep, Motik, grabbed a few flightsuits from the shelf and handed them off to the kid. They waited quietly for him to try them on and eventually he emerged in a navy blue flightsuit. Drogan nodded. “Looks good.”

Motik pulled out the armor pieces that had already been made for the boy and motioned him over so he could attach them. They would probably need a little adjusting but Tianna used to be a seamtress. Her measurements were always accurate.

Staring at himself in the large mirror Haati beamed. The armor was a simplified version of his father’s and he couldn’t be happier. It was currently unpainted but that could easily be fixed later, when the boy finally decided what he wanted to present to the world. When Motik was done he stepped back to admire his work.

“Looks good, Haat’ika. Now you’re ready for anything.” Those two colored eyes looked at him from the mirror and he could see the pleased blush on his face. He was still so shy when it came to compliments.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Walking over to the counter he grinned as Motik reached down and pulled out the last piece. Haati turned to look at him, curious. When he saw the armor piece in Drogan’s hands he practically started to bounce on the spot. Going over to his son he unfolded the kama and clipped it to his son’s waist. It was a little long on him but he would grow into it eventually.

Motik tossed him the helmet and he handed it over. Haati slipped it on and squared his shoulders before looking in the mirror again. Staring back at him was the picture of a proper Mando’ad. Reaching over Drogan held out his forearm, tilted slightly. Haati reached out and clasped his forearm in the proper Mando way and Drogan couldn’t be more proud.

“Thanks for the rush order.” He said to the shop keeper as Haati pulled off the helmet and clipped it to his belt, still beaming. The man waved away his thanks.

“Your money’s always good here. The Kurshi’cin has been coming to us for their armor for generations. You just make sure that boy takes care of it. And if you ever need repairs you know where to find us.” He gave the man a respectful nod.

“Come on, Haat’ika. We still need to grab some things for your ba’vodu.” On his way to his father’s side he stopped, turned to the shop keeper, and bowed politely. It was the one habit they had yet to break him of and it still baffled everyone around him. Taylin seemed to understand it, somehow, and said that it would take years to break him of the habit. Drogan wondered what his brother knew that he did not. After all he was the one that very pointedly suggested they get Haati’s hair cut.

Stopping by the usual shops Drogan had to hold back his laughter every time someone complimented his boy on his armor. Haati would get so flustered and thank them quietly before practically hiding behind him to avoid more attention. Drogan shook his head. It was only a matter of time before his confidence grew and the armor became like a second skin to him. He’d have to get used to people noticing him. Mando’ade were well known throughout the galaxy.

“Me’vaar ti gar?” ‘How are you?’ He asked when they were on their way home through the streets of the small town. Haati looked at the ground for a moment, quietly contemplating his answer.

“Aalar’la evaar’la.” ‘Feels new.’ He shrugged his shoulders. Drogan could understand that. The armor would be heavier than what he was used to wearing and the kama in particular affected the way one walked. The feeling would be strange until he got used to it.

“Dinuir bic ca'nara.” ‘Give it time.’ He said comfortingly. His son shrugged again, shifting the bag of supplies in his arms. Suddenly his head snapped off to the left then quickly turned right. He looked confused. Out of habit Drogan’s hand went to his blaster and his eyes started scanning the crowd around them. He’d learned that his boy had a sort of uncanny sixth sense when it came to danger. He’d saved Aran from falling off the roof and Taylin from electrocuting himself when one of the generators malfunctioned.

Three figures surrounded them, all humans. Their hands were under their cloaks and Drogan knew they were palming weapons.

“Can I help you?” He growled out in Mando’a, cursing himself internally for not putting his helmet back on. Even Manda’yaim wasn’t always safe.

“Step away from the boy!” The woman on the left demanded in Basic. Drogan scowled. What did these people want with his son?

“The fuck I am! Haati, bevik gebbar at ni.” ‘Stick close to me.’ The boy took a step closer to him, turning slightly so his back was being guarded by his father and he could see two of the attackers. Smart boy.

“Justus, it’s alright. We’re here to bring you home.” Drogan’s brows rose as they pulled out their weapons. Jetii. The three of them were all fucking Jetiise! He looked down at Haati and could see a look of recognition on his face. Something inside his chest tightened.

“Buir, I think I used to have one of those.” He said, awe and confusion warring in his voice as he tried hard to remember. Drogan’s blood ran cold. Thinking back to every interaction he’d had with the boy everything started to make sense. The long strands of hair just behind his ear, the way he’d been so subdued and almost emotionless, the formality and polite bowing. The ingrained physical training, the fact that he found no conventional weapon comfortable to wield, and the sixth sense for danger. All of it had been right there in front of him… and Taylin had fucking known.

For the first time in his life Drogan was hit with something so far outside his realm of expertise that he froze. Haati was a jetii. Jetiise and Mando’ade had been enemies for a long time. His throat felt tight and he wondered at the odd feeling that filled him.

Betrayal. What he was feeling was betrayal.

Haati turned and their eyes locked. In that moment the tightness in his chest disappeared. Cin vhetin. Whatever his son had been before was gone, now he was Mando’ad. Tearing his gaze away he glared at the jetii.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing here, jetii, but you are not taking my son from me!” The man behind him shifted, taking a step toward them. Drogan pulled his blaster and aimed it at him, trusting Haati to watch the other two and warn him if they moved.

Murmurs erupted around them and Drogan felt a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Behind the jetii the people of Mandalore had drawn weapons and were preparing to attack. No one came to their home and threatened one of their own without a fight. The jetii were woefully outnumbered, and they knew it.

Slowly they turned off their sabers and returned them to their belts, looking as if they’d eaten something sour. Drogan didn’t put his blaster away but he did lower it.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” The third jetii, the other male, finally spoke. He looked between Haati and Drogan, frowning. It was obvious to all and sundry that Haati and he weren’t related by blood. Not that it meant much to Mando’ade. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. Drogan had formally adopted Haati and that was it. The Kurshi’cin would fight anyone who tried to take their newest member away from his father.

“We’re looking for a lost padawan, Justus Armaan. White hair, fair skin, right eye green, left eye blue. He was last seen on Skiidush by a female doctor. She described a fairly large ship of a specific make and a Mandalorian in dark green armor with three white triangles in the center of the helmet.” The man pointedly looked down at the helmet clipped to his belt. “We tracked the rumours to Rorak-4 where a Mandalorian of the same description was seen carrying that same child to his ship after meeting with a Hutt crime lord.” Drogan’s hand tightened on the handle of his blaster and he grit his teeth. His jobs were his business, not theirs. While he knew that no Mando’ad would judge him for the jobs he took to support himself and his family it was a very personal choice.

“Justus, we’re sorry about the death of your master.” Drogan bristled as the man turned to talk to his son. “It must have been very upsetting for you. But we’re here to take you back to the Temple. Where you can talk to a mind healer.” Haati blinked at the man, clearly not understanding. “We even retrieved our lightsaber.” He said as he held out a smaller cylinder, obviously made for smaller hands. If the fucking jetii said anything else to his son Drogan was going to shoot him.

“I… sorry? I don’t…” Haati shifted closer to him, practically glued to his side. He was trembling slightly and Drogan growled. No one scares his kid and gets away with it.

“Come on, padawan. You’re safe now. You don’t have to stay here with this kidnapper.” Drogan snapped.

“You better back the fu-” It happened suddenly. One moment he was raising his blaster and the next he was catching his balance after being pushed a few feet down the road by the female jetii. A green light erupted from the cylinder Haati had summoned to his left hand as his right was raised toward the female jetii he'd pushed to the ground with the Force.

“My name is Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri. Son of Drogan Kurshi’cin. I am Mando’ad, and you are not welcome here aruetiise!” ‘Outsiders!’ Drogan felt a burst of pride for his son.

Stalking forward he stepped up to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You heard my son jetiise! You are not welcome here.” The female jetii stood up and glared at him, pulling out her lightsaber without touching it. Drogan stiffened but Haati stood there, calm and unmoving.

“Chandara, put it away.” The lead male hissed before turning back to them.

“Are you sure about this Jus- Haati? If you leave the Order we will not welcome you back.” There was a slightly threatening warning in his voice but Drogan didn’t rise to the bait. He stared the man down, certain that his son would handle the situation.

“I am Mando’ad.” He reiterated, voice unwavering. The three jetii looked to each other for a moment before the lead male sighed.

“I will inform the council of your decision. Our mission was to find you, we’ve accomplished that mission.” His focused shifted to Drogan and he scowled, but thankfully didn’t speak. Every gun remained trained on their backs as they slowly made their way back out of town. Once they were finally out of sight Drogan sagged slightly. Holstering his blaster he looked down at the remains of the groceries and cursed. Haati shifted under his hand and he looked back at his son.

The boy was staring at the cylinder in his hand and smiling contentedly. He supposed he’d be looking at his verpine sniper rifle the same way if ever he forgot what his favourite weapon was and hadn’t held one in months. Around them Mando’ade were staring at the boy with curiosity, confusion, contempt, or a mix of all three. It wouldn’t take long for the news to spread that Kurshi’cin now had a jetii in the family. Whether that would be a good or bad thing he didn’t know.

“Put it away, Haati. We need to pick up replacement groceries and visit your ba’vodu.” Seeming to snap out of whatever trance he was in his son put the lightsaber into one of the pouches on his belt. At least the bag Haati had been holding had nothing breakable in it, thankfully.

It was a little awkward to go back and re-buy the groceries, with everyone staring at his son with mixed feelings. Haati seemed able to sense it and after one particularly nasty glare he put his helmet on to hide his face. Drogan felt an almost uncontrollable urge to punch someone but he refrained. If he caused more trouble now it would reflect poorly on their clan. It wouldn’t help the situation any.

The walk home was quiet, both of them thinking over what had just happened. Drogan knew that the fact Haati was a jetii was a surprise to the boy as much as everyone else. He wanted to reassure his son but there was nothing he could say to change the truth. Haati was a former jetii and had the Force.

Entering his sister’s home he saw the family waiting to congratulate him on his armor and waved them down. The expression on his face must have been grim. Dral’buir was up from his seat in seconds. Drogan steered Haati toward the kitchen to help put the groceries away. He had yet to remove his helmet.

“What happened between here and town?” Dral’buir asked, following him into the kitchen.

“Not out of town, in town. We were ambushed by jetiise.” Dral’buir’s face could have been chiseled from stone it hardened so fast.

“Why the fuck would jetiise ambush you!?” Drogan looked back at Haati and sighed.

“Helmet off in the house, Haat’ika.” He hunched his shoulders for a moment but quickly slipped the helmet off and clipped it to his waist. “Good lad.”

“Because they were looking for Haati. He was a jeti’ika before I found him.” Dral’buir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again he looked past Drogan to the boy who looked conflicted and hurt.

“Get your mother.” Drogan wanted to protest but one look was all it took.

In the main room he has headed for his mother when he spied Taylin leaning against a wall. “You fucker, you knew and didn’t tell me!” He hissed as he passed. His brother gave him an unreadable look.

“I knew. As long as he didn’t remember I thought it would be fine… I’m sorry.” Drogan swallowed but gave him an accepting nod.

“Tian’buir, Dral’buir asked for you in the kitchen.” His mother looked up at him, concerned, but silently went to go see what was wrong. The kids were looking between the adults, mostly quiet, as they sensed the heavy atmosphere.

A few minutes later they brought Haati back out and he was looking less like the world had caved in on him. He ran over to Drogan and launched himself into his arms. There was a loud clank as two armors forcefully met but he didn’t care. He pulled his son into a hug and placed a hand on his head. He looked from his father to his mother and back, confused.

“He was worried you wouldn’t like him anymore. He’s still only a boy, and who knows what the jetii put in his head that he can’t remember.” His father said with a scowl. Drogan couldn’t help the offended look on his face. Of course he wouldn’t turn his back on his son!

“Haat’ika, listen to me.” A sniffle came from where his son had hidden his face. “There is nothing in the entire galaxy that could make me stop loving you. No one will take you from me, do you understand?” Two puffy eyes looked up at him and he smiled. “I’m proud of you. You stood up to the jetiise like a proper Mando’ad.” Dral’buir’s brows raised in question and Drogan chuckled.

“He told the jetiise that his name was Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri. That he was my son and a Mando’ad. Then he told the jetiise they were aruetii and weren’t welcome here.” Dral’buir burst into laughter, grinning ear to ear.

“Mandokarla! You were born to be Mando’ad.” ‘Showing guts and spirit.’ Haati blushed, wiping at his eyes then frowning when he realized he was still wearing the bracers. Drogan snorted and grabbed a handkerchief from one of his pouches, handing it to his son to wipe his face with.

“Come on Haat’ika. We thought today would be a good day to celebrate your birthday. If you remember later we can always change the date.” Haati stood up and let out a huff.

“Okay.” He looked at his cousins and then back at Drogan. His hand tapped the pocket where he was keeping his lightsaber and he tilted his head.

“Later. You can show off later.” The smirk on his face must have been enough to set his son’s mind at ease about whether Drogan accepted this new and strange part of his son’s life or not.

“Come on, ad’ike. It’s time to celebrate! Today is Haati’s gota’tuur!” The children cheered and clung to Haati’s arms excitedly, dragging him off with Dral’buir to play games. Drogan watched them from his seat on the couch and let out a sigh.

“It’s not the same, is it?” He looked over at is mother, who smiled. “Before kids and after. Nothing can compare.” He smiled back. She was right. There was something just so right about having Haati in his life. He doubted anyone else would ever come close to the amount of affection he had for his son.

“Now you just need a nice partner.” He groaned and ran his hand down his face as his mother laughed at him.

The End! Thanks for Reading!

Artwork for this story by the absolutely wonderful PeachyProtist on DeviantArt! Please go check them out!

#mandalorian oc #adoption #found family #fluff #mercenary #amnesia #mando'a #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars fan characters #force sensitive #alternate timeline #former jedi padawan

[bapyess1r]

Sunny Daze

WARNINGS: violence, cursing

Pairings: Team Drake x OC, Sam x OC

Tags: @desertvvitch , @unchartedterritoria, @peakymarvels, @marshmallow--3

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far 🥰

Chapter 13

Sunny’s POV

We climbed the massive steps to the tower and I was absolutely in shock. I had only ever seen buildings this tall in New York. And the fact that it was this old made it all the more magical to me. I stood at its rocky, caved in base, shielding my eyes from the sun as I looked up at it. “Fuck I hope I don’t have to climb that…” I said aloud. I didn’t notice I had until a trill of laughter exploded from Sam’s mouth behind me. He thought I was kidding but I was oh so serious about that. “I’m deadass, Sam. I’m not climbin’ that.” I smiled as I listened to Sam continue to laugh at my lack of trust in heights, shaking my head.

“Sam! Come gimme a hand with this.” Nathan called from a little shack with weak wooden doors. Sully and I approached them cautiously as they drove their masses into the doors until they broke open, revealing a dark hallway leading into a staircase. They both take a flashlight off their belts and shine them on the underground darkness. Sam looked back at me, suppressing a smile as I threw my head back. Sully chuckled and patted my back as he entered the dark hall.

“Let’s hope there’s no skeletons in there, sweetheart.” He said as another laugh spilled out. I stalked over to punch him in his arm, snatching the flashlight from his hands and powering down the stairs with the rest. “Ow!” He exclaimed, massaging the spot where he’d been hit and following close behind me.

I walked very carefully to make sure a step wouldn’t break beneath me and shrieked when Nathan fell before me suddenly. Sully put an arm out to stop us from falling too. There was a large chunk of stairs missing halfway through. “Shit- Nathan!” Sam shouted, worriedly.

“I’m good!” We heard him say and I sighed in relief. Sully and I shined a light down below us and it actually happened to be a decent little drop. The old man jumped first. Then Sam insisted on jumping next so that he could catch me. He stared up at me with a small smile as he stretched his arms out to me. I chuckled before letting myself fall into his arms. It wasn’t a big jump and I could’ve done it myself but I just couldn’t bring myself to take away his moment. He set me down as we walked into a dark and dirty room full of empty shelving. Sully and I hung back while the brothers scouted the room and we held a conversation amongst ourselves.

“So uh…. you and Sam, huh?” He asked me as he lit himself a cigar. My heart skipped and I turned to look at him with widened eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, Sunny. As old as they may be, I do have eyes.” He spoke in a fatherly tone. Though my lips parted, words just couldn’t come out. “All…I have to say is what I’m always tellin’ ya, kid. Be careful. Sam’s been away a long time and he’s not the same man I used to know. Things could get kinda hinky.”

“First of all, there is no Sam and I… It was just a kiss… One we didn’t even talk about. We trust each other and so far he hasn’t given me a reason not to.” I told him, crossing my arms as a mosquito bite began to itch on my shoulder as I watched the boys move a shelf over to reveal a bricked over opening. Sully groaned and rubbed his temples as if he were conversing with a hard headed teenager.

“Sunny, I-” Sully began but he was cut off by the sight of the boys taking cover.

“HEADS UP!” Nathan shouted before tossing a grenade at the partially eroded brickwork; a loud bang sounded through the small quarters, sending Sully and I flying back into the wall a bit from the pressure.

“Are you alright?” I asked Sully with worry.

“I’m alright, kid.” He told me, coughing for the harsh smoke and dust that had kicked up in the room. I shot Nathan a raised brow and he shrugged.

“I told you ‘heads up’.” He said simply before entering yet another dark hallway. I made a face before reluctantly following him in. I look over at Sam and he’s quite literally shaking with excitement. This could possibly be it and we were so close. ‘Thank god. I could use a real shower.’ I thought as we approached a gate. As soon as Nathan cranked it even just a little bit open, Sam was racing to crawl under. He ran up ahead of us with an anxious smile.

“And he’s off…” Sully commented as Sam started off into the next room.

“C’mon! Keep up slow pokes!” He shouted before dipping behind a corner. Something was off to me. The deeper we got, the more I began to get those bad vibes.

“Sam, slow down!” I said, running after him like an idiot. It was now occurring to me that one day he might get me killed, running off like this and me going after him.

Almost like it was too good to be true, there was a stairwell spiraling into the floor with Avery’s sigil near it. Sam flew down the flight before we could even step in the room. I hesitated a moment before going down the steps as well. “Sam! Sam, wait up!” Nathan called out to his brother.

“Guys! This way!” We heard Sam shout back, clearly miles ahead of us. We found ourselves going down a stoney, dark flight of stairs and up a mound of dirt that left very little space between it and the caved-in ceiling. We crouched through the opening and slid down a dirt slide. Just as we landed, Sam had dipped around another corner.

“Jesus H…” I wheezed, running forward trying my best to keep up with him.

“He seems excited.” Sully mentioned.

“He’s got a lot riding on this. Just let him be.” Nathan chortled.

“How is it that he can be this big and that fast? That shit defies the laws of nature.” I grumbled to Nathan.

“He was always this fast. I mean always.” He replied as we caught up to him. His lanky limbs slipping through a crack in the wall, a bright light on the other side.

“C’mon!” Sam exclaimed excitedly. And with that, we were slipping into the bright sunlight room. I shook my head with a laugh as I entered the room behind them, looking up at the ceiling that seemed to loom over us greatly with a hole blown through it. Likely some old battle damage. I realized suddenly that we were inside that tower.

‘And I didn’t have to climb a damn thing…’ I thought with a smile, resting my fists on my hips triumphantly as I watched Sam and Nathan gravitate towards what looked like a large stone map. Although I don’t think the boys got that right away.

“Magnificent…” Sully said, marveling at the insides of the largest watchtower on the volcano.

“I’m not seein’ any treasure though.” I sighed. That meant we were far from done with this expedition.

“Nathan! Come check this out!” Sam called out as he looked at the elaborate stone carving. “There’s gotta be a way through here.” He said anxiously.

“Alright, just hold your horses. Let’s take a look… There’s Avery, Thomas Tew…” Nathan’s voice trailed off when he couldn’t remember the other pirates. Obviously Sam picked it up.

“Adam Baldridge, that’s Joseph Farrell, and there’s Richard Want…” He said. Nathan grinned and tapped his brother on the shoulder.

“Pirate captains! I told you-” he gloated.

“Alright, alright. So maybe your little pirate pool theory wasn’t so crazy after all.” Sam smirked as he ran his eyes over the carvings before him.

“So what do you think the trick here is… press a button? Pull somethin’ maybe…” Nathan asked as he examined the statue before him.

“Check the arms.” Sam said, pulling on the stoney likeness of the ancient penitent thief. Sully and I stood back to watch as the two men fondled poor St. Dismas with an amused grin. I coughed to interrupt their moment and they both turned to look at us.

“When you boys are done feeling up the poor man, why don’t you step back and actually look at this thing.” Sully chuckled.

“Can’t always be the brains…” I smirked as the boys took a few steps back to where we stood.

“The trapezoid is obviously the volcano.” Sully began. “The crown, that’s King’s Bay…. We got ourselves a map, gentlemen… and Sunny.” I snorted as I, too, marveled at the stoney depiction of the land. Sam gave a chuckle and stared in wonder.

“Victor, you’re a goddamn genius.” He said. Sully seemed to perk up and patted Nathan on the back.

“Ha! You hear that, Nate?! Genius.” Sully chuckled, pleased by the compliment. I watched the men work out where we needed to go next, using a coin that we’d found from a trial in Scotland when we found the map of King’s Bay. They narrowed it down to two towers but the image on the coin was kind of faded so it was hard to tell which one actually contained the treasure. As I listened, I walked around the room, admiring the handy work of these pirates. They were so ahead of their time. That’s when a familiar smell crossed my nostrils. Cigarette smoke. I looked back at Sam and he wasn’t smoking at the moment. I obviously wasn’t smoking…

“Sully,” I called out as I picked up the filter, still burning just a tad. The group turned to look at me a moment. “You didn’t happen to… start smoking cigarettes by any chance?” I asked cautiously.

“No….” Sully answered. And at the moment all of us knew exactly what was about to happen. I tossed the filter and ran to the group, pulling on my gun and my knife.

“Ah shit.” I grumbled, taking a good look at my surroundings.

“Looks like we’re not the first ones here…” he said in a low tone as they began to draw their weapons as well.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” I heard from above us. And just like that, the ceiling came crashing down with a massive explosion and a shootout ensued.

We cleared at least two waves of mercenaries before the fight stopped. I leaned against a slab of stone to catch my breath. My arm stinging a bit from a graze I’d gotten in battle, my ears ringing from the gunfire in close range. “Y’know… Even though she’s hot, this Nadine chick and her people are seriously getting on my last nerves.” I grunted as I glanced at my bleeding arm. This fight was much harder than the last few. They had armored men this time; much harder to kill. I sighed as I slipped my weapons back into their holsters and picked the fallen bodies for ammo as the men went back to the map to figure out what to do. “Are you guys okay?!” I shouted from across the massive room as I straddled a dead man and took his bullets.

“All good here!” I heard from Nathan and Sully.

“Sam?!” I shouted looking around.

“Yeah! I’m over here.” He said and I saw him wandering towards the map again. I crossed the room as I watched him pat down a body that had fallen in front of the map.

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked as Nathan and Sully approached as well.

“Just confirming a suspicion…” he mumbled before pulling a piece of paper from the man’s vest pocket. “Shit. Take a look at this.” He held out the paper to Nathan and the group drew closer a bit together. It was a digital map with twelve locations circled along King’s Bay. ‘Shit…’ I thought to myself with a huff. “They’ve figured it all out already. The sigils, the locations, the works…” Sam said shaking his head and walking about as if he’d been defeated. I could feel the anger and disappointment radiating off of him as he gripped the sheet in his hands.

“So now what?” Sully asked.

“‘Now what’? Now we’re screwed. Okay, and you know why? Because there’s four of us and god knows how many of them. And they have a head start-” Sam snapped and I rushed to him to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay, sure, but they don’t know where to go.” I said gently. Expecting him to snap back, he turned to me and spoke in the same tone as I, only more disappointed.

“Neither do we, doll. We narrowed it to two locations and we still don’t know which is what.” He sighed, hanging his head. I dashed in front of him and picked his head up, staring into his saddened hazel eyes.

“So then, we’ll do the obvious. We split up. We’ve come too far to just…. quit.” I said simply. He lifted his head with a nod as if it was the best idea he’d ever heard. For a smart man, he could be really stupid sometimes as I’d come to realize.

“Alright then. That might just work.” He turned to face the other two men and held out the paper to them. “You guys check out this tower and I’ll get the other.” He said pointing to the locations on the map. “It’s not too far from here. I can make it.” I could see that twinkle sparking up in his eyes again. But worry started to fill my chest at the mention of him with no back up.

“No, no, no-” Nathan began.

“Like hell you're goin’ by yourself!” I snapped and Sam looked at me incredulously. “I’m comin’ with you. Rafe and Nadine’s gotta have guys all over these towers by now-” I suggested rather forcefully but he stopped me.

“Exactly. So if we wanna catch them, then we need to split- sweetheart, this was your idea…” he argued.

“Yeah, ‘split!’ As in ‘evenly!’” I emphasized. He gave an annoyed huff and pulled me aside from the group by my arm like I was a spoiled child. I was fuming.

“Sunny-”

“What?” I snapped. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before he started again.

“Sunny… If you can’t already tell… I care, alright. And if I’m stuck with those feelings then you gotta deal with the consequences, sweetheart- which means…. listening to me when I’m trying to keep you safe.” He told me, staring into my eyes with what seemed like good intent. But I wasn’t having it. I lowered my voice, mocking him with my arms crossed; accent and all.

“‘Uh, if you wanted safe, then you’re in the wrong line of work, sweetheart-’” I said, furrowing my brows, using his own words against him. He stared quietly for a moment before shaking his head.

“Sunny, please!” He snapped before returning to his hushed tone, placing his hands on my shoulders as he towered over me. “Please… I’d feel better knowing you were with Nathan and Victor.” I looked at him with narrowed eyes as I fixed my mouth to speak again but he ran his fingers through my hair quickly and held my face in his hands. “Please.” My nostrils flared as my eyes locked with his. I puffed, tearing my gaze from his as I chewed the inside of my cheek, shaking my head and tapping my foot. I stomped before turning away to join the other men. “Thank you…” I heard him say.

“Mhm.” I mumbled passive aggressively in response.

We left the tower the same way we entered. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to be above ground again. We walked Sam over to one of the spare Shoreline Jeeps and I shook my head as he climbed inside. Nathan put a hand on the door as we all stood by. “If you run into any of those Shoreline guys, you call me immediately.” He said.

“Will do.” Sam nodded.

“You be careful out there, Sam.” Sully said to him.

“Always am.” Sam replied. Then he brought his gaze to me. “Sunny…” I only looked at him for a second, my arms crossed with an annoyed pout playing on my face. He didn’t say anything though. He just glanced over my face. I snorted and looked away. The dirt seemed more interesting than him going off by himself at the moment. He just chuckled and smiled before putting the car in drive. “See you soon.” He told us all before speeding off. I watched go until he was out of sight, my arms crossed and my brows knitted together. In my peripheral, I could see Nathan and Sully heading for our 4x4. I walked over slowly, passing the extra Shoreline Jeep just lost in thought. He was going to get himself killed. There was just no way I could let him go out there like that by himself. His dumb ass didn’t even take another gun with him. It was when I put a hand on the car that I had made my decision.

“Let’s go Sun-” I heard Nathan say but I had already made up plans of my own.

“I’m not goin’ with you.” I said as I glanced at the pile of artillery in the trunk, trying to decide what I’d take.

“Sunny, now goddammit-” Sully started. He already knew what I was gonna say.

“Sully, I’m goin’ after him and that’s that, dammit! He is gonna get himself killed and he’s too damn stupid to see that! Nathan, I’m goin’ and you can’t stop me.” I said, grabbing a .9mm and spare deserter bullets. Nathan opened his mouth to speak but the older man cut him off.

“You’ll get yourself killed goin’ after him, Sunny!” Sully shouted at me. He never said it to me out loud but I knew he thought of me as one of his own kids. And because of that he had a tendency to be a bit overbearing. I loved him a lot for it though. He cared more about me than my own father. I could die today and he would never know; probably wouldn’t even care.

“Sully, c’mon…. it’s Sunny. I don’t like it any more than you do but if anyone is good at self perseveration, it’s her. She can keep herself safe until she meets up with Sam.” Nathan said in a calming voice. Sully just stared at me.

“I’ll be fine.” I said, looking at him with a nod. He just shook his head and lit himself a cigar.

“That boy is gonna be the death of you, Sunny Spurrs…” he mumbled. I smirked as I started off for the other car.

“Trust me. I’m aware.” I said shaking my head.

“You let me know when you reach the tower. I’m so serious, Sunny.” Nathan shouted to me.

“Of course.” I said. I hopped into the 4x4 and turned the key that was left in the ignition. I drove up next to Nathan and Sully’s car and sighed.

“If you stay on his tracks, you might just be able to catch up with him. Be safe. Steer clear of the big trucks-”

“Nate, I got it.” I replied.

“Ok. Go. Hurry up.” He said, finally backing off. And with that, I floored it, watching out for the tracks to Sam’s car. He was gonna be pissed but I didn’t care. With his life on the line, he couldn’t afford to be stupid right now.

I followed his tracks to a tower just like the one I had left. Parked right out front was the Shoreline Jeep he’d taken. ‘Well….good… This is good.’ I thought as I released my seatbelt and climbed out of my vehicle. When I arrived at the door, it had already been riddled with bullet holes and kicked in. He definitely wasn’t the cleanest executor of the two brothers but at least it was efficient. I turned on my flashlight with a squeal and shined its glow on the darkness before me. Lined along the walls were skeletons tied to the wooden beams that supported the structure. I suddenly wished I had stayed with Nathan and Sully. ‘God dammit….’ I thought as I descended the stairway with haste. ‘Please Jesus, if you love me, don’t lemme die…. Like for real…’ I shook my head as I stared into the darkness before me, trying my best to keep as far away from the wrapped skeletons as possible.

So far, I hadn’t had to do much. I had gone down a full flight of stairs, doorways had already been opened, all of which practically lined floor to ceiling with the bare-bones of old pirates. The more bodies I saw, the more disturbed I became. This Henry Avery guy was not somebody to mess with. I walked by a slew of caged skeletons all with the sign “thief” hanging around their necks. ‘Fuck that’s horrible….’ I thought with a shiver. As I walked into a room, I detected a faint scent of cigarettes. ‘Please let that be you.’ I thought as I noticed a bright orange filter still burning a bit. I came across a massive hole in the wall that led into another tunnel of darkness and sighed. That’s when I heard a loud bang.

I jumped, digging my nails into my palms nervously. I walked down the tunnel, the smell of cigarettes getting more intense by the second when I heard another loud bang. “Shit!” I heard a panicked voice say. It sounded like Sam. He could be in trouble. I began to sprint towards the rapid bangs, running through several rooms filled with singular skeletal parts; jaws, rib cages, hands. Although with Sam possibly being in danger, I couldn’t think about that. As I passed through a room with more tied up bodies, I collided into something hard and with a scream I was snatched up several feet in the air trapped in a roped net. I found my cheek squished against a warm chest, the scent thick with smoke and sweat. When I looked up, I was met with the familiar set of hazel eyes and furrowed brows. He grunted in frustration as he looked upon my face. I smiled awkwardly with a shaky laugh.

“Heeeyyyy….” I said showing my gums. He wasn’t amused in the slightest. He just raised a thick brow at me and growled a little. “I- I can uh….. I can get us out of this!” I stuttered reaching for my knife. His nostrils flared as his lips curled into something sassy. That’s when the bodies around us began to spark up, the embers running up a string slowly, like a timer. These weren’t just some dead bodies… These were bombs. “Oh shit…” I mumbled as I began to quickly cut the ropes, racing against the clock. He shook his head and forced a brief but fake laugh as I reached up to cut the thick ropes that bound us.

“Didn’t I tell you to go with Victor and Nath- because I specifically remember telling you to stay with Victor and Nathan- why don’t you listen?!” He grumbled in annoyance. I huffed, rolling my eyes as a few pieces of rope snapped at the slice of my blade.

“Sam, now is really not the time to have this argument-” I began but he just couldn’t hold it in.

“Why don’t you listen?!” He shouted dramatically.

“You’re gonna find out real fast that I never listen. To anybody. Ever-”

“I’m tryin’ to keep you from getting yourself killed-” he snapped frustratingly, interrupting me.

“I can take care of myself, dammit!” I hissed. “You’re the dummy who ran off by himself.”

“I didn’t need you here-” he retorted. I scoffed as a few more ropes snapped.

“And if I hadn’t been here, what in the everloving fuck would you be doing right now, huh? Tell me that, Sam-” I was beginning to lose my patience with him. I scrunched up my nose as he stuttered a moment, the weight of our bodies dropping us a bit as we hung by four more ropes.

“I would’ve… I would’ve um…” he didn’t have any damn idea what he’d do. I snickered as I cut us free and our bodies fell to the dusty ground with a loud thud. Quickly, we jumped into the hallway before the room could explode. Our bodies landed in the gravel just as more skeletons lit up.

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me-”

“We gotta go, Sunny!” Sam sang as he rose to his feet quickly, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me with him as he started to bolt down the tunnel. We ran quite a distance from the onslaught of exploding mummies until we reached the entrance of the tower. The both of us threw ourselves onto the hot red dirt, just as the last mummy had blown up, the doorway caving in on itself.

I turned over to lay on my back, catching my breath as the sun beat down on us. I couldn’t believe I had just done that. My nervousness turned into some kind of dissociative laugh. I was going to be insane by the end of this trip. I looked over at Sam as he sat up to stare at the now blocked entrance, a look of annoyance still playing on his features. We had to cut the bullshit now before we went any further or else we weren’t going to get anything done. ‘Let’s hash it out now, big boy…’ I thought with smirk.

“You have a lighter. You could burn the ropes, idiot.” I said poking his chest with a small finger to break the silence. He rolled his eyes as he stood and lit himself a cigarette. I scoffed, shaking my head as I rose to my feet as well. “Let’s hope all that noise didn’t attract Shoreline.” I commented but he still refused to answer me. I forced out a quick breath before speaking. “So this is the thanks I get for saving your ass?”

“I didn’t need to be saved-” he snapped. I opened my arms to him and flexed my lip.

“Holy shit- welcome to my world-”

“Sunny, you’re not getting it!” He shouted, rubbing his thick fingers on his temple and wiping away a thin sheen of sweat. I set back on my heel and crossed my arms.

“What am I not getting, Sam?” I asked.

“I can’t lose you!” He snapped. And there it was. The crux of the problem. “I am… fully aware that you can hold your own but I’ll be damned if you died on account of me. Because of my mistakes. Okay, then I have to live with that and I don’t wanna.” He told me, his fingers nervously tapping on his cigarette. I knitted my brows together and held his face in my hands.

“Samuel Drake. I’m only gonna say this once so you better listen up and listen real good.” I began, staring him deep in his eyes. “I am a grown ass woman. And I will do whatever the hell I please. If that means risking my life to save you, then goddammit that’s what I’m gonna do. Not because I have to, not because of Nate- because of me. Because I want to.” I told him.

“Sun-” he started but I placed a finger on his plush chapped lips.

“Don’t interrupt me. I’m not done.” I said authoritatively, and he shut his mouth with a deep sigh. “Unfortunately for you, I care, too. Which means…. if you’re in trouble… I’m gonna come runnin’.” I said with a gentle smile. A slow grin threatened to pull on his lips as his shoulders seemed to relax and he inched closer to me.

“Y’know… there were an awful lot of skeletons in that tower… and it was pretty dark, too…” he said letting his hand rest on my hip to pull them to his, a rough thumb stroking the exposed skin under my tank top. My heart started to speed up as his nose brushed against mine.

“What about it?” I asked in a breathy tone.

“You braved all that for little ol’ me, sweetheart?” He smirked, hooking a finger under my chin and pressing his lips over mine slow and sweet. I betrayed myself with a soft moan into his mouth as his tongue darted across my lower lip. “Thank you…” he mumbled against my lips. That surge of euphoria coursed through my body as his thick arms wrapped around my waist.

Suddenly, he’d lifted me up in his arms and sat me on the hood of the Jeep, his hands roaming my body as he deepened the kiss. The fact that I was absolutely soiled with sweat and covered in dirt didn’t seem to matter to him when he kissed along my neck and collarbone. I ran my hands through his damp hair as he rolled his hips into mine. I most certainly wasn’t against screwing on the hood of a car in the middle of nowhere. Just as I had tugged on his shirt, suddenly Sam’s smartphone rang. He ignored it the first time but as it continued to ring, he groaned into my mouth and rested his forehead on mine. He pulled out his phone and sighed with a smile. “It’s Nate. I should probably take it, huh?” He chuckled before kissing me again. We broke the kiss, heaving in a needy fashion as he answered his phone. “Hey, little brother. You find somethin’?” He asked. I could hear my best friend’s muffled voice panicking on the other end and suddenly I grew concerned. “Woah, woah, slow down- he what?!.... Shit. Alright, hang tight we’ll be right-” he was cut off by the sound of bullets flying by us. He pushed me down on the hood quickly, ducking his head and covering my body with his own as he hung up the phone immediately. I could hear the sounds of multiple engines approaching and gunshots firing off towards us. The beat of my heart sped up from arousal and adrenaline as he pulled me off of the car and ducked down in front of the car grill. “Rain check?” He asked me with a smirk. I just smiled and pulled my gun and knife from their holders, ready to take some people down.

A truck had come, full of ten mercenaries. “Did they really need that many? Jesus lord…” I mumbled as I watched the men begin to surround us. Sam just shrugged with a chuckle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’re feelin’ a little threatened.” I smirked. It genuinely pleased me to know that Rafe Adler couldn’t get what he wanted just because he threw his money around.

“Wanna piss him off some more?” He asked me as he tugged on the pistol wedged in its holder on the back of his dirty jeans. I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows.

“Absolutely. You take five, I take five?” I smirked.

“Let’s do this, sweetheart.” He said with a shit eating grin. He stood to fire two headshots and I ran from cover to slice a man’s throat and use his body as a shield when I fired shots at the other four. And we were off….

#uncharted 4 #uncharted #sam drake #samuel drake #samuel drake x reader #uncharted x reader #sam drake fanfiction #sam drake x reader smut #sam drake smut #uncharted smut #uncharted 4: a thief’s end #poc oc #poc #nathan drake #victor sullivan #nadine ross #rafe adler #elena fisher

[elven-oracle]

under the rose: part 2|th

moodboard courtesy of @mcuspidey

SUMMARY: Would you do anything for the person you love?

Would you do anything for the person you lust?

PAIRING: Agent!Tom Holland x Agent!Reader

WORD COUNT:  2.8k

sub rosa: adjective and adverb. formal. happening or done in secret. directly translated from latin: “under the rose.”

Part 1 Part 3

Part 2: Hand on a Blade

Things returned to their usual mundane business after the episode in the field. 

It had forced you to start wondering the purpose of the men sitting around doing hardly anything all day. It was a sex-trafficking business, yet you hardly saw a single young woman pass through the warehouse that had now become your day job. In meetings at the agency, you reported and confirmed everything the mic attached to your collarbone had recorded. You had been reassured that your work was dong leaps for the investigation, but you were antsy to make the arrests of the criminals you spent your time with. 

You knew that these women were out there somewhere, going through everything unimaginable; the thought of them was what got you out of bed in the morning, and every time a “client” was discussed, you suppressed your firey urge to sock one of the men in the face, but there was a cover to maintain, and many many lives to protect. Including your own. 

Tom’s fingers laid loosely interlocked with your own, an interaction so natural that it was as if you had been doing it for years, as the cover suggested. All of the detached moments of affection were slowly burning into your motions like delicately practiced choreography. Tom grabbing your hand, your waist, your forearm, the way he pressed a kiss into your body, it was all starting to lose its spark that you felt when you had started a week prior. 

After literally saving the lives of your favorite sex-traffickers, they had started to trust you. You discovered that these rival groups spent a good portion of time attempting to sabotage any efforts, and they did the same in retaliation, all done by an entirely different set of people that you had a slim chance of meeting. It was a good report to bring back to intelligence, though. 

You had gotten into an interesting conversation regarding them. 

“They like to get creative with their attacks, one time they threw chemical bombs into the place, we left with swollen eyes, I may have been blind for a few days,” Smithy took a long drag off of his cigarette and snuffed it out on the arm of his chair. 

“Oh!” Hardy spoke up, “Don’t forget the time that you got a ninja star in your leg,” he raised his eyebrows at you, “that’s right, miss, a whole fucking ninja star.” 

“It’s almost like a game for them,” you commented, starting to catch on. 

“Yeah,” Candy spit, “It’s fucking stupid, though. They need to stop being pussies and use a gun. Like everyone else.” 

How attacking with one lethal weapon over another made someone a pussy was beyond you. 

Meanwhile, you had continued to play the game of seduction with Tom to keep your mind off of the imminent deathtrap you walked into every day. After the scene in the bathroom, you started to notice the sly way that he would eye you as you walked away, or how his hand lingered so low on your waist. Some movements were methodical, some were the result of a secret desire that he probably hadn’t realized you noticed. The extra sway to your hips and the subtle release of your breath when he held you were nothing but purposeful. 

As long as nothing carried on, you would be fine. You weren’t about to become another notch in Tom Holland’s belt. 

Sitting in Tom’s passenger seat, you made the silent drive over to the location, occasionally checking your lipstick to give yourself something to do. It was strange how close you felt to your partner, despite the limited, cordial conversation that you carried out privately. Being two different people had proven itself to be restricting in the strangest of ways. 

This morning, however, you decided to take a new step in the carpool and twist the volume on to turn on some music. You felt his eyes as you returned back to sitting, some song by Taylor Swift echoing in the speakers. 

Don’t blame me love made me crazy, if it doesn’t you ain’t doing it right.

You had never been in love. It never crossed your mind as something important. During your high school years, you had much more strenuous priorities, and now, your job was your entire life. Something about the lyrics radiated in your brain, though. The way that love could change someone. Sometimes it was the best thing that could happen to a person.

And sometimes it was the worst. 

When you reached the final destination, you were greeted with a series of tired grunts, as usual. It took a couple hours for the guys to wake up, and a few beers usually did the trick. Alcohol for them was like coffee for you: they had no words for each other until they had gotten it coursing through their systems. 

Nothing seemed out of place that afternoon. There was a specifically intriguing soccer game that they all seemed invested in, while you couldn’t care less. Anything other than soccer was more your speed. 

Well, nothing was out of place that afternoon until Boss made an unruly entrance, tossing guns to his men, and looking directly at you and pointing to the bathroom. Thrown completely off guard, you turned around to see a storm of men, clad in black, all wielding long and seemingly sharp blades. The rival gang had made another return, this time with another creative form of weaponry.

You took note of the pistols on their hips. Today they had decided not to be pussies.

You were reluctant to place yourself into hiding, but you drifted away to keep the cover intact. It was almost painful to separate yourself from the action. You had almost reached the door when you took one last glimpse, not wanting to admit that you wanted to be absolutely certain that Tom was okay. The answer was half satisfying, half terrifying. 

A dark figure was approaching Tom from behind, blade raised, going in for a fatal swoop.

You wanted to tell yourself that it was your instinct as an agent that sent you running, in the same way, that had brought you to throw that grenade out of explosion range. It definitely wasn’t the panic of seeing your partner in danger, a wild panic that was out of control, rather than the regulated anxiety that was perfect for sending yourself into life-threatening situations. Your heart was beating out of your chest as your feet pounded, your mind spun, and you shoved Tom out of the way, replacing his head with your hand. 

In training, they had forced you to endure all sorts of pain, all consensual. They would get your verbal confirmation, and with a countdown from three, you would get a shot of electricity shoved into your veins. In this job, pain was inevitable, but pain was also fleeting. The more you grew used to it, the stronger you felt.

The burning sensation that exploded in your hand was nothing like you had felt in training. You wished you had felt the fire in your hand, and as your vision went white, you heard the gunshots fire off. Boss was yelling, through the unwarranted tears in your eyes, there was the sound of Tom’s pseudonym being demanded to a task. It felt like an eternity until there was a shout of “all clear.” 

Through your blurred vision, you saw Tom’s concerned brown eyes, and his hands bring you to your feet. You were dizzy with delirium, the pain in your hand only increasing as more seconds passed. Maybe you had split it open, maybe once they contained the bleeding you wouldn’t feel like vomiting, but the sight you were welcomed to once the fog cleared almost sent your breakfast and the minimal alcohol straight up your throat. 

It was a clean slice to your pinkie finger. Which, fortunately, meant that it could be sewn back on.

Right?

Tom started to say your name but quickly corrected himself, “Rose, baby, let’s get to the car. Hospital time.” 

Despite the excruciating pain, you stayed in character, “Johnny...what happened?”

You knew what the fuck happened. Those pussies had chopped your finger off. 

Tom didn’t reply with the obvious, he replied with, “Love, you saved my life,” and then under his breath, “again.” 

You were ushered out the door, with Tom insisting that he take you himself over having the entire group follow. You knew that you were headed to the agency and not an actual hospital. There couldn’t be any public record of the injury. It would blow your cover. There was a fully operating hospital wing on one of the floors for this very reason, the surgeon would be ready for you when you got there. 

Tom helped you into the passenger seat of his car, placing your severed finger in your lap, wrapped in a towel as if that made anything better. It only made you want to hurl more. 

This car ride was not silent. 

“Y/N how’s it going?” his British accent was a breath of fresh air, and you hated that.

“I’m not fucking dying Tom.” 

“Yeah, well, pardon me for making sure you aren’t having a panic attack. You just got mutilated after all.” “I’ll live. Eyes on the road.” 

“Okay! Okay.” 

Your entire body was damp with sweat as if someone had dumped water everywhere except your hair. You could feel it dripping down your face and the way that it made the wig particularly itchy. You wanted to rip it off, but once again, the cover. The things you did for your job. 

“You saved my life again.” 

“Yes. And?”

He hesitated as if expecting a different answer, “Thanks.” “You’re my partner, I could only hope you would do the same for me.” “I would,” the way he said it was almost defensive. 

“Oh thank, goodness. I was worried for a second,” you were being sarcastic to mask the pain, but that couldn’t mask the yelp you let out as he sped around a corner. 

There was another brief silence, but you didn’t like how it felt, so you filled it with the dumbest joke you could think of, “Do you think this pain is worse than childbirth?”

You could hear him trying not to laugh, “You’re asking an expert.”

“Good. You think?”

He looked at your hand, which had now bled through the towel you were using for pressure and was bleeding onto your leather pants and onto the car seats made of the same material.

“Sure.” “Thanks, Doctor Holland, I think I’ll have kids now.” 

Upon arrival, you were shoved onto a gurney and taken away, Tom only being able to accompany you to a certain point. It didn’t seem like either of you noticed that he had taken hold of your non-injured hand until each one of your fingers were torn away from each other, leaving you to roll your eyes back and pass out, the final dose of adrenaline running out. 

…

Beep...beep...beep…

Consciousness was like hitting a wall. Your eyes fell open almost against your will, sleep wanting to regain its hold. With a deep inhale, you rolled your head over to your left hand, which now no longer had the deep pain from what felt like only minutes prior, although you knew it had to be hours. 

The memories came flooding back. There was the motion of intent in the body of the attacker, the insane panic, and the flash of internal light that stung across your eyes as the blade swept across your hand. It was a memory that would never leave you, a trauma that you knew you had no time to address. 

A thick, cast-like bandage surrounded your pinkie, sitting on a strategically laid table to keep it elevated. What caught your surprise, though, was the fact that another hand rested on top of yours, rough with calluses, a hand that you had held before, but never like this. 

Tom was asleep in a chair next to you, his head rolled back, mouth agape. The small sight of drool brought a weak smile to your face. Asleep, the usually dark and demeaning man that you worked with looked relaxed and...soft. You knew better than anyone that Tom was anything but soft. 

Your hand twitched, and Tom immediately stirred, yawning and retracting his hand away from yours. For a second you could tell he was just as disoriented as you had just been, but he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and met yours, looking slightly sheepish as he pulled on his fingers nervously. He pulled a leg to his chest, looking away for a second, then chuckled to himself as he looked back at you.

“Something funny?” your voice was hoarse. 

He shook his head, “You almost lost your finger there, agent.” 

“Thank goodness I had the wonderful Agent Thomas Stanley Holland to save me from a life of stub hand.” 

He chuckled again, “Even mutilated, you remain as endearing as ever, Y/L/N.” 

You couldn’t help the blush that sparked on your cheeks. Hopefully, the lighting was dim enough that he didn’t see. 

It was almost midnight when a flurry of agents took up almost all of the space in your hospital wing, a reminder that your work never stopped. The mission was still steady-going, and this was likely not to be considered a setback. 

“Agent Y/L/N, we would like to remind you that despite your injury, you are still expected to return to the field as soon as possible. This mission is too important for you to step back, and the chances of cover being blown-” 

You cut the man speaking to you off, “I understand. I expected nothing less.” 

As if you ever even thought about not continuing the mission. This had been the most important mission of your career. You would have to be killed in action before resigning. The man at the foot of your bed, an agent you had never met before, was trying to hide how pleased he was with your answer. Apparently, he had expected you to put up more of a fight. 

Satisfied, they left, not needing to hear anything else from you. 

“I’ll be sure to get well soon!” you called as the door shut behind them. It left you alone with Tom once again. He was smirking. 

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

“Go for it,” you expected it to be about the plan of action for tomorrow. Neither of you talked about much more than work.

In the months you spent preparing with your partner, he had never asked anything personal, so his question took you by surprise.

“What brought you to this line of work?”

Your lips parted, and you took a second to think before responding, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You thought about the family you left behind when accepting the job, the minimal contact, how you hadn’t seen your parents in years. To any onlooker, you had given up a lot to take this job, but to you it had been an easy decision. 

“Um,” you sighed. “Well, initially I was a police officer. Narcotics. My parents…” Were you really about to tell him this?

“My parents ran a drug lab in our house for a very long time. They weren’t arrested until I was in college. I just wanted to make a difference.” 

“And what brought you here?”

“Putting Jacoby Zimmerman in jail.” 

He looked impressed, “You...put the Magic Man in jail?”

“Sure did.”

Zimmerman had been your side project. He was a drug trafficker, and he was good. The best detectives had been chasing him for years, and while you were the lowest tier in the line of detectives, you had been going behind their backs to try and book him. As much as you hated to admit it, the relation was personal. He had supplied to your parents, and your parents had tried to get you to deal at your high school. Instead, you worked a fast-food job and shoved the drugs down the toilet. Every paycheck went towards the drug hussle that wasn’t happening, and you hardly kept a cent for yourself. 

“Damn. He was…”

“Renowned. I know,” you paused, wondering how to conclude the strange conversation you had found yourself in, “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to do what’s right. Change my past or whatever.”

You sat in silence some more, occasionally looking down at your bandaged finger. When you put away Zimmerman, you never pictured yourself in this position. You had been told countless times that being an agent sometimes required repeatedly putting yourself in danger, but after all the paperwork and the meetings, you had started to detach yourself from that factor. Now, there you were, sewn back together like Frankenstein. 

You hadn’t noticed when you fell asleep, but when you woke up in the middle of the night, after yet another nightmare where your finger was being torn apart, Tom’s hand had returned to sitting on yours. It was gentle. Tender. You couldn’t help the subtle feeling of comfort drawn from it. 

You were losing the game.

Part 1 Part 3

M A S T E R L I S T

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[littlekatleaf]

Buried in a burning flame is love and its decisive pain (part 2)

Part One

Felt like he’d only just fallen asleep when someone shook his shoulder. “Wazzat,” he mumbled. The room was still pitch black, only the faintest hint of lightening around the edges of the curtains. 

“Up, Rat. Null Sector.” Roadhog’s voice was unusually sharp and Junkrat bolted instantly and completely awake.  

“Here?” He buckled on his prosthetics, already ticking through the supplies he’d brought and what could be cobbled together. No one’d expected a fight, but he ‘n Roadie weren’t never unprepared.

“Close. Morrison radioed Tracer - apparently someone tipped him off about a civilian hit a couple klicks from here.” “Think it’s a trap?” Seemed odd for an attack in such a remote area. 

Roadhog shrugged. “Possible.”

Guessed it made no difference - Overwatch couldn’t risk leaving innocents unprotected and where Overwatch went, so Junkrat and Roadhog went, too.

As he stumbled into the kitchen, Emily thrust a large paper cup of black coffee into his hand. Junkrat smiled gratefully. Heat felt good on his raw throat and the caffeine burned away the lingering fog from the corners of his brain. “Ta,” he said, but she didn’t seem to register. Her eyes followed Tracer as she paced, alternating between terse tactics with Morrison via com and equally short suggestions to Satya about setting up defenses around the cabin. 

“Take Satya with you. I don’t need a babysitter,” Emily said as Tracer slipped her communicator into the pocket of her coat. Her words were defensive, but pleading. The air between them crackled, heavy with everything they didn’t say. Trying to stay out of the way, Junkrat fossicked through his bag, checking over concussion mines and bombs, making sure fuses were properly set, triggers locked but ready.

“You’ll need her...” “Em.” Tracer interrupted, crossing the room and cupping Emily’s cheek in one hand. “We’ve been over this. If Morrison’s informant is playing us… if it’s a trap, I need to know you’re safe.” Emily sighed and bent forward slightly, leaning her forehead against Tracer’s. “I want you to be safe, too,” she said softly.

Junkrat stood. Felt like intruding on a private thing. “Satya, show me where you’re settin’ up the sentry turrets? Got a couple a things might help.” Fortunately she nodded and he followed her out. 

Wind still howling; was cold enough to feel like his nostrils froze. His lungs ached with it. Fuck - didn’t think he’d ever been this cold. Wished he’d brought a scarf. Or mittens. “I’d kill for some mittens,” he mumbled.

Satya ignored him, pointed out the turrets, hidden under the eaves. 

“Guess yer used to the cold, huh,” he said, laughing a little at his own joke and positioning a couple of steel traps - would hold ‘em long enough for the turrets to dispatch ‘em. 

“You think we have not heard these ‘jokes’ before? You think we do not hear the comments?” The scorn in her voice was clear, then took on a mocking echo, sounding surprisingly like McCree, “Quite a match, the Robot and the Ice Queen.”

Junkrat looked up, surprised. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he said but Satya had stalked away. Shit. Maybe she wouldn’t have a chance to say anything to Mei. Finished rigging the traps and was about to go apologize when he caught sight of Hana motioning him over from the window of a ute. “Let’s go,” she called. Apology’d have to wait. 

As he clambered into the back and squeezed next to Roadhog, Mei gave him a look that said she’d love to take him down with her endothermic blaster. He resisted the urge to shiver, case she took it as another insult. Fuck - just what he needed, a team member least as happy to kill him as Null Sector’d be.

Hana leaned over his seat. “You messed up, dude. What’d you say to Satya, anyway,” she asked, keeping her voice low.

Junkrat glanced at Mei out of the corner of his eye. Seemed to be listening to something Tracer was telling her and paying no attention to him. “Made a little joke ‘bout the cold.”

“You think before you talk? Like, ever?” Lucio shook his head.

Roadhog snorted. “No.”

“Was tryin’ to lighten the mood.” 

“Moron.” 

“Gonna have to agree with Roadhog on this one, man,” Lucio said. “Better stay out of Mei’s line of sight.”

Junkrat slouched down in his seat. How the hell did he keep fucking shit up? A low laugh echoed through his head. It’s not a riddle… you are a fuckup, Jamison. Shut it, he thought. Tracer was saying something about the plan of attack and he needed to listen, to focus, but his thoughts felt cloudy and muddled. He gulped at the rest of his coffee. They clearly should have left you behind. You’re going to fuck this up, too. The only question is, who will get hurt because of you? Junkrat ground his teeth. You know fuck all, he told the voice. Only laughter answered, echoing… 

Suddenly Roadhog elbowed him in the side, and he realized they’d stopped. “Time to go.”

Get it together, he told himself. Gonna do this right. Ain’t no one getting hurt on my watch.

The mountains loomed above, trees pressed close on either side of the path. Light was just beginning to show at the edge of the horizon. Junkrat found himself straining to listen, like if he tried a little harder he’d be able to hear what was coming. Instead only wind whistling in the pines, crunch of their footsteps, thudding of his own heart in his chest, Roadhog’s breath through his mask. 

Sudden rattle of gunshots and the group surged forward, fanning out, Lucio’s sonic amplifier lending them unnatural speed. Adrenaline spiked like a fever. Tracer darted ahead, blinking in and out of sight. They crested a hill and the forest gave way to a small cluster of cabins, like Junkertown shacks.

Metallic scream sliced the air and the battle swept over them. Dozens of omnics - Nullifiers, Slicers, Bastions, OR14s - descended on the clearing from the mountains above. D.Va’s mech fired a round of rockets, Roadhog’s scrap gun rattled, and Junkrat sent a volley of grenades over Mei in the frontline to finish off the B73 Bastion she’d frozen.

“Ha! How’d ya like that, ya fuckin’ bot?” Heart hammered in his throat. Mouth dry. Vision narrowed with focus. Roadhog, always in his peripheral. D.Va. Lucio. Had to keep them covered. Keep them safe. Reload the launcher. Toss the mines. Hard to breathe - air smoky and heavy with gunpowder. Chest aching, head aching. Coughed to clear it, but didn’t help much. Blinked sweat out of his eyes. When had it gotten warm? Reload. Fire. Where was D.Va? Someone shouting, couldn’t make out words.

Tracer raced past, dropped her pulse bomb, winked out of sight as another B73  exploded right where she’d been. The concussive blast knocked him back, made his ears ring. Lost one already… better hope she’s more attentive than you’ve been.  Shook his head once, sharply. D.Va had to be okay, had to be nearby, just out of his line of sight. Wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. Lucio’s music pulsed, lending him strength. Reload. Fire. Bag was getting dangerously light. Tried to figure how many grenades left, how many bots, couldn’t be many now, but kept losing track.

Roadhog’s hook flashed out, yanked in a Nullifier, finished it with a shot to the head. Bot’s carcass dropped and Roadhog hooked another, dropping it just as quick. Junkrat grinned - watching the Hog work was a thing of beauty. 

Then - flash of pink at the edge of his vision. D.Va’s mech, Lucio beside her, holding their own with fusion cannons and sonic amplifier against a handful of Slicers. Her mech was looking a little worse for wear, but nothing’d penetrated its shell. See, fuckin’ told ya she’d be fine. Rush of relief so strong left him a little dizzy. 

“Fall back,” Tracer’s voice above the fray. “Back!”

“What’dya mean? Ain’t finished ‘em off yet!” 

“No questions. She’s in command,” Mei snapped, following Tracer, D.Va and Lucio back toward the ute.

Screw command - not gonna let any fuckin’ bots escape an’ attack someone else.  Working fast he pieced together the few things left in his bag. Handful of grenades, a concussion mine, bit of ammonium nitrate. Rigged up a trap across the path the others had taken. Gonna be a corker of an explosion.

“Rat!” Roadhog’s voice at his left, harsh. Junkrat looked up and straight into the fusion driver of a OR14. Fuck. 

Who would have thought you’d be the one getting hurt… taunting wisp through his thoughts. Fuck I am; ain’t gonna cark it to a goddamn bot. Heard Hog jamming the toploader onto his gun and dumping in the last of his ammo. Had to time it just right. 

The gun roared, knocked the bot off center, scent of plasma burning his nose as the OR’s shot missed him by a hair. Had to be enough room, wasn’t gonna get another chance. Clenched his teeth, took a deep breath, gonna be close, dropped his special concussion mine, stepped on the pressure cap with his peg leg and detonated.

The air cracked and the blast launched him into the sky, backwards, away from the OR14 and the trap he’d laid. The force was as exhilarating as it was disorienting and he laughed as he flew, high pitched, manic giggles. He came down hard on ankle and peg but Roadie’s hand was on his arm, steadying him and then they were running together back up the path as another whumping explosion echoed and a gout of flame shot high above the cabins, warmth and smoke enveloping them. Tossed one glance back over his shoulder and the beauty of the sight nearly brought a tear to his eyes. Nothing left of the bots but twisted lumps of metal. Perfection.

#snezfic eventually damn #oversnez #constitutionally incapable of writing shortfic

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 11

Catch up here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Violence, death and some... rushed action.

A/N: Sorry this update took like a month to churn out, my brain decided to be more creative with other franchises -Oops! Anyway, we’re in the final stretch now guys. Thanks for being patient!

~

Liam paced about in the dark, heart thundering in his chest. Derek's contact was late. This was making him jumpy. He glanced at his watch once, twice, a third time -still nothing. He was about to make a U-turn and head for the church when his keen wolf ears picked up on the sound of a motorcycle growling in the distance. The scent of gasoline and carbon monoxide mixing in with the crisp night air. She was here.

"You’re late," he said sheepishly as Braeden took off her helmet and turned her keys in the ignition. The bright beams turning as dead as a doornail as soon as she dismounted.

"I'm never late," she retorted as she chucked a duffle bag at Liam.

"Jesus," he jumped, eyes wide. "Are you insane?"

Braeden chuckled, her eyes rolling backwards, "Relax, kid. They're inert in that state."

Liam unzipped the bag and examined the blocks of C4, and just as she said, they were inert. He exhaled while she fished a crowbar from her backpack and used it as a lever to lift an old sewer access grate.

"Come with us, and all this chaos can end. Come with us and I'll tell you the truth," Alyster's words swarmed around your brain. It was then that you realised he was inside your head. You tried to shake him out, to scream for him to shut up, but you were motionless, voiceless and completely helpless. "Come with us and you will learn of your importance to the Order... And the fate of the world."

Around you, Derek and Scott and Monroe kept up their fight. The two wolves tried to keep you inside their protective circle as best they could, but it wasn’t an easy task. Your body was still paralysed -unresponsive.

Your ears picked up the sound of an angry growl. Derek pried an arrow out of his arm and snapped it with his teeth, eyes glowing a menacing blue. Scott kept up his fight with the air, the Kitsune besting most of his attacks with ease. Monroe seemed to be struggling the most, her gun was as efficient as using paper planes to break down brick walls. Her efforts were futile, but she persisted.

As strong as they were, you doubted they would be able to make it out alive. Not with the sheer, unbridled might of the Order barring down on them… on you. They may as well have been chew toys shivering in the presence of a wolf's razor-sharp canines. You were all going to die here -enemy, friend, and ally. It was only a matter of time.

You tried to force yourself to swallow the spit that accumulated in the back of your throat, but your body remained unmoving. At least your automatic reflexes were still working. At least you were breathing.

"If I agree to go with you," you spoke in your mind -the place Alyster had intruded without permission. "Will you let them live?"

Alyster's eyes narrowed and it almost looked like his body was levitating towards you slowly, "They are of no consequence to us. All we want is you."

The coppery smell of blood tickled your nose. Someone was bleeding. And it was a lot of blood. But you couldn't tell who.

"Why me?" your voice was shaking like a leaf, even in your own headspace.

Alyster's disconcerting laugh echoed in your cranium, "Because your blood is special. Your lineage is special. You are special."

"Will you kill me?"

He paused, face almost remorseful, "It cannot be avoided, but at least you can die knowing why. All you have to do to stop all this needless fighting is… submit."

Your heart was in your throat, your nerves so fuelled by fear that you shook as though you were freezing to death. Acid and bile climbed out of your stomach and burned at your oesophagus. Temple throbbing.

"I..." your brain was on fire. Alyster's presence -his magic- being warded off like an invasive cancer. Blood streamed from your nose. The wolf inside you felt violated -angry. She was trying to rip him apart from inside you, the result was your own body's defences attacking itself. "I--"

Derek grabbed you by the arm violently, his claws nicking skin. It was then that you noticed the green tendrils hooked around you, luring you closer to Alyster, and further away from Scott and Derek.

"Y/N! What are you doing?" he demanded, nostrils flaring. His face was all bruised and cut up to hell, his shirt covered in blood and dirt. He pulled you back to his side and you felt Alyster's pull over you dissipate into a slight foggy sensation. The green tendrils had receded back into the Oculus. "Stay beside me!" he ordered in an alpha's voice as he held you behind his protective frame.

Scott darted back to your side, lugging a pew at the Kitsune in the process. "She's late," he complained.

"She'll pull through, trust me," Derek replied.

Alyster shook his head in disappointment, an Irish lilt pulling at his consonants. "This could all have been so painless. When this all ends, I want you to know, this could all have been avoided."

Scott groaned, shattering a pew with a powerful stomp and throwing the splinters at Alyster with frightening precision, "Shut up already!"

The archer, Astrid, caught several pieces of debris in mid-air, a prideful smirk filling her features. She was about to advance, claws extended and arrows depleted, when Alyster wrapped a long-clawed hand around her wrist, a yellowish grin pulling his tight skin uncomfortably.

"I'll handle this."

And then he rose his hands, the green tendrils returning, picking up several pieces of debris, rock, wood and dislodging all the bullets that had been embedded inside walls and concrete. You were surrounded by a circular perimeter of suspended weaponry. You felt your skin prickle with goosebumps, the air turning colder than a cadaver.

So this is how it ends? You lamented. Your hand entwining inside Derek's fully clawed hand. He snapped back to look at you as soon as your fingers slipped between the gaps of his. His features turning soft, even though he was half shifted. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, but it didn't feel like a last stand. It felt like he was reassuring you. Then, without warning, the ground shook and gave way beneath you, pulling you, Derek, Scott and Monroe into the darkness of an old, mouldy tunnel. The air was filled with cement dust and the smell of fire and plastique.

Derek steadied your body, keeping you on your feet. Liam winked at all three of you as soon as the dust cleared. “Missed me?” he cocked his head to the side.

A woman in leather with a four clawed slash on her neck was gripping four grenades. "Get down!" she warned as she tossed the four grenades through the new hole, up into the church filling it with angry flames.

Derek shielded you from any would-be dangerous flames.

 "Cutting it a bit close, don't you think?" Derek coughed the smoke out of his lungs as you all walked through the darkness. His hand still holding onto yours so he could be your guide in the dark. Braeden held up a weak torch in the pitch-black tunnel.

"I made it didn't I?" She sounded a little aggressive, like someone with a bone to chew. Derek felt more rigid too. Even his breathing was controlled. They had unresolved issues, it was so obvious the air was swarming with tension.

Derek’s words came out sluggishly, "I… thanks, Braeden."

"Still, you had us worried," Scott sounded winded, his footsteps sloppy.

"When have I never followed through?" Liam retorted and before anyone could try and counteract his argument, he continued: "Actually, don't answer that."

"Who's the girl?" Braeden asked.

"A friend," Derek, Liam and Scott replied instantly.

You heart fluttered slightly.

You noticed that coppery smell was still in the air. In fact, it was more pronounced in the damp surroundings of the tunnel, "Do you guys smell that?"

"The blood?" Derek's voice was nearly lethal.

"Yeah," Scott replied, his voice equally dark.

You shivered.

"She's bleeding out," Braiden said nonchalantly. "Probably won't make it through the night."

"Screw you," Tamora's voice surrounded you.

You tried to look through the dark, but you couldn't see so you just kept going.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of walking, a corona of light bled through a circular manhole overhead. Liam was the first to go up, holding the torch for Braeden and you as the two of you slowly climbed up the rusty ladder. Next was Derek, who hunched over to pull the pale and bloody Tamora out from the tunnel. Last was Scott, whose clothes were drenched in her blood. The smell nearly made you gag, but you simply turned away and took four strong whiffs of the night air.

Car beams turned on abruptly, making you jump back, but then you heard Peter speak out from behind the car's lights.

"Took you guys long enough..." He smirked as he stood in front of the light. "I nearly sent my contact after you."

Stiles was next to appear before the headlights, "You guys won't believe who his contact is."

Derek was frowning and so was Scott, but not Liam. Something told you they already knew who it was.

A young man with a charming face but a disconcerting smirk climbed out of a second car you hadn't seen in the dark, he wore a leather jacket and dark jeans. He practically blended into the night.

"Long time," he said with a hint of dangerous attitude.

"Theo..." Scott greeted him coldly. "You're Peter's contact?"

He leaned his frame against the car's hood, a sarcastic salute sent Scott's way, "Sir, yes sir."

Derek rubbed at the space between his eyes like he was fighting off a headache, "I don't have time for this. I'm exhausted and I'd very much like to leave this place before we get any unwanted attention."

Peter sniffed the air, his face showing nothing but pure disdain, "Why did you bring her here?"

He strode closer towards Monroe, who was slowly succumbing to her wounds on the hard ground.

"I couldn't just leave her there, it was a graveyard by the time Liam got to us," Scott defended his actions. “Besides, whether we want to admit it or not, she was kind of instrumental in us getting away.”

"You should have left her there, it's what she deserves after everything she's done," Peter all but spit at her feet.

"I'm dying, not deaf you asshole," Monroe seethed from the ground, her bark equally as strong as her bite.

Peter kneeled next to her, a scary chuckle leaving his throat, "Indeed you are… dying. My condolences." he laughed.

Derek's nose lifted to the air, "You found Deaton." He stated. "Who's the other guy?"

"Other guy?" Liam asked, his wolf senses not as sharp as Derek's it would seem.

"Oh, yeah, we picked up a stray too," Stiles said, though you wondered if he was joking or being serious.

Scott looked worried, "How's Deaton?"

"Deaton's passed out in the back seat. He's a little banged up, but okay," Stiles reassured him.

A warm sensation filled your belly. It was one of homeliness and safety. You couldn't feel the cool air anymore. Gasping in surprise, you looked up at the tall, dark-haired man that staggered out of the car with an arm bracing his side.

"Markus?" you dashed to his side, opening your arms to wrap your older brother into a hug.

"Easy Champ," he said through gritted teeth, a shaky laugh escaping his lips. "I'm a little banged up too."

"How- Why? Last I heard, Mom said you were with Jonah up at the cabin teaching him how to control his shift?" you asked, your hands frantically brushing against all the bruises and half-healed scars on your brother's face and neck and arms.

"Maggie and Esme are doing that," he turned away from you with guilt in his eyes.

Your bottom lip trembled when you figured out why he looked like you'd just kicked him while he was down. "You went after them… didn't you?"

"I… Yes."

You punched him, hard and he coughed from the impact. "Arrghh!"

"You promised you wouldn't!" You were furious. "How dare you after what happened to Alex? I didn't even know you were missing. Did mom? Did dad? Did anyone?"

"What was I supposed to do? Not try and protect my little sister? Not look after my pack?" he growled.

Your fist pounded on his chest, "Yes!"

Derek pulled you away from your brother when he saw him wince from one of your punches, "Easy," he shushed you while keeping a firm grip on your shoulders. He turned to the rest of the group and said: "Look, we can't stay out here. It's too exposed for my liking.” His green eyes turned down to peer into yours. “Let's get somewhere safe and then you guys can hash things out to your heart's content, okay?"

You bit your tongue, chest heaving from anger. "Okay."

"Okay," Markus agreed before staggering towards Monroe. "I just have one score to settle." He struggled to kneel and Liam gave him a hand. Then Markus’s nails extended into claws and his eyes turned blood red. "This is for all those other werewolves you tortured and killed in that godforsaken basement."

As your brother –your soft, kind-hearted and protective brother– raised his claws for a final slash, you reached forward, trying to stop him. "Wait, Markus! No, don't!"

It was too little too late. Markus’s eyes returned to their natural colour as he wiped the blood from his fingernails.

Monroe's neck was ripped open, arteries spraying outward.

Peter's smirk grew into a satisfied grin. Liam and Scott battled with their emotions while Stiles looked away.

Braeden groaned, but it was hard to tell her position on all this. "You know… I didn't miss you guys. Not one damned bit." she said as she walked towards the car Theo was leaning against. "I'm driving." He didn't protest. He seemed impartial. Like none of this phased him.

You stared in shock as you watched your brother's face get sprayed by a severed vein. Derek shifted your body away from the gruesome scene and you instinctively buried your face in his chest. Warm tears streaming down your face. It was hard to tell what you crying for. Was it for your brother? Yourself? Monroe? You couldn’t tell, but it felt good to lose the tension in your body.

"What now?" Scott asked dryly.

Derek spoke quietly as he smoothed your hair back with calloused fingers, "We lay low."

"That's a temporary solution," Liam argued. "What happens after that? We can't keep scraping by hoping to get lucky. This Order of Sagittarius is relentless. And also unkillable from what we've seen. Frankly, I'm exhausted."

You could hear Markus's long legs stride back to the car over Derek's strong heartbeat. Your face still pressed to his warmth.

"The Homestead," Markus offered, his voice croaky. "You'll be safe there. For a while at least. My sister Esme and our family druid Maggie have been doing research on the hunters you're talking about since the incident. Maybe we can combine our heads and finally figure out how to stop them."

"Road trip it is," Theo's voice sounded out before you heard the car doors open and close. An engine roared to life with a vibrating rumble.

"Come on," Derek ushered you towards a car. "Let's get you home."

During the drive you had fallen asleep cocooned inside the heat of Derek’s embrace, a calm befalling your mind and body as you slept without dreaming.

You were glad you’d been wrong.

You were glad that none of you had died in that church.

Mostly, you were glad Derek was beside you.

Next Chapter>>

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#derek hale #teen wolf #derek hale x reader #derek hale x you #reader insert #teen wolf imagine #derek hale imagine

[officialleehadan]

Do Not Microwave

Lancelot coughed blood as a bullet tore through his chest, into his heart, and out the other side. Knees weak as his heart struggled to mend, he collapsed onto the hard-packed dirt and dizzily watched his life-blood color the earth.

Kay was still bunking down with Bevidere, it seemed.

Death-wounds always took the longest to heal When Lancelot struggled back to his feet, feeling significantly less happy than his already-crappy day would account for, there were two pairs of very expensive combat boots before him.

Boots that were, as it happened, attached to two more of the Knights of the Round Table.

“Feel better?” he asked, and spat a mouthful of blood out to join the rest. Bevidere had his long sniper rifle up over his shoulder, and was very smug with his perfect shot. Kay, as always, looked disagreeable. “Good shot. Thanks for putting it in my chest.”

“You’re too pretty to shoot in the head,” Bevidere said, apparently satisfied now that he had shot Lancelot on his friend’s behalf. Of all of them, he was closest with Kay, and they often traveled together. “Why are you here, dick-for-brains?”

“The Sword is back.”

Kay started to curse, turned, and stormed inside the secluded house. Bevidere watched him go and shrugged faintly. “You sure? Thought we left it in a rock.”

“The Lady caused a landslide and got it back,” Lancelot explained, and proffered a much better photo than the first few they found. They were tracking where the blade appeared, but so far, no luck. The appearances seemed random. “Arthur is reincarnated.”

“Guess you had better come inside,” Bevidere said reluctantly. “You cause trouble, I’ll shoot you a few more times. Any word from the Wizard?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Bread and beer,” Kay said when they got inside, begrudging but always a stickler for the traditions of hospitality. Bound by the ancient laws, Lancelot couldn’t start a fight, but neither could Kay. Lancelot looked down at the tray Kay thrust at him. The bread was stale, and the beer warm, but he took both without hesitation. “You’re looking for the Wizard?”

“Thought he would have showed up before, but last time I saw him, he was in Miami.”

“I do not want to go to the Colonies to get him.”

“None of us want to go to the Colonies,” Lancelot agreed, and broke a piece off the stale bred before cracking open the beer. “I’m sorry for Vietnam.”

“You blew me up,” Kay’s legendary temper, only ever held by a thread, snapped like a twig. He half-stood, looked at the beer in Lancelot’s hand, and dropped back into his chair with a glare that would have lit a letter man on fire. “Was it worth it?”

“Got Mordred at the same time. Took him five years to figure out where I hid his sword.”

“Where did you hide it?”

“You know that boiling lake in Dominica?”

“You didn’t.”

“Did you know they have a zipline that goes over it, now? Great ride.”

“…I might be able to forgive you for blowing me up.”

“So you’re looking for the Wizard. I assume we’re meeting at the Table?” Bevidere forcibly dragged them back on topic, although he was always game to cause Mordred trouble. “When?”

“Two weeks. I have tickets for both of you,” Lancelot proffered the envelopes over. Thanks to many years of careful money management, they had the cash for whatever they needed, and often took jobs here and there to make more. Lancelot sprang for the good seats and extra checked luggage, figuring that both Knights would want to bring their armories. “I’m also looking for Tristan.”

“The last time I saw him was Vietnam,” Kay said with a wince. Vietnam had been bad for everyone, and it took them a long time to cool down after a situation went that badly. Before he could say more, a shrill alarm went off, tinny and high. “Bevidere?”

“On it,” Bevidere said, and snatched up his gun on his way up the rickety stairs. Lancelot didn’t know what was happening, but drew his sword. “Door!”

“Got it. Lance, screen door in the back!”

Lancelot would always stand with another Knight, and went, easily finding his way through the small kitchen to the back door. Just in time, as three men in heavy body armor burst through.

But modern body armor was little use against a blade like his, and Lancelot tore into them, the tip of his sword finding the places where hard armor met. His sword, forged of a fallen star, bit deep through canvas and plastic. There was a very familiar coat of arms on their shoulders.

Mordred.

It was over before any of the three men fired a single shot. He shoved their bodies out the door and slammed it shut, throwing the latch for good measure.

Not that it would do much good; old wood and older screen were no barrier if you hit it hard enough.

But it would give him some warning if they tried again.

They did.

This time, a window shattered in, punctuated by the crack of Bevidere’s rifle somewhere overhead, and the rattle of the paired pistols that Kay favored towards the frond.

Lancelot snatched up the smoke grenade and chucked it back out the window, cursing between coughs. The door shuddered as someone tried to shove it open, and shuddered harder when they hit it hard enough to buckle the wood.

Lancelot decided that it might be time for a tactical retreat. He ran for the kitchen and discovered Bevidere thundering down the stairs, two duffle bags over his shoulders and a string of his own gas grenades in hand.

“Take these,’ he said and thrust the bags at Lancelot before pulling the pins on the grenades, and stuffing them into the ancient, worn microwave. It beeped cheerfully as he cranked the power and turned it on. Lancelot tossed one of the bags back to him as they went for the front door. The back door shattered in, but it wouldn’t matter in a moment.

“Car!” Bevidere yelled, and Kay nodded without looking over his shoulder.

Together, three Knights hit the waiting men, a whirl of steel and guns. The men outside, a round dozen if Lancelot had to guess, scattered back, not expecting their prey to run straight at them.

“Cover!” Kay called when the last body hit the ground. An ominous rumble filled the air, and they all ducked behind Kay’s beaten-up white truck as the house detonated. Debris flew in every direction, and Lancelot began silently listing the reasons why he hated running with these two. “Anyone still moving?”

Bevidere peeked up over the truck and sighted along his gun. Lancelot stuffed his fingers in his ears as it cracked once more. “Nope.”

“Good. Who’s driving?”

“I am,” Lancelot said, and dusted himself off before handing the duffle bag to Kay. “Here. Armor and weapons if I’m any judge.”

“Glad my good stuff wasn’t here,” Kay muttered, but vaulted into the back of the truck without hesitation. Moments later, Bevidere did the same. “Get us to the airport. We’ll call the other Knights and tell them that Mordred sending strike teams to bring us down.”

+++

Knights of the Round:

King Arthur, the king of legend, died in ancient times. His Knights, however, drank from the Grail and became immortal. But the Sword in the Stone has gone missing, and the Lady of the Lake has once more been seen.

Sword and Beast (Subscriber Only!)

Cousins in Arms (Subscriber Only!)

+++

More Stories!

+++

#lancelot #king arthur #knights of the round table #gawain #galahad #pellianor #knights of the round #tristan #excalibur #legend #myth #mythology #guns #blood #mention of death #mention of violence #mention of blood #death #violence #gun #sword #swords

[boshaw-manor]

‘Some people call this wisdom.’

Rook’s head lolled, her chin running against her chest. What the fuck had happened? One minute she was driving, the next she was knocked out.

‘Agh my head...’ Her blood ran cold at the sound of that voice. She knew it too well.

‘You’re fuckin’ tellin’ me.’ That one too. How the fuck had this happened?

‘What kind of sick joke is this?’ Rook choked, tilting her heavy skull to look over her right shoulder. Just as she thought, there was John Seed. And as she moved her head to the left, Jacob. Excellent. This was fucking excellent. The three of them were tied together on chairs, heads touching.

‘National guard.’ Jacob coughed, a fleck of blood dotting onto his bearded chin.

‘They did this?! But I’m a good guy!’ John gave a bitter laugh at my protest.

‘They don’t care which side you’re on. Wanna clean out this cess-pit of a county for good by the sounds of it.’ Jacob started to writhe under the grips of his bonds.

‘Yeah and in all honesty Deputy, you’ve killed just as many people as we have. Your hands aren’t exactly clean.’ John retorted, his arms swaying a little as Jacob wriggled around. Rook’s own wrists jangled as the solider tried to free himself.

‘S’not happenin’. They got us good and tight.’ He grunted, ceasing his movement and slouching in his chair. Sighing, Rook racked her brains for a way out.

‘Oh! Jacob, can you reach my back pocket?’

‘Can try.’ His fingers grazed the fabric of my jeans. ‘Nothin’ there.’

‘Dammit. They must’ve frisked us.’

‘Go figure.’ John said sarcastically, tilting his head back and smashing it into Jacob’s. Nibbling at her lip, Rook looked down at the legs of the chairs and the bonds keeping them constrained. Her gaze rose to a small table on the corner, where a pair of small scissors lay beside a pot of pens.

‘Hey look.’ She nodded towards the desk and the Seed brothers turned. ‘Scissors.’

‘They’re way too small to cut through ropes these large.’ John sighed.

‘It’s better than nothing.’ Rook looked down at the chair legs again. ‘Unfortunately not everyone is as stupid as you and we’re tied to chairs without wheels. We’re gonna have to jump it together.’ John scoffed at her comment but said nothing.

‘Could work.’ Jacob agreed. He appreciated that Rook was smart and was willing to try whatever was needed to get free.

‘Okay. Okay. On three we’re gonna shift. One, two, three!’ The chairs hopped in unison and they landed wobbly on the ground.

‘Huh.’ John seemed surprised that it had actually worked.

‘Some people call this wisdom.’ She said smugly at his astonishment. ‘One, two, three!’ Rook instructed again but this time the chairs wobbled a little too much upon landing. With a crash, they fell and Rook felt her ropes loosen. It was just enough for her small wrists to escape. Struggling upright, she stumbled a little and had to brace herself on the desk. Head swimming, Rook had to take a few long breaths to steady herself. Now she had the next problem to tackle. What to do with the two Seeds lying on the floor behind her?

‘Deputy-‘ John started to speak, his cheek pressed against the wooden floor. She studied the two of them and then sighed.

‘I’ll let you both free if we can call a truce. Just until we get out of this mess.’

‘Fine.’ Jacob grunted, his normally neatly quaffed ginger hair sprawling over the side of his head. Rook turned her attention to John who begrudgingly nodded, using his bottom lip to spray his unkempt hair out of his eyes. Kneeling beside Jacob, I untied his ropes first and helped him upright. Dusting himself off Jacob then helped John and we stood in a triangle, unsure of what to do.

‘Right.’ John strode to the door and tugged on the handle. It shook tightly, clearly locked. ‘Worth a shot.’ He mumbled, standing back and surveying the room. His blue eyes trailed up the wall and landed on a vent. ‘Up there.’

‘It’s too high.’ Jacob stated, walking over to stand beside his brother.

‘What if I sat on your shoulders Jacob?’ Rook joined them, peering up at the metal grate.

‘I don’t think you’ll be able to reach-oof!’ Before he could finish speaking, she flung herself onto his back and was scrambling up him like a tree. Swinging her legs over his shoulder blades, she stretched for the grate but couldn’t quite reach it.

‘John, climb on me.’ Rook instructed and the baptist recoiled.

‘I’m not going in there!’

‘Yes you are, c’mon.’ She sighed and he frowned, clambering up Jacob’s back and then up onto Rook’s shoulders.

‘Can... we... fucking... hurry... this... up?!’ The soldier huffed, struggling to hold everyone’s weight.

‘I’m trying!’ John griped, pushing his hand down on Rook’s head to balance himself as he tugged at the grate. It fell away in his hand and he dropped it to the floor with a loud clang.

‘In ya go.’ Rook bounced him forward and John recoiled a little at the sight of all the dust.

‘But these are new jeans!’

‘Just... go!’ Jacob growled, wheezing a little as a sweat broke out on his forehead.

‘Alright, alright!’ Bracing himself, John clambered into the vent and began to crawl along. Rook jumped off of Jacob’s back and he let out a sigh of relief.

‘You’re heavier than ya look.’ He heaved, bracing his hands on his knees. Rook patted him on the back sympathetically and half expected him to bite her hand off. But he didn’t, pulling himself upright and shifting his hair back into its usual style. The two of them waited in silence until they heard a thud from the other side of the door.

‘Okay I’m through.’ John’s voice crept under the crack of door.

‘Is there a key or anything?’ Rook asked openly. There was a lot of shuffling and opening of drawers until footsteps approached and the lock turned. John opened the door, his hair dishevelled and clothes coated in a thick layer of grey dust. He was not impressed.

‘Right let’s move.’ Jacob marched ahead, leading the way. Rook chuckled as she walked past John, the grimace painted on his expression a priceless treat. Walking in a line, they snuck through the coridoor and crouched beneath a nearby window.

‘So what’s the plan now?’ Rook asked Jacob as he scanned the land outside.

‘We seem to be in some sorta compound... there.’ Jacob pointed at a slightly crumbled wall. ‘If we can get across the courtyard we could jump out over there.’

‘You seem to be brushing over the small matter of all of these guards.’ John hissed, pointing out the various snipers and gunmen patrolling the ground.

‘A small bump in the road.’ Rook cracked her knuckles and Jacob chuckled.

‘Like the way ya think Deputy.’

‘Uhm, hello? I’m not exactly the fighting type.’ John smoothed his hair back under his sunglasses. But Jacob wasn’t listening, his eyes drawn to an open door down the hallway. Shifting past both Rook and his brother, Jacob darted into the room and his eyes grew wide with wonder. Picking up an assault rifle, he ran his hands over it neatly before tossing it Rook’s way. She caught it and grinned at him, hanging the strap over her shoulders.

‘Nice toys.’ She mused, grabbing some grenades and hanging them from her belt. Jacob took a sniper rifle, flicking his tongue over his teeth excitedly. He loved the feel of a weapon in his palms. It fuelled him. John meanwhile was turning a metal baseball bat in his tattooed hands, practicing swinging it with some ‘oomf’. This was the first time they’d been armed but on the same side. In this moment, they could kill each other. Within seconds actually. But instead, Rook took her place between the two brothers as they strode out onto the compound. Reeling her arm back, she threw a grenade onto the ground.

‘Get back!’ One of the guards screamed as it exploded, sending a sea of bodies flinging into the air. Jacob hoisted his sniper up and started to take them out one by one as John flanked us. Spraying bullets across the compound, Rook clenched her teeth hard. She caught sight of one guard running full throttle right at her in her peripheral vision.

‘John to my left!’ She instructed, unable to stop firing in time to take him out.

‘On it!’ He replied, darting round and battering the guard down until his skull was a bloody mess. An alarm started to blare, almost shattering Rook’s eardrums.

‘We gotta move. They’re callin’ fuckin’ reinforcements!’ Jacob commanded, ushering John to run towards the fallen wall. Rook continued to shoot at the oncoming wave of guards. ‘Deputy, now!’ The soldier grabbed her by the back of her neck and dragged her towards the wall, shooting over his shoulder. John scrabbled up the debris, balancing on the column and dangling an arm down. Jacob thrust Rook forward, covering her as she grabbed onto John.

‘Got’cha.’ He murmured, tugging her weight up to safety. They hopped down onto the other side of the wall in unison. In one movement, Jacob hoisted himself up and over the barrier, bursting into a sprint straight away. Rook and John jogged alongside him until they were a few miles away from the compound. Resting against a tree trunk, Rook paused to get her breath.

‘Y’know,’ She huffed, looking at a sweat covered Jacob and John who was crouching on the forest floor. ‘We make a pretty good team when we aren’t trying to kill each other.’

#far cry 5 #jacob seed #john seed #far cry #fc5 #john seed fic #jacob seed fic #deputy #junior deputy #prompt #fic #mine #I LOVE this

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the past - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 and all warnings

AO3

Chapter2

Mercy and Dylan were standing in the warehouse next to a van. There were more Don Falcone’s men but these two lead this business. Gun dealing was simple thing for most parts. It only went sideways if the Bat appeared.

“That woman, where is she?” asked Dylan.

“Over there, among the containers,” pointed Mercy. “She went all over the warehouse and then disappeared in shadows.”

“Sick,” grumbled Dylan. “I hate these guys for hire, all of them are freaks. Remember Deadshot?”

“Don’t remind me.” The memory of people killed by simple pin was still too fresh.

“How do we call this one anyways? Dark ninja lady?”

“Banshee,” the voice behind them said darkly. Mercy and Dylan almost jumped out of their skins. The woman stood behind them, scarf on her face, jingle bells on her belt and several weapons next to them. “They are coming,” she said and walked away. Mercy tried to follow her with her gaze, but once Banshee entered shade of crates it was like she disappeared.

“Freaks.”

Another van entered the warehouse. Out of it came five people armed to teeth. This was very friendly business, Mercy recognized two of them. These sells usually went smoothly.

Banshee overlooked the whole situation. She was more used to excitement. This bored her. When she offered her services, she hoped for more hitman jobs. Being a bodyguard and waiting for the Bat to appear… she could have just spent her evening watching TV.

People down there were talking, showing each other goods, smiling even. Banshee let herself get lost in thoughts. This was her fourth week in Gotham so far. She expected it to be harder. The toyshop even had a few customers already.

The boring sell was over. Everybody turned to leave. Banshee stayed in the shadows, her time will come. She needs to clean the booby-traps she set. All that preparation for nothing.

No, not nothing. You got paid, remember?

With a sigh she started to clean. While taking down the sound traps, a rustle of fabric sounded through the place. Banshee turned fast but nothing was there. She frowned, someone was here, they will not slip away.

Banshee made two steps, looked around, a sound mine firmly held in her hand.

Nothing.

She felt her heart speeding up. She jumped away just in time. Batarang missed her. She tossed the mine the way she expected the attacker. High frequency waves filled the room. The rhythm bounced of her heart making her chest painful.

Then she saw him lurking in the shadows. She took out a gun and shot two times. Missed. He disappeared among the boxes. Banshee jumped up and turned on another sound grenade. Her body got used to crazy beats over the years but even herself couldn’t take them forever. Covering your ears wouldn’t work because the frequency attacked the body.

The Bat stumbled in the darkness revealing himself. She jumped on him, kicked him. He tried to dodge, he caught her punches but couldn’t hold her long enough to stop her. Punch, kick, he started bleeding from the nose. The noise intensified and even Banshee felt copper taste in her mouth.

In final attempt he moved away and grappled way from her. He disappeared.

Banshee stood there breathing heavily. She couldn’t believe her eyes, she felt like she was fighting her old friends, like…

Her body trembled. She didn’t have this reaction for years!

Banshee turned off the sound mines. She breathed out, her heart calmed down, and held her shirt under which her necklace was hidden.

“You still here?” she asked empty warehouse. “I have a question.”

But she was all alone.

***

That night Miranda walked home, and she noticed a person standing at the end of the street. She blinked and the silhouette was gone.

***

Leading a double life was standard for her at this point. She loved her job, the excitement of the hunt. But too much excitement can kill you. That’s why she divided herself. Miranda Bradbury, nice shopkeeper, enjoys pizza and alcohol and loves to sing loudly when alone. And Banshee, assassin, gun for hire, wanted in all fifty states. And both of them on the run.

She was sitting in her shop when a customer came in. She jumped on her feet. Everyone would recognize the face and in real life, he was even more handsome than the gossip magazines made him look. Bruce Wayne.

“How can I help you?” she asked and almost spilled tea all over herself and the counter. Gotham’s billionaire walking into her shop? That was crazy!

“Miss Bradbury is it?” he smiled with perfect teeth. “I’ve heard you redecorated this place.”

She didn’t know what to say so she just nodded, dumbfounded.

“I love to see old places getting new, better reputation,” he continued to look around.

“Glad to help.”

He laughed shortly and leaned over the counter. “There is this charity event for local orphanage. So, I was thinking about donating toys. I am sort of collector myself, I have this giant T-Rex from Jurassic Park replica in my basement, so when I was looking for likeminded people, I found your shop.”

“I have no words,” joked Miranda. Straight to the point, these billionaires. “Nobody every called me nerd this nicely before. I can give you discount. For the kids.”

“Thank you, that’s great! Can we make really big order?”

“Sure.”

“And I will make sure to send you the event invitation. My treat.”

***

That’s how Miranda got into this gala evening. She felt very inappropriate in her cheap dress among all these posh, rich people. She stood by the bar, drinking one glass after the other. Formal events didn’t interest her much, but it was a good marketing. Despite everything, she cared for the shop. It gave her money, it made children happy, it was her base for illegal deals.

She’s seen Bruce Wayne flirt with every woman he met. So, the magazines didn’t lie, he was a playboy. Good on him, when you can enjoy a life, you should do it.

Watching the crowd got tiring fast. She was scanning the room, ate some finger food from time to time. The atmosphere of music and laughter got to her. Or maybe it was the alcohol. She saw the silhouette again.

This time closer.

Someone walked past her field of vision.

The shape disappeared.

That’s it! No more drinking! She gathered herself and went to find a bathroom. The building was full of small corridors leading to nowhere. She ended in one of those.

No toilet. But at the end of the corridor she saw three man in masks holding one of the servers in front of them like a human shield, gun aiming at server’s head.

Miranda stopped. The armed people noticed her. She was too far away for them to grab her, but also too far for any self-defence. ‘Great,’ the thought, ‘next time, bring a knife.’

They did only logical thing. Shot at her with their silenced guns. She did only logical thing. Ran behind the corner and went fast for the main hall.

“Watch out!” she shouted but the loud music silenced her. ‘Well, every man for himself,’ she decided and ran up the stairs. She didn’t trust the main door. Windows or a roof will be her way out.

She went up one flight of stairs, almost knocked one of the waitresses over, and stopped dead in her steps. On the top of the stairs stood… a man? Dressed as bad Halloween decoration in scarecrow costume with scythe in one hand and gloves with sharp nails.

It’s an ambush led by crazies! Damn you Gotham!

The man didn’t say a word. He held his scythe high and slashed towards her. She jumped backward and stumbled. She moved one more time kicking her high heels off. No need to break your neck when you can be chopped to pieces.

The crowd downstairs started to scream. The armed men finally walked in. Sound of gunshots quickly silenced the music and the fun.

Miranda thought about the best approach. Scarecrow was walking down slowly; the bullets were flying downstairs. She calculated. Yeah. She was fucked.

“There is no getting away,” whispered the man scythe ready.

“Oh, tell me about it,” she snarked and went for him head on. He cut at her, she went close and caught the scathe by the handle. She kicked him in the guts, he bent from the pain, not letting go of the weapon. Scarecrow gathered himself and then grabbed at her with the glove, scratching her chest as she dodged.

Too late she realized he wasn’t going after her neck. When he held the hand up the tiny silver ball dangled in front of her. She screamed in shock, then he pushed her down.

She fell hard on her back down the stairs. “No! Give it back!” she demanded and then…

They stood there. Around Scarecrow there were six of them. The ghosts hoovered and their shadows ate the light from her eyes and oxygen out of her lungs. She wanted to scream and run and cry. She couldn’t. Miranda stopped breathing, she felt her heart beating quickly, nearly jumping out of her chest. The ghosts came closer and closer.

Their cold hands on her neck, on her chest, in her mouth. Choking her.

Scarecrow stood there watching. Even if she could, she wouldn’t see his expression. Yet he seemed pleased.

But she was dying.

She had no other care in the world. Body numb, lungs crippled. Death.

And then the world went dark.

***

It was supposed to be a quick hit and run. Gather the money from rich Gothamites, maybe test new smoke grenades and then leave. The research won’t pay itself. Scarecrow didn’t want to risk running into the Bat. He had healthy respect towards the detective. He had plans for him that didn’t include meeting him tonight.

But he also didn’t expect to meet Miss Bradbury. She tried to put up a fight and she was very good. He was sure she would have defeated him easily if he didn’t know her weak point.

He held the bell and watched her squirm. It gave him pleasure seeing people scrapped to their basic instincts. They scream, they fight or flight, they panic… brain is a brilliant machine. Fear it beautiful and it tastes like power. Grandma knew. Jonathan also knows.

But this pleasure vanished being replaced by sheer curiosity. Miranda Bradbury didn’t fight. Neither did she flight. She screamed, stumbled and then nothing.

He kneeled next to her.

No pulse. No breath.

“What?” he whispered to himself. He’s seen people die of fear. Their hearts giving in to pressure. But this… She just made him more curious.

What if…

Nonsense.

He did it anyways. He placed the silver ball in her palm. It made a small jingling sound as he handed it out.

Nothing. No change.

Of course, what was he thinking?

Shouting brought his attention to hall. “Damn it,” he mumbled as the Batman took out first guy. No time to waste, this was a fail of the bust. Jonathan threw one of his smoke grenades to the crowd. He turned to run.

He felt fingers slip of his ankle.

Miranda watched him, to weak to grab him.

“Interesting.”

Time to flee.

***

“Are you okay, miss Bradbury?”

Miranda stood next to the bar. She was drinking wine someone left standing there. Medics already took every shaken and screaming person out. Not her. She was fine. She was okay. She didn’t need help. She. Was. Fine.

She took another glass. Then finally looked at Wayne.

“Little shaken,” she answered. A little? Miranda, dear, you nearly died. They had you. You felt them eat your soul. Cut your life piece by piece. They got you. All thanks to that jerk.

‘Doctor-patient confidentiality my ass,’ she thought angry at herself.

“Let me take you home,” offered Wayne.

How thoughtful. Problem was, she didn’t trust him. Her low-life criminal scum moves to Gotham and in few weeks damn Bruce Wayne is offering her a ride. Right after Batman kicked ass near her. Seemed to be too big of a coincidence.

“No, thank you. I think I will walk. Clear my head,” she smiled at him drinking one more glass in one go. Let the sweet unconsciousness take her.

“As you wish. Just be careful,” he backed away. Maybe she scared him with her stare or alcohol odour.

So, she walked. In this huge city it would take her hours. She didn’t care. There was a time she spent days walking barefoot on snow and sharp rocks. Miles and miles until every inch of her body became numb to pain. To every feeling.

Why did she remember now?

Oh, right, she left her shoes in the hall.

Fuck, Miranda, what were you thinking! She stopped, leaned on disgusting Gotham wall and stared at the blimps flying overhead. Think clearly! How hard is it, you stupid bitch!

There were no stars visible. She remembered skies full of lights. She used to watch them every evening as a reminder she is still alive. Shimmering in the night sky – yes, still alive after hours of pain and torture and training. Still alive.

What will remind her here? Blinking lights of blimps? The Bat symbol shining on the heavy dark clouds that seemed to never go away? How can she be sure she isn’t one of them? A ghost?

“What’s beauty like you doin’ on a street like this?” The voice snapped her from memory land. Drunken man was walking towards her, knife in hand. “Gimme your jewellery and I will not gut you,” he chuckled.

“Fuck off, I am not in the mood.”

“What’ya say?” he blinked in surprised and got angry immediately. “You whore I tried to be nice!”

He stabbed at her. She caught his hand, broke his wrist in one fast movement. Silenced the scream before it even started by kicking him in the head.

He lay there like a sack of potatoes bleeding from the corner of his mouth.

Like an alarm clock, the rush of adrenaline finally awoke her from dizziness and bad memories. Finally, her mind cleared. It was all so obvious.

Jonathan Crane just tried to kill her.

Banshee will not let that pass.

Chapter 3

#batman #fanfiction #jonathan crane #ghosts of the past #scarecrow #miranda bradbury #sick raven writing

[notwhelmedyet]

Dratchtember Day 4

Prompt: Love and War

Angst/Whump/AU: Ratchet finds himself captured by Decepticons and ends up fighting Deadlock to the death...unless rescue can get to both of them first. (also on ao3 here)

"Ratchet, don't do this," Skipshot whispered.

Ratchet pulled away and tried to give the kid a reassuring smile. "Sorry, Skip, I don't think this is an optional activity."

"Come on," the genericon said, grabbing Ratchet's collar by the train and trying to bodily haul him out of the cell. Ratchet's feet scrabbled on the smooth flooring, trying to keep up so the big lug didn't crush something important.

The Con dropped him at Bludgeon's feet and then settled back to lurk menacingly.

"It's been so long, doctor. I've been missing you," the Decepticon general said, optics promising that he still remembered everything* that had happened the last time Ratchet had suffered the misfortune of his hospitality. Comparatively, a fight to the death against one of these brutes promised to at least be short.

"Bludgeon, breaking ranks again, I see," someone sneered,. Ratchet knew that voice. It was -

"Deadlock, I told you to mind your tongue. I suggest you do so before I am forced to rip it out and feed it to you," Bludgeon growled.

Deadlock sauntered over, ignoring the glares of Bludgeon's guards with a smile on his lips. He paused beside Ratchet and looked at him for a for a long moment. "I just don't see how the entertainment value of watching this one bot die is worth what Megatron is going to do when he realizes you've fragged his prisoner exchange. He's a noncombatant, it wouldn't even be an interesting fight."

Bludgeon roared and lunged forward - frag, Ratchet had assumed a monster with that much bulk would move a lot more slowly - grabbing Deadlock around the throat and lifting him into the air. "You will be silent," Bludgeon roared. "It is not your place to question the orders of your commander."

Deadlock didn't look particularly concerned, given that Bludgeon could probably rip his head off his shoulders if he got riled enough. "You're not my commander. Telling you to back down was my orders," Deadlock hissed.

Bludgeon dropped him and Deadlock sprung back to his feet, stupid fragging smile still on his face.

"You are under my command and you will obey my orders," Bludgeon commanded. The air of petulance rather undermined the menace in his voice.

Deadlock stared at him.

Bludgeon stomped closer, pushing his grotesque face into Deadlock's. "Either you do what I say or I deliver back to Megatron a dead spy."

"Well, what are your orders?" Deadlock asked, amusement plain in his voice.

Bludgeon considered for a moment and then began to laugh. "You. You will fight him."

Deadlock glanced over at Ratchet again, triumph his his eyes, and Ratchet realized that this was the plan. Somehow. It didn't seem to make much of a difference who did the executing but maybe Deadlock was sentimental.

He'd not missed the...thing, between him and Deadlock. They'd crossed paths a few times, almost all of them in situations where Deadlock had every opportunity and often direct orders to render Ratchet dead and yet Ratchet was suspiciously not dead. Ratchet had tried not to fuel whatever this was but he was pretty sure Deadlock knew his...interest was returned. Not that Ratchet would ever do anything about it - Deadlock was the enemy and unless he wanted to defect that was the end of it, so far as Ratchet was concerned.

"If that's what you want, Bludgeon," Drift said. "Still not going to be a very interesting fight. But I'll try my best not to be killed by the unarmed noncombatant."

"You're right," Bludgeon said. "We should even the scales a little. Hand over your weapons, Deadlock."

Deadlock looked less than pleased at the suggestion but the troops on this ship were all Bludgeon's loyalists, even Ratchet could see that he didn't have much of a choice. Of course, a not evil army wouldn't have Bludgeon as one of their generals, which would rather prevent this kind of sticky situation.

Deadlock disarmed, passing the contents of a small armory to one of the surrounding genericons - two blasters, a sniper rifle, several grenades, an electrowhip and several knives that he'd had tucked under his plating.

Bludgeon waited until he was finished, and then took one of the knives and tossed it at the floor by Ratchet's feet. "This is for you," he said. "Try to put up a fight." Next he picked up one of the blasters, looking it over with a casual eye, like a mech inspecting an interesting bauble at a secondhand store. "And this is for you," he said, leveling the weapon and shooting Deadlock through the shoulder.

Deadlock went still, body rocking back from the impact and then returning to equilibrium. He looked so unaffected that for a moment Ratchet thought the neural feedback had knocked him offline. Then his optics flickered over towards Bludgeon and Ratchet recognized the sheer fury in his face. "Are you done?" Deadlock asked.

"I think I am," Bludgeon agreed. "Let us move on to the main event."

The guards formed ranks around Ratchet and Deadlock, their locked shoulders forming the ring. Ratchet wondered if the other prisoners could see him from their cell. He hoped not - this was probably going to be embarrassing and short. He ducked down to grab the knife and then surveyed his opponent. Deadlock was poking at the hole through his shoulder, but when he saw Ratchet staring he dropped down into a low crouch. "You waiting for something, doctor?" Deadlock asked.

And then he lunged at Ratchet.

Ratchet had learned how to fight from Roller, back in the day. Roller had emphasized to him, over and over, that maybe some people were talented at fighting and some weren't but the thing that mattered most was who had put in the work and practiced until they didn't need to think about what they were doing anymore. Ratchet could never get in that flow state for more than a few seconds at a time before his brain started outrunning him. Deadlock landed the first hit, whacking Ratchet on the back of the head and sending him stumbling.

Ratchet spun on his heel at jabbed at Deadlock, using his blade to keep him out of grappling range. Deadlock dodged backwards and someone in the crowd jeered.

There was a message in Ratchet's remote upload queue. He did not have time to read spam mail, not if he wanted to keep Deadlock from doing the fairly unpleasant things the anonymous 'Con in the crowd had just suggested. But Ratchet got lucky, managed to catch Deadlock's ankle as he was retreating away from Ratchet and sent him onto his aft. While Ratchet backpedaled he opened the message. Ratchet had always been too curious for his own good.

The message was a radio frequency and an encryption code. Ratchet locked optics with Deadlock, immediately certain of the source. Deadlock waved him on, like he was goading Ratchet to stab him. "Well, come on," he growled.

Ratchet tuned in to the frequency and set his decryption algorithm to the provided code. Immediately, Deadlock's voice was there in the back of his skull, like he was breathing down Ratchet's neck and whispering in his audial. >>Come on, come on, lunge already, they're going to notice.<< Deadlock hissed.

Ratchet wasn't in the habit of doing as he was told, but Deadlock was right. He charged and Deadlock slipped under his knife arm, grabbing him by the wrist and shoving him off balance. >>What are you doing?<< Ratchet radioed.

>>Buying time. Megatron knows. We've just got to survive until he gets here.<<

Deadlock bowled Ratchet over, throwing them both to the ground.

>>What are you doing?<< Ratchet asked again.

Deadlock scrabbled for the knife in Ratchet's hand.

>>Saving your life<< Deadlock replied. >>Do exactly as I say. Now swing for my head.<<

Deadlock rolled off of Ratchet to dodge.

>>Get up. Now.<<

Ratchet shoved himself to his feet, noise of the crowd fading away as Deadlock's voice filled his head.

>>Chain attached to your collar. Use it to catch my wrist.<<

Ratchet did it, dragged Deadlock's good arm into a lock at his command.

>>Good. Use the knife to pin that hand into my back.<<

Ratchet hesitated.

>>Ratchet, do it. I need both hands disabled to justify not killing you.<<

Ratchet did it. Deadlock screamed, the crowd howled, and the world felt like it was fracturing in two as the voice on the radio thanked him. Deadlock squirmed away from him, trying to climb back to his feet and falling twice. Ratchet followed the voice forward to grab Deadlock by the finials and slam his head twice against the ground.

>>Okay,<< Deadlock said. >>Bad news, I'm gonna bite you. Sorry.<<

Deadlock got his teeth into Ratchet's wrist and then there was fuel everywhere and they were both on their feet, trying circling and feinting in accordance with Deadlock's careful choreography. Ratchet knew how hard it was to kill a Cybertronian - it was certainly possible to kill a mech bare-handed but it wasn't easy. He was more worried that Deadlock was going to pass out.

>>They're coming. Few more minutes.<< Deadlock said, like most one-on-one fights didn't last less than a minute. Ratchet caught him around the neck with his elbow and used the leverage to shove the knife deeper into Deadlock's back, at his direction. The kid shuddered with the pain and Ratchet's spark twisted. Deadlock was the enemy and that was the end of it. That was supposed to be the end of it.

>>Why are you doing this?<< He asked.

>>Love makes people do stupid things.<< Deadlock said. >>Fuck that hurt. Push your advantage, if you shove forward I'm going to fall. Do it.<<

>>I don't want to hurt you.<<

>>Now do it now do it now!<< Deadlock roared and Ratchet threw them forward, hitting the ground just as the first shots went off overhead. Laserfire, hopefully the cavalry. Ratchet covered his head and stayed low, pretended he didn't notice that doing so meant shielding Deadlock with his body.

>>Nobody's looking,<< Deadlock said over their radio link. >>Rescue's coming. Last chance, doc.<<

>>Last chance to what?<< Ratchet asked.

>>Well, you could kill me. Or you could kiss me. Take your pick.<<

That first stolen kiss was barely half a second. Megatron's loyalists were on them too soon, pulling them apart, sending Ratchet back with the other prisoners to be exchanged back for Soundwave. Deadlock's radio signal faded as Ratchet was carried back across the hold of the ship, like a signal decaying across miles or lightyears. >>You better not die,<< Ratchet said, though he was pretty sure Deadlock was unconscious and could no longer hear him. >>You didn't even kiss me back.<<

#dratchtember #dratchet #ficlets #my fics