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radical-sky · 1 year ago

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Shelter, part 1

don't you ever leave me alone, my war is over, be my shelter from the storm

One year post-Fallout, Ilsa joins the IMF, partnering with Ethan and his team. After their first mission goes catastrophically wrong, Ethan sacrifices himself in a desperate bid to save Ilsa's life. Believing he failed and she's dead, Ethan suffers the consequences of the unsuccessful mission. Five months later, the team - and Ilsa, get him out.

pairing: Ilsa/Ethan

wordcount: 4.1k

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, violence, graphic depictions/descriptions of torture and the aftermath, pregnancy, very minor mention of a suicide attempt.

AO3 (user restricted) here

ENDLESS thank you to the truly amazing @agentfaust for the most thorough, in depth, and detailed beta anyone has ever given me. You are phenomenal babe!!

Ilsa can’t remember the last time she was tempted to fidget, all nervous ticks trained out of her before she was even with MI6. The old habits have never been as tempting as they are now, standing in a cold and damp third-world prison waiting for Ethan to be brought out to her.

Well, not just her. The White Widow stands next to her, her brother not far away. He scowls at Ilsa, not happy to be here and not happy to risk his and his sister’s lives on a job for her. It’s nothing sanctioned (if any members of your team are caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions) but the moment Benji had finally, finally found Ethan the team had gotten things moving as quickly as possible. Luther and Benji worked their computers nearly 24 hours a day, and Ilsa called favors and made connections in country wherever she could. Even Brandt was helping, pulling strings and doing as much as he could legally behind the scenes while staying their inside man at the IMF.

Luther or Benji (it doesn’t matter now because they both had been trying their damnedest to get it done) had hacked into the security system in the prison; cameras in every cell, interrogation room, the hallways. Not that any of them needed to see what they were doing to Ethan (in the two weeks since she first saw him on the grainy camera feed it’s all she sees when she closes her eyes, doesn’t need audio to hear his screams and the sounds they rip from his throat, or backdated footage to catalog what tool made each scar or bleeding wound on his body. Those pictures will be seared in her brain for all eternity. She wants and yearns and rages at the sacrifice he made for her, for them, and falls asleep with a screen playing live footage from his cell in her lap, showing him pressed back into the corner of the tiny cage, curled up protectively, shivering or trembling she can’t tell. Wishing she could tell him somehow I’m coming. I will get you out. I haven’t forgotten about you. you’re not disavowed to me. I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry Ethan).

They don’t have to watch the footage for long to decide that any escape that depends on Ethan getting himself out won’t happen. Without government backing and even with Brandt’s help they don’t have the resources or the manpower to storm the prison and break him out. That left one option, and it wasn’t one that any of them liked. The White Widow hadn’t been the least bit interested in taking a call from Ilsa until she’d said John Lark needs your help.

The team had debated on how to refer to Ethan, desperately wanting to keep his identity as an American agent secret. They knew he hadn’t revealed it, the terrorists would have auctioned him off or killed him if he had. The White Widow knew him as John Lark, and that was all it took. From there Alanna was easily bargained into breaking him out. To Ilsa’s trained eye she could tell Ethan intrigued the other woman. It wasn’t a jealous realization, wasn’t even a shock. It’s Ethan - people are drawn to him, he’s magnetic without even trying or meaning to be. Without even being in the room he can convince people to take jobs that are completely against what they usually do. Ilsa can speak to it herself, she knew she was burning a bridge when she saved him the first time, but despite her past, she couldn’t watch Vinter kill him in the most painful way possible. She’s never been in a relationship like the one with Ethan, drawn in and ready to sacrifice the mission for someone else. Ilsa had been ready to be out of the game for a long time, before Kashmir had believed that it would never - could never - happen. Ethan changed that. Changed her reasons for wanting out. She didn’t plan on falling in love when she tossed him the key in London.

Breaking him out had been the original plan, but when Zola studied the camera footage, guard patterns, and security he decided it would cost too many men. A second plan was formed, and the White Widow had brokered a trade as diplomatically as she always had; the prisoner who was arrested after a motorcycle accident on terrorism charges 5 months ago traded for cash and enough weapons for a small personal army. Ilsa knows she should be as worried about what the weapons will be used for as the rest of the team, but even though she is part of them now, she operated differently for so long that she’s almost forgotten what it’s like to have those concerns. It’s Ethan, surely any price is worth his freedom? (Deep down Ilsa knows Ethan would disagree, loudly, with his dying breath, that his own life is not worth a single innocent life.) Benji and Luther had come up with a secondary mission, running alongside the retrieval to guarantee there would be no innocent lives lost because of the weapons traded for him. It took another week for Alanna to acquire the weapons, leaving ample time for the team to gather the cash for Ethan and the separate cash for Alanna, one-half of the price for her involvement in the exchange. Alanna, just like the terrorists, had also required a two part payment, unable to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself to her. Ilsa doesn’t worry about the other half of Alanna’s fee, it's a problem for later. After Ethan is back and healed and whole again. She hopes he won’t be too furious with her for agreeing to it on his behalf.

So, now here she is. Not fidgeting. Not twisting her ankle or flexing her calf muscles and imaging she can feel the rods and pins holding her leg together, or the scar where her tibia bone punched through the skin of her calf, not twisting her arm and feeling knitted scars where the bones ground together excruciatingly.

And above all else she’s not resting her hand on the barely there bump on her stomach, the bump invisible and hidden beneath a loose blouse and trench coat. Invisible to everyone who doesn’t know her and Ethan’s secret.

———

The first mission wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be easy and wonderful and the start of the greatest partnership of his life.

So of course, like everything else in his life, it went to shit in 5 minutes.

He and Ilsa had never exactly named The Thing between them, except that it was theirs. He didn’t tell Benji and Luther (although greatly suspected Luther knew and Benji was suspicious), and Ilsa being a free agent didn’t have anyone to tell. They were each other's greatest secret, greatest weakness, greatest compromise. Because they did compromise each other. There was no question after they’d saved each other so many times, sacrificing the mission for them. The Thing started simply. After handing Lane off to MI6 they spent a week in London exploring each other's bodies carefully around broken ribs and bruised necks (and how he had enjoyed adding his marks to her neck and having her hands on his chest) telling stories and sharing the private, secret parts of themselves no one else knew - then a night Cape Town, a weekend in Moscow, six hours in Brussels, two days in Paris, traveling 8 hours to spend half that time in her hotel room in Athens. Whenever they could and their schedules overlapped enough, or if they even happened to be in the same time zone, they were together.

After Julia, he didn’t think he’d ever feel this way about another woman.

Any chance he could he’d pull her into his missions. Anything to have her by his side. Ilsa was always available and never said no. She was traveling a lot, but he didn’t think she was taking any other jobs as a free agent, waiting for him to call her and almost always close by. Ethan had wondered many times if she declined jobs and traveled to follow him, just close enough it was convenient. When Brandt told him Sloane had given him the approval to extend the offer of a permanent position with the IMF - with Ethan’s team - to Ilsa he was perhaps the happiest he’d ever been. The two of them together - partners - properly, permanently.

He never thought he’d be considering marriage again either.

So it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when it fell apart. The plan failed. His backup scenarios ran out. There were no more moves, no more chess pieces. So when he wrecked and went down, Ilsa dead in his earpiece, Benji too late to save her, a part of him, all hope, died with her. When he saw his pursuers approaching he was relieved, he’d never been so ready or willing to meet death than in that moment. To go where Ilsa would be waiting for him. He was already halfway there, a piece of rebar in his chest, internal injuries too numerous to catalog, his leg didn’t feel right, arm wouldn’t lift. Ethan closed his eyes, ready for the bullet that would end his life.

He certainly hadn’t expected them to take him alive, put him in the hospital, and get him just healthy enough that he’d survive the torture, and survive he did, but not as Ethan Hunt. As something else, a shell of a human. All hope lost. No prayer of rescue. He knew he was disavowed and no help would be coming. He tried to escape, more than once. Each time failed and each time it got worse. So he kept his mouth shut and took what they gave him. Didn’t utter a word except for the screams and shouts when it became too much. He’d already failed everything and everyone else. He couldn’t fail here. Couldn’t stand to betray his country on top of it all.

When his captors told him he was being traded for goods more valuable than him, he knew he had to end it or escape. He couldn’t do this indefinitely. Eventually, he’d break and the shell would crack and he’d be human again. So he plotted and planned, and when they came for him he knew what he had to do. His final mission, the last plan, the one to end it all.

———

The far door opens with a clang and three guards file in, dragging a body by a chain between them.

She’d known it would be shocking seeing him again and was already braced for what condition he’d be in, but she wasn’t quite prepared for how awful it would be to come face to face with the consequences of her own failures. How jarring it’d be to see Ethan so still and lifeless, compliant. She would’ve guessed he’d die before giving up.

Ilsa is the cynical one, she knows the harsh realities and cruelties of this world. She’s practical. She’s been the torturer and the assassin with no regard for the lives she’s affecting. But not Ethan, it was never supposed to be him that faced down the darkness of her world and had to, somehow, come out the other side. Ilsa has already done that. Too many times to count. It’s made her who she is and she’s not prepared to be on the opposite side of that. Ilsa had been alone for so long before him and no one had ever protected her like this before - sacrificing themselves to shield her from her own mistake. She hopes it hasn’t destroyed Ethan. Taken away his loyalty, compassion, the ability to see goodness in everyone, or the desire to protect everyone. It takes every bit of her not to step forward and cradle his body to hers when another guard grabs his legs and the two men toss Ethan into the center of the room.

Ethan hits the ground with a thud and multiple wet coughs.

“Fucker tried to kill himself. Been a long time since he’s had that much energy.”

Fury, hatred, and grief all ripple through her at the words, but the man spoke in his native tongue, one she isn’t supposed to speak. She keeps her face and body language impassive. This isn’t a man she’s deeply in love with. He’s a job, a mission required in the course of her duties. Nothing more than the man her employers want her to hunt down and bring to them.

If only it were that simple.

Ilsa steps forward and crouches in front of Ethan, fisting her hand into his hair. She pulls up harshly, detaching her mind from her body and what she is about to do. (Her mind is raking her eyes over him, unable to focus on one thing because her attention is immediately drawn to something else. There’s a thick chain fastened around his neck, tight to his skin and surrounded by some of the deepest bruising she’s ever seen. The end of it trails out from his neck, a mocking and sick impersonation of a leash. His hands are bound behind his back with rope that’s splotchy bright red with new blood and dark almost black of old, dried blood. She can’t see the skin of his wrists. She doesn’t want to. He’s shirtless and Ilsa can count his ribs where they protrude from his chest and the vertebrae of his spine down his scarred and bleeding back. She can identify where and what bones of his bare feet and hands have been broken and healed wrong because she’s done that, she’s broken those bones on prisoners before. She wonders what his legs look like under the ripped and torn tac pants he’s still wearing from the mission. Each breath rattles in and out across lips that are cracked and bleeding. Her eyes jump across him and she is seething, furious, ready to burn down th-) Ethan’s glare is still defiant when their eyes meet, and before he recognizes her he spits a wad of blood and saliva into her face. He starts to speak in a hoarse, raspy voice completely foreign to him “you might as well just kil-”

He cuts off as he realizes it’s her. Almost instantly his face collapses into the most profound display of grief and heartbreak and utter relief she’s ever seen. It’s an expression meant to be carved in marble, painted and displayed in a museum, or preserved in a book for all eternity but not on someone's face. Human beings aren’t supposed to look like that, especially not at her. Not for her, when she’s done so much wrong. There’s blood running from his bruised nose and congealing in the sparse hair on his lip. The smack she delivers to his face adds more to it.

“Хуй!” She swears in Russian and wipes her face as she stands and pushes Ethan away.

There is a simmering beast of rage burning within her. She has killed and tortured and maimed and done things that haunt her. Nothing will haunt her as much as the way his face instantly shuts off, all the emotion in his expression a moment before disappears. He doesn’t flinch or wince with the slap. Just takes it, and flops motionless to the ground. He’s nothing, a blank slate as if Ethan is gone, and here is his corpse.

“This is the target.” Ilsa still speaks in Russian, accent perfect, with no hint that it’s not her native tongue. No hint of the swirling emotions within her. She nods to the prison warden. Alanna, face a perfect mask, passes the backpack stacked full of cash to him.

“We can continue with the exchange then. I assure you, it’s all there. Couldn’t stay in the business like this if we didn’t ensure all terms were met on both sides.” Alanna says, perfect smile in place. Underneath it though, her skin has paled a shade. Shocked by the brutality Ethan has suffered.

The man takes it, a slimy grin exposing yellow teeth as he hands it to another man who excuses himself to count it.

“When my man confirms it you’re free to leave with him.” He rakes a dirty hand through his greasy hair and sends both women another nauseating smile.

Only in your wildest dreams, Ilsa thinks as she nods to him again. She expected nothing less, to everyone else this is nothing more than a business transaction.

The room waits in silence, save for Ethan’s rattling breaths. She glances at the White Widow whose face has gone another shade paler as she looks more closely at Ethan. Her brother behind her looks grim but is no longer glaring at Ilsa.

She refocuses on Ethan. He hasn’t moved since she slapped and pushed him back to the ground, hasn’t even turned his head so his face isn’t resting on the floor. His breaths begin to take on a wet quality and she steps over to him with less urgency than she feels. Ilsa pauses when she gets to him as if she’s considering, and carelessly uses her foot to push him up and onto his shoulder, the closest she can get him to the recovery position.

“Can’t have you dying before my employers get their hands on you can we?” She says, her voice low as she crouches back in front of him, trying to meet his eyes and communicate with just a glance like they used to. His stare is dead ahead, eyes unfocused. There’s a small pool of blood where his face was just resting on the ground, more running from his nose and mouth. It’s concerning, but not enough to be immediately life-threatening alone. She’s not sure if paired with the rest of his injuries and the disassociation it’s a significant concern.

She stays crouched by him, listening to his breathing and watching his chest rise and fall jerkily, winces as she can his broken ribs flex and expand under the skin that’s practically molded to them he’s so thin.

Ilsa stands when the outer door opens and the man who counted the money nods.

The warden looks at them, “It seems our terms have been met, the terrorist is yours. My men will move him to your vehicle. It’s a pleasure to do business with you, perhaps next time we’ll meet under more pleasurable circumstances.”

Ilsa wants to punch the man square in his smug face, maybe whip around his back and break his neck with her thighs. Instead, she nods and motions two guards forward.

“Carry him. My employers will not appreciate any more damage to the goods.”

The warden translates, and there is a brief bickering back and forth before the guards begrudgingly scoop Ethan up by his feet and under his arms. It’s not a long walk to the roof of the compound, but it still concerns Ilsa that Ethan doesn’t move or flinch throughout the journey no matter how many times the guards carelessly let him bump into the walls of the corridor.

Outside on the roof, the light rain from when they arrived has lifted, leaving the air damp and chilling to the bone. She instantly wants to shiver and pull her coat tighter around herself.

Ilsa points to the helicopter she arrived in, indicating where she wants the guards to set Ethan. They toss him in, none too gently. She dismisses them with a flick of her hand and they retreat back inside. She nods at Alanna and Zola, as they climb into their own helicopter.

Alanna has to shout over the sound of both helicopters spinning up, “I trust you’ll ensure he’s well healed by the time I need to call on the second half of my payment.”

Ilsa nods again, not needing another reminder of the other half of the agreement, “You have my guarantee.”

She nods to them in dismissal before ducking under the spinning rotors, stepping up into the helicopter, and sliding the door closed with a satisfying thunk when it latches. She reaches forward and taps Brandt, behind the stick of the chopper, on the shoulder, giving him the signal to fly to their first rendezvous point with Luther and Benji. His gaze is focused on Ethan, worry written in every wrinkle of his face.

As gently as she can she rights Ethan, crouching on the floor and leaning him against the fuselage of the helicopter. He’s still out of it, gaze empty and unfocused. Ilsa blinks back sudden wetness in her eyes and swallows a choking feeling rising in her throat before dragging the first of the multiple medical bags towards her, fishing a pair of medical shears out of a front pocket. She begins to reach behind Ethan to cut the ropes on his hands when he makes an almost imperceptible sound of pain, barely audible over the sound of the helicopter as it lifts in the air. She’d have missed it if she wasn’t leaning over him. As quickly as she can she leans back, gently cradling his body to rest back against the fuselage. His eyes are red and bloodshot, one swollen, and the other already surrounded by bruising. But they are staring directly at her, locked onto her face, his expression a mix of fear and hope, an open book to her always.

“Ilsa?” He asks in the same shattered voice as before.

“Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” She drops the medical shears and cups his cheek with one hand, the other cradling the back of his head, her fingers tangling into his hair.

Ethan is staring at her with so much intensity it’s almost overwhelming. Like she’s an oasis in the desert and he’s drinking her in, a dying man and she’s the thing he needs to survive. He leans his cheek into her palm, pressing into it and nosing into her wrist, eyes falling shut for the briefest moment before they snap open and he pulls his head up like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, eyes locked back on her.

“You’re real? You’re alive? This is all real?” Ethan’s eyes are brimming with tears and he’s not even trying to blink them away, afraid she’ll disappear if he takes his gaze off of her for even a millisecond.

She presses a kiss to his forehead, “It’s all real. I’m real, I’m alive. You’re alright, you’re okay.”

Ilsa swipes her thumb over the bruise under his eye, catching a tear as it falls and watching as his face crumples with relief. She pulls him into her, tucking his face into the side of her neck, pressing her own cheek on top of his head, one hand still tangled in his hair, holding. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. We’re both alive. You’ll be okay. The other arm wraps around him carefully, avoiding the worst of the wounds on his back and holding him close for the first time in five months, pressing them together, and wishing she could lay her claim on him. She’ll never be able to protect him entirely, but damn if she doesn’t wish she could. Soon she’s crying too, silent, as Ethan shakes in her hold.

I love you. I love you. I love you. She thinks.

They’re safe. Together. Alive. A weight she didn’t know was on her shoulders lifts, relief coursing through her so powerfully it leaves her feeling breathless, overwhelmed, and exhausted. There is a fine tremble running through her hands. She almost didn’t get this; holding him, kissing him, loving him.

The baby kicks, shifts inside of her and she holds back a gasp. The doctor who had performed the surgery on her leg had consulted an OB after confirming she was indeed pregnant. After the surgery, there had been conversations - what to expect and when, how often she should be coming in for check-ups, and more dietary and health recommendations for herself than she wanted to think about. The list had been endless, but she had been out of it with pain, grief over losing Ethan, and overwhelmed with shock that she was pregnant after a lifetime of being told she couldn’t conceive children. But now, thinking back, the doctor had told she’d start to feel kicks and movement around five months. Even with tears on her face, she smiles a bit. He’s already like his father with perfect timing. She presses more kisses to Ethan’s hair, making her way down his face with gentle touches of her lips to his skin, ghosting over his eye, trailing across his cheekbone, and collecting salty tears until she gets to his mouth. He surges up to meet her, pressing them together desperately and with more force than she thought he was capable of. Ilsa smiles into him, god she missed this.

Meet your dad, little man, he’s the best of us.

an: anyone catch the sneaky little line of dialogue i stole from rogue nation in there?? title of this fic and the lyrics at the beginning are from the war, by syml. also, xуй means dick in Russian

taglist (i made this from people who showed interest, please don't hesitate to ask to be removed (or added!!), absolutely no hard feelings): @valmare @thethistlegirl @alcafrach @izzypuppybutt

#mission impossible #ilsa faust fanfic #ethan hunt fanfic #mission impossible fic #ethan hunt #ilsa faust #ethan x ilsa #ilsaethan #ethanilsa #ilsa x ethan #rad writes #my writing

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 years ago

Note

I have been trying to see if any FNAF writers would do this request, since I am having trouble coming up for ideas with my own fanfic that has a similar premise (with a twist). It surprises me that nobody seems to have written this prompt yet from what I’ve seen. It seems like such an obvious idea…

Anyway, here goes nothing: Reader in one way or another ends up getting stuffed in a suit. This can be adjusted to fit almost any scenario, but for the sake of specifics lets say this reader is a FNAF1 night guard who gets got. What’s the aftermath? How does the reader react to this new body? How do the animatronics welcome the reader to their gang? Would the reader participate in scaring/killing with the others, or would they be opposed to it?

Cold.

Hollow.

Empty.

Pain.

That’s all you could feel as you opened your eyes, finding them straining to actually do so. As you rasped for air, you could sense something metal clogging your windpipe. Not crushing it, but still constricting it and causing you to generate an ugly hoarse wheezing-like sound.

You raised your hands up to scratch your throat, only to feel a bulky jaw.

Wait..

Bulky jaw?

Staring down at your hands, you found yourself looking at the paws....of Freddy Fazbear himself.

Oh..that’s right. You remembered now.

They caught you on your fifth nightshift here and shoved you into one of their spare suits...just like Phone Guy warned would happen.

You didn’t actually believe a word he said, finding such actions impossible for these old animatronics to execute without breaking themselves apart. But apparently it was possible considering you were here now, stuck in a suit.

Funny enough, you couldn’t even remember which one found you first.

Did it matter, though?

You were dead.

Hearing a creak, you turned your head to see the backroom door opening up, Bonnie stumbling in. His eyes remained black as coals as his voice glitched, head jerking on occasion--much like he did on the cameras when you were alive and watching him.

Apparently whatever “revenge” they hoped to exact by killing you failed, as they still looked miserable. If not worse than before.

You recalled some newspaper clippings about someone who lured children back here, only for them to go missing...and later on the animatronics started to reek of foul odors and mucus, behaving strangely around adults.

You wondered if that was a coincidence. It would explain their unusual actions.

Maybe they thought it was you, a guard, who did it and they hoped to put you through the same kind of suffering?

You didn’t know.

Yet Bonnie looked quite guilty, offering a hand to you.

“B..Bon--!!” For a second you were surprised at your voice, sounding similar to Freddy’s, yet still recognizable as your own.

Oh boy, this was gonna take a lot of getting used to.

You took his hand anyway as he helped you stand. Although you weren’t too keen on following your killers, what else could you do? Stay here forever and mope?

Soon you were wandering the halls of the pizzeria, leaving droplets of blood along the tiled floor until you eventually reached the dining hall where Freddy, Chica, and Foxy were off their stages and talking to one another.

You couldn’t understand them but they seemed to be arguing and...

Crying?

You knew for certain that you were the subject.

As Freddy slammed his microphone against the table, knocking off a party hat, you flinched and stumbled back into a chair, nearly falling to the floor. You attempted to swear out of reflex, but the voicebox shoved into you only resulted in a horrible robotic noise to escape instead.

Of course, you were made for children now. Gone were those days of casually cursing.

Suddenly all eyes were on you, as the room fell silent and you were just awkwardly regaining your balance, feeling one of your eyes hanging out of the suit’s sockets.

With an apologetic smile you pushed it back into place, looking back at the animatronics. “Hi..”

“Welcome,” Foxy was the first to actually speak. “This is..erm...a bit awkward but yer part of our crew now!” He grinned, waving his hook around.

“Guess I...have no choice..” You hoarsely chuckled, though you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing as everyone frowned again. “So..is...it all true?”

Freddy nodded, his blue eyes full of anguish. “Yes. All those rumors are true-e.” His voice glitched for a moment. “We thought for sure you were the one..th-the one who brought us so much pain.”

Tears began leaking from his sockets, as did the others. You swore you heard a child’s whisper overlaying his own voice on the last word, but maybe you were just hallucinating, still trying to come to grips with your new reality.

“You were here all five nights,” Chica spoke up next, holding her cupcake close as she sniffled. “Other guards left a-after day three, but you stayed. Since ya knew us so well, w-we were convinced you were them. And after so, so long...we really thought we could finally rest.”

"B-But we were wrong!” Bonnie sobbed. “We’re so, so sorry buddy..”

Your heart bled (figuratively speaking) for these lovable characters you promised your boss to watch over, now understanding why they hunted you down so mercilessly and chose this specific punishment.

Phone Guy’s calls and Chica’s words implied they intended to do this to every single nightguard they caught, calling it a “bug”. That’s what you thought it was and wondered why no engineers were called in to fix it.

But now you realized this wasn’t something that can be fixed by adjusting some wires.

No.

These were those missing kids, their souls somehow latching onto the gang and using them as vessels for vengeance.

Could you blame them for not knowing any better?

Despite the immense strain speaking did to your voice, you managed to comfort them by reassuring them you’ll help find their killer. But only if they promised not to blindly stuff future guards into suits unless you knew for sure they were guilty.

Smiling, you opened your arms up to them, the blood leaking between the joints, but you ignored it. “I know I’m..messy, but...family...group hug?”

The animatronics stared at you, before they accepted your offer one by one, no longer crying as they finally settled down.

‘Huh..they truly are kids..’

In your peripheral vision, you thought you saw a yellow bear suit sitting in the corner of the area, watching you with a closed mouth. He solemnly nodded to you before fading away.

You sighed.

Time to adjust to your new life here at Freddy’s...as an extra of the mascot himself.

#clanask #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #fnaf 1 #tw death #tw blood

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stupidfatpenguin · 3 years ago

Text

“Do you think it’ll work?”

Luke mulls over the question and watches Grogu by the pond where he skilfully stalks an unsuspecting amphibian, only occasionally halting his pursuit to look to where his father and Luke have escaped the heat in the temple shade, observing them with a hunter’s surveying eyes before returning to his prey.

Not for the first time Luke wonders just what kind of predator this species must be, if they have any natural enemies, and if all are so in tune with the Force as Grogu is and Yoda had been.

“It might.”

Din sighs when he hears the answer, even though Luke had given it with optimism. There is a sort of lingering desperation to him lately that he works hard to conceal, but which only serves to further endear him to Luke, like so many things about him do. But even the Jedi is starting to feel his patience wearing thin.

Grogu’s impression that the marks Din left on him in private moments were hurting Luke had been amusing initially, albeit a little embarrassing. He had thought the youngling’s protective impulse sweet, a reflection of his father’s own near self-sacrificing tendencies, but even Luke had failed to predict the extent of which they would be acted on.

follow up to ‘a healing touch’ read more below the cut, or read the rest on ao3

At first, it was like they had made a game of it: Din’s arsenal of experience and skills as a hunter pitted against Grogu’s stubbornness and control of the Force.

Grogu had quickly realised that the “harm” that befell him happened in the night-time when he could not watch them for any signs of their presumed fighting. Luke had laughed himself stupid when Din had told him about the night in the corridor, when his son had caught him on his way to Luke’s rooms and had consequently begun finding ways to sleep in them to ensure that his father wouldn’t lay hands on him, but the humour had begun to fade when Grogu’s insistence began testing his own restraint.

The other day, the tension built up from their days of unintended abstinence had snapped. They had retorted to hiding away in the hangar once Grogu was put down for a nap, finding each other in greedy moments stolen in Din’s ship and promises given with such fervour Luke could still feel it when he pressed the bruises on his hips that had lingered long after.

The marks had been left with more care, still red and vicious with the evidence of ardour and claim, but below the collar of the tunics and shirts Luke had begun wearing more rigidly—even on the days the heat and humidity was no less than choking.

Of course, even that effort had been in vain when Grogu, the very next day, had climbed Luke’s back to seek his attention, pulled the shirt just so and found the evidence of their rendezvous.

Grogu’s increased vigilance (and the aid of his abilities that he was gaining control over so rapidly Luke had begun to wonder if he drew some sort of motivation from his mislead scheme to “protect” him) had made it even harder to find any sort of respite.

It wasn't that he required the sex—the appeal of the Mandalorian he had invited to his bed went far beyond this after all—but it was, admittedly, nice. To feel wanted, and to feel desired the way he did when Din’s mouth and hands were on his skin, to feel so deeply and overwhelmingly loved the way he did when Din’s eyes stared into his in the aftermath, lax with devotion and bliss.

Now, this silly misunderstanding had made those moments scarce. Standing close was now a cause of scrutiny. A prolonged touch would be cause for distraction or interruption. They couldn’t even attempt to spar—Grogu was quick to pull Din away from him if he ever reached for a weapon. Neither he nor Din could tell how much longer this could go on for.

So he has to try. He will have to try and explain to Grogu that what is between his father and Luke is something good that he doesn’t need protecting from. Something that had over time become something strong and unrelenting, something so bright and infatuating that the only way to describe it with words would be… love.

He glances at Din, tripping nervously beside him, and feels his own love for this man swell in him then. “It might be best if you leave us alone for this. I have a feeling you will be too much of a distraction right now.”

Din looks like he wants to disagree, but his son meets his gaze then with a large, blue frog stuck in sharp teeth, and he thinks that Luke might be right.

“Alright,” he says to Luke. “I’ll be inside if you need me. I should get dinner started.”

He steps close to Luke, as if to kiss him goodbye as he would often do, but now he hesitates, nods instead and goes to do as he has said.

Luke watches him leave and feels an aching bitterness he hasn't really felt before at being denied such a simple thing, and vows then that he must find a way to end this silly misunderstanding—to free Din once more to the whims of his own wants that he had kept locked away so tightly under his beskar, until one day Luke had woken to lips on his shoulder and the helmet had stopped staying on when they were alone, the three of them… or even just the two of them.

He turns to his student and calls out.

“Grogu!”

The child turns to him at once like a magnet to its opposite pole and radiates an admiration and sense of belonging that never fails to make Luke feel like maybe he can be a teacher to this child in spite of all the ways he falls short.

“Come here! I want to ask you something.”

They sit down in the grass as if to meditate, but it is not the depths of the Force they’ll be exploring today.

Luke is suddenly uncertain where to start, wonders just how Grogu comprehends concepts such as family and love beyond his bond to Din… and that really is the key, isn’t it? As if a light clears away the cloudy darkness, it becomes obvious to him that this is one way to go about this.

“Grogu,” he begins, gaining the child’s unwavering attention as he reaches out to him, lets their thoughts and feelings mingle until a clear, unperturbed connection has formed between them.

Master, he senses the thought, laced with anticipation and excitement, but kept calm, as he had likely been taught on Coruscant. Grogu’s mind flashes to a memory that shows that this is indeed true, but before he can tell Luke more of this training Luke sends an impression of Din—of when Luke had first met the two, on the bridge of the Imperial light cruiser to which he had followed Grogu’s call.

“Show me.”

Grogu knows his meaning at once, and his presence fills with feelings and impression, something that had started small and uncertain but had grown and grown, a love so bright and pure and at the centre of it all is Din. The memories flitter by so quickly—some familiar, others are new to him—but in the mass of them is Grogu’s undeniable sentiment. Father. Clan. Safe.

Luke smiles, encouraging. “Yes. That feeling. Remember it well. It is the love that created your bond with him.”

Father. Warm, safe, love. Grogu radiates joy and content, and Luke reflects it, touched deeply by the love between the two, of all they have been through that had brought them together.

“Now,” Luke waits for Grogu to prepare, and then sends an impression of himself. “Show me our bond.”

What happens then is unexpected. It is almost overwhelming. The sense of belonging and gratitude and adoration and awe—and Luke is suddenly beginning to realise that Grogu’s depth of affection towards himself has grown far deeper than he had thought to anticipate.

Love? Grogu suddenly asks, and for a moment Luke is struck silent until it dawns on him that—yes, that is exactly what this is.

“Yes.” He breathes the word between them, but it rings loud and certain over their bond. “This, too… it is not so dissimilar to the way your father loves you.”

Grogu preens with this knowledge, is then a vast sea of impressions of moments between his father and himself, between Grogu and Luke, and they are all filled with such bubbling emotions of warm, safe, happy, love, love, love, that the Force itself seems to hum with them.

Luke stills a laugh that is ready to spill from his chest; he must reign this back onto the path he has set. Focus, little one.

I focus.

Luke marks his approval, and then heeds his own instructions.

“Now. Come search my feelings.”

He bids Grogu come into his own mind, and once he has Luke begins sharing his own impressions of Din up through their time together, careful to filter away any thoughts or feelings that he would not have his young student know, but the aching feelings he holds for Din remains, and his heart is light with them as he lets himself feel them, too, in their purest form.

Grogu, he finds, is focusing carefully, but there is something akin to confusion in him, even as the words in his thoughts appear clear and bright.

Master… love?

“That’s right,” Luke encourages, focusing on the feeling of relief that washes over him whenever Din’s ship enters the atmosphere, chasing away a lingering loneliness he sometimes still struggles to let go of. “What is between your father and I—it is a little different. But this, too, is love.”

The inevitable impression of himself, covered in bruises that seem far larger and more concerning than they do in actuality, flows through their bond.

Father hurt Master Luke.

Luke wonders for a long moment how to possibly go about this.

“He doesn't hurt me,” he says, truthfully. “It’s… it’s how he shows he loves me.”

Confusion continues to flitter through their connection, and Luke decides suddenly what might convey this the best.

He sends an impression of Din leaving. Of his ship breaking the atmosphere and of Grogu watching with his Mudhorn pendant grasped between his hands. Then, he shows an impression of himself, fingers touching the mark on his neck, and sends a pulse of longing and waiting through the bond.

So that I can remember him when he is not here.

The confusion gives way to a a slow dawning of understanding.

Luke wonders at his own resourcefulness.

Grogu retreats fully from his mind, and Luke lets him go, feels like something has changed in him. They sit bathing in the afternoon light, a serene sort of calm between them.

Grogu moves first, gets up and walks slowly over to Luke, who pulls him into his lap when he reaches for him.

“Do you see it now, Grogu?”

The child coos and emits nothing but affirmation, and he begins pulling on the sleeve of Luke’s left arm. Luke humours him, lets him touch and study the skin there… and is too late to stop him when he bites down on his arm with a chomp.

tl;dr: Luke explains love and relationships to Grogu. He succeeds--in a way.

#fic: a healing touch #dinluke #i'm sorry i can't stop #Grogu is too funny #I really just wrote 1.9k words to get to the punchline of this joke #deep sigh #salty writes

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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

Text

In His Clutches

Following up with what I said in my last post, I’ll try to do some requests for now until my mental health recovers enough to continue the Fox Wedding, and first on my list is a request I received over ko-fi and which got way too delayed because of yantober and christmas time >_< Please enjoy some Overhaul for a change!

Rating: Mature Warning: Yandere, Blackmailing, Forced Submissiveness, Rough Handling, Mentioning of Blood, Threats, Insults, Mentioning of Violence, Also Chisaki how he was before his arc I have no idea how he behaves currently lol Words: 2120

With the way your head met the linoleum floor, you wondered if the fluid you felt on your skin were tears or perhaps a bloody nose. Even if you weren’t screaming out loud from the pain yet, the impact hurt like hell, and you had to take deep breaths to deal with the aftermath. No wonder you felt an instant wave of dizziness hit you, but being unable to focus your sight and not have nervosity and your shaken mind puke all over the floor were the least of your problems.

Latest when something long and textured lowered down onto the back of your head, did you even realize what you had been forced to do with your involuntary fall to the ground. Without being able to make out anyone before you right away, you were definitely propped into a bowing position, forehead touching the floor, and when you tried to fight off what was holding you down, you looked entirely like a person pleading for forgiveness. “Look what filth honors us today,” a snarky voice picked up, and you could hear small feet pace before you. “The audacity that you’d even show here!”

You were about to complain and set the voice straight that you were not here because you wanted to, but rather because you’d been pulled into a car in the middle of the day and feared for your life if you didn’t move as you were told. But your head was turned to the side suddenly and ungently, and though you shoot daggers at the people before you, once you got used to the light blinding you, you felt a cold shudder run down your spine as your view cleared.

Penetrating, golden irises looked down from above, a body posture as unfazed and unbothered as only someone who knew they had the upper hand could have. The black mask moved slowly as the man before you spoke, never fully revealing his face, and yet the sight in front of you brought a shiver down your spine. “Like gum under my soles,” he agreed to the first voice, and you finally realized what was pressing you down. Polished, seemingly new, white shoes stepped all over you, applying and taking the pressure as he pleased but never giving you the chance to escape from the floor you were pinned to.

The realization of your failed plans began to slowly but surely manifest throughout your body, a light shivering overcoming you as you lowered your eyes, squeezing them shut. A meager attempt of wishing this was just a bad dream, and perhaps you could wake up in your bed soon and atone for what you had done, leave the country even and never come back.

It had been a gamble, really. A half-hearted attempt to break free from the monotonous life you were living and become someone exciting and filthy rich. Everything seemed too easy and safe when it was proposed to you; write the letter and send it off. Gloves, face masks, using the mailbox furthest from your home-- you had remembered EVERYTHING. And yet, you still got caught, so how-?

“How did we find out?” Kai Chisaki, leader of the yakuza clan known as the Shie Hassaikai and the recipient of your attempted blackmailing, spoke calmly and outwardly unfazed. From his hand hung the white letter you had used, the paper with the demand for money so the truth of their doings wouldn’t reach the wrong ears peeking out from it. Yet, when he lifted it up into your view, gloved fingers dug inside between the paper, pulling something out that you’d have never expected to leave behind. It was so small, probably only the rest of it after testing, barely noticeable. Still, you cringed, realizing that they had traced your DNA back to you by something so minor and silly as a hair.

“I’m not a criminal,” you mumbled, noticing the distinctive, fearful shiver in your voice.

“Obviously,” a small, black form, resembling a stuffed animal, huffed, and you were sure if he could have, he’d have rolled his eyes at you.

“They just told me what to do, and I- I just wanted to make some quick cash. You have to believe me! I don’t even know what they know! I only made the letter...”

The following silence was downright disturbing to you, a few seconds turning into the eternity one must feel before getting beheaded back in medieval times. A sigh eventually signaled the end of the nerve-tearing wait as countless ideas of what was going to happen to you now circled through your head. Finally, the foot lifted from your head and flapping the letter in his hand, Chisaki gave the underlings assembled in the room a signal.

With groans and clicks of their tongues, bodies all around you began to move and disappear through doors that you couldn’t have made out with how perfectly they fitted into the white walls around you. You slowly lifted your torso off the ground again, looking after the last one of them disappear without even so much as a glance back over their shoulder, the doors closing automatically behind them. Suddenly, only the boss and you remained in this interrogation room, even though you were too afraid to dare and look at him. Instead, you focused your eyes on your hands, wondering why he’d want to be alone with you. If what you had always thought criminals did with people that defied them, then disposing of you didn’t seem like the work the boss would do. Truly, combining with the confusion you felt, the situation was only growing worse by the second.

“Working at a bank, inheriting the house of your parents, a pretty penny in your accounts. Sounds like a good life, and yet, you’d still resort to this.”

The envelope containing the letter landed right before you, sliding over the ground up to your knees. Biting your lip, you didn’t know what to say, especially when he almost sounded disappointed in you. His patronizing way of pointing out your faults didn’t make you feel any better or less scared, as Chisaki still didn’t appear to mean you well. Even the truth seemed like such a waste of air if spoken out loud, but what better was there to admit?

“... interesting.”

“Louder,” he demanded, his foot falling back down, this time on your hand, crushing it the longer you refused to speak up.

“I wanted to make it more interesting!” you gasped out loudly, clutching your hand close to your body the moment he let go. “I didn’t mean to harm you, Sir! You must believe me!”

This time you did look at him, with the most rueful eyes you could muster even, hoping to achieve anything, literally anything that would change the situation. “Hm,” he hummed in contemplation, and you gulped as you felt yourself run out of options. However, you didn’t expect him to sigh again before leaning forward, his eyes drilling into you as if he was trying to break you just with his stare. You had heard rumors. Rumors that he wasn’t quite sane and overtaken by his ambitions and germaphobia. Nonetheless, his eyes were clear, your reflection in them more fearful than you must have ever been in your whole life.

“You can beg better than that, I think,” he declared.

In your panicked state of mind, you agreed with a short, firm nod, barely inching closer before noticing his eyes narrow reprimandingly, making you stop immediately. “P-Please don’t hurt me! I’d do anything! I was just the deliverer of the message! I know nothing, and if you let me go, I’ll never speak a word about what happened here--”

“Then tell me who made you write this letter.”

His instructions were clear, even though they made your blood freeze. “I don’t know…” you whispered, your body slowly shutting down as you realized it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. With a disapproving click of his tongue, a gloved hand reached forward, remaining at the corner of your eye for a split second. You ducked away from his touch, squeezing your eyes shut, but before you knew it, it was gone again, as if he decided against doing what he had wanted. Only now, you realized the tears collected in your eyes, not yet spilling but there as you had started to despair over the situation. However, there was no time to ponder about them as Chisaki spoke up again.

“Who,” he calmly said. “Tell me, and you are free to go.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You had followed the instructions given to you online via an online forum you used to chat with strangers. You never actually met anyone personally before becoming a complice. You had always believed it was so much safer, but you were dead wrong. Sniffling, you shook your head, averting your eyes as you saw your chances of survival and escaping dwindling. “I have no idea…”

Not much sound escaped you anymore as you lowered your head, defeated, accepting your due punishment for your stupidity. There was nothing you could have proven or handed to him to make you look any better. “Pity,” Chisaki said eerily calm, taking a deep breath before standing up, and you agreed. It was your life thrown away for the aspect of quick money. Naive thinking that you’d actually profit from this when in reality, you had simply been the decoy, or perhaps a lab rat, for the real masterminds behind the plan of blackmailing him.

He didn’t say anything else as he watched you for a few moments more, rounding the chair he had been sitting on and walking towards one of the doors hidden in the walls, the sound of it opening making you snap back to reality. “W-Wait!” you called after him weakly. “What’s going to happen now?”

At first, you thought he’d ignore you, but just before disappearing in the dark corridor beyond this room, Chisaki stopped, being the only one to glance back over his shoulder at you. It was scary how little you could read the man from his eyes alone, no feeling whatsoever shimmering in them.

“Now? You’re going to stay in here until you remember, of course. That or one of my men needs a new punchbag.”

And with that, he was gone, the door closing behind his back and leaving you all alone in the maddening white interrogation room. However, the worst was the ringing of his last few words that kept creeping back in your mind, causing you to cup your ears with your hands, hoping it would silence those thoughts. Thoughts of you - or rather, your blood splattered all across this room if his threat was to come true.

Unfortunately for you and your anxiety-induced paranoia, you didn’t hear the words spoken beyond your whereabouts in the secret underground of the organization. Not the praising, “You showed ’em boss!” of Mimic as he ran after Kai, having waited dutifully for his superior. “How do you want to proceed? Should we get rid of them right away?”

Kai’s answer was hesitant as he thought about it, unusual for him as he always had quick instructions to give to his underlings. “No,” he eventually said, sternly so. Hand lifting to his neck, he felt the beginning of a new rash prick at his skin, scratching it as he got lost in thought. “The letter’s pretty good; maybe we can use their skill. And we don’t know yet who sent them. They’ll stay.”

He heard the confused and exasperated huff of disbelieve behind him, but his words were final, even if Mimic disagreed. “If they become troublesome, I’ll clean them up myself. No one is to bother them.”

And with that, Kai could devote himself to his thoughts, thinking about all the ways he could purify you. Perhaps, things finally wouldn’t be so boring anymore as you always complained to him on the forum he met you. If anyone, Kai was sure he could make your life much more interesting by his side, once he got rid of your filthiness that unfortunately still caused rashes to erupt from him, even though being so close to you made him feel so alive.

But first, he’d have to delete the profile he used to trick you right into his clutches, as he couldn’t risk anyone else finding out about your whereabouts once they’d notice your disappearance. After all, it would take a lot of time to reform you, but Kai knew you were worth the trouble.

It was dirty work, but with your potential, how could he refuse if it was you?

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happyandticklish · 4 years ago

Text

Feats of Strength

Notes: For the anon who requested a Hazbin Hotel fic where a wrestling match between Angel and Alastor results in playful, tickly fun. Here’s the finished result! :)

Summary: Angel is almost certain that he could beat Alastor in a test of true strength. Husk provides him a challenge to prove it.

“Hey!”

Angel Dust squawked as shadowy tentacles reached out from behind him, firmly pulling him away from the bar where he had previously been flirting with Husk; the demon in question let out a sigh of relief at the action. “What’s the big idea, man? I was just trying to have a friendly conversation.”

Alastor gently deposited him on the ground, retracting his tentacles with a snap of his fingers. “Do please refrain from seducing our guests; it gives the hotel a bad reputation.”

“Husk is not a guest,” Angel complained, clambering to his feet. “He’s a bartender.”

“Nice distinction,” Husk replied dryly.

“Besides,” Angel continued, ignoring him. “You can’t just go around flinging people left and right with those freaky ghost arms of yours.”

“Oh I’m the one who has freaky arms?” Alastor inquired, arching a brow. He took a seat at the bar, gesturing for Husk to pass him a soda. He didn’t like to indulge in alcohol as he found it made people ‘sloppy’. “And quite frankly, I can do whatever I want with my ‘ghost arms’ as you call them. After all, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Angel grumbled. “I bet you’re not so tough without your magic. There’s no way you could hold your own in a fight with just those scrawny arms to protect you.”

Alastor paused mid-sip, setting down his glass. “Is that a challenge?”

Angel, who wasn’t liking the other’s current tone but also wasn’t about to call chicken, tilted his chin up confidentially. “No, it’s a fact.”

Husk glanced between the two, debating the odds of breaking up whatever was about to go down. On one hand, he didn’t want to get caught up in the aftermath of a demon fight. But on the other, he was bored from sitting around in this stupid place all day and the current situation was bound to be entertaining.

“How about a bet?” he piped up, leaning against the counter. “A match, wrestling, between the two of you. That way we can settle who’s the strongest once and for all.”

Alastor’s eyes lit up at the prospect and Angel felt his stomach drop.

“Oh,” Husk added quickly, noticing the looks in both their eyes. “No powers, either. No fancy, hoity-toity bullshit; your physical strength has to speak for itself.”

“Worried our dear Angel won’t be able to handle it?” Alastor inquired mockingly, throwing the other a devastating leer that had his blood boiling.

“I don’t know,” Angel growled, forcing a smug grin. “It sounds like you’re just afraid you can’t take me without any magic powers to hold you up.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Minutes later, Angel grunted as the radio demon’s weight bore down on him, nearly pinning him to the ground. Despite his slender frame, it was clear this wasn’t the first time he had done something like this. Angel had a certain limb advantage however, and swept a third arm under his legs, quickly flipping their positions so that he now towered over him. Two of his hands wrestled with Alastor’s in an attempt to apprehend them, while his other two worked on fending off Alastor’s legs which had already succeeded in kicking Angel in the stomach more times than he would have preferred.

Husk lit a cigarette, watching them with an amused gaze. He knew Alastor could fight, of course, but watching it in action was certainly something else. Angel was holding his own, despite this. The spider was quick and agile, dodging most of his attempts to grab hold of him. Their tussle had been going on for several minutes now, and he startled when a high-pitched voice besides him piped up, “What’s going on?”

He had been so wrapped up in the fight that he had failed to notice Nifty creeping up behind him. “A bet,” he explained as she climbed up on the counter for a better vantage point. “They want to see which of them is strongest.”

“Oh, Alastor’s got this in the bag,” she replied with breezy confidence. “It’ll be fun watching Angel get what’s coming to him, though.”

Husk snorted, forced to agree with her.

Meanwhile, Alastor had won their little battle of wills and freed one of his hands, which he now used to try to shove Angel off of him. “Just give up, my dear. It’ll be less embarrassing that way.”

“Ha!” Angel exclaimed, struggling to remain atop the writhing Alastor. “In your dreams! You’re going down old man.”

“Old—” Alastor’s offended confusion was frozen by a sudden squeak from Angel Dust. In the process of trying to get free, he had accidentally brushed against Angel’s ribs. Alastor’s eyes widened at the sound. “What was that?”

Spindly claws of panic crawled down Angel’s spine, the feeling only growing as he realized just how vulnerable he was, each of his hands occupied holding Alastor down. “Nothing, you startled me is all. Now c’mon, why don’t we finish this—no!”

Angel’s stomach jumped as Alastor reached up and started experimentally poking around the area. “Interesting. I never realized you were ticklish, Angel.”

“I-I’m nohot,” Angel insisted, biting back giggles as he attempted to somehow twist his body away from the other. “Y-Yohou’re behing r-ridihiculous!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Alastor pointed out, scribbling claws over his stomach and grinning at the accompanying snort. “Why Angel, this is adorable! You should have told me about this sooner, think of all the fun we’ve been missing out on!”

“W-Whahat fuhuhun?” Angel Dust squawked, his grip growing weaker. “B-Behesides thihis i-ihisn’t fahair!”

“Of course it is—I’m not using my powers, are I? I do believe those were the only rules we set for the game.” Alastor reminded him. “Now, my dear, tell me—where else are you ticklish?”

“Nowhere, alright, so give it a rest—ack, w-wahahait!”

Angel burst into a round of cackly laughter as fingers crawled suddenly and deviously under his arms. That was the final straw. He squeaked, crumpling against him and bringing his arms down protectively, releasing Alastor in the process.

“Tickling is against the rules,” Angel complained, rubbing away the phantom sensations. “Right Husk?”

Husk shrugged. “Eh, I’m cool with it.”

“What?” Angel exclaimed. “On what grounds?”

“The grounds that I decide what the rules are,” Husk replied coolly. “and also, you’re very cute when getting the shit tickled out of you.”

“You guys are dicks,” Angel muttered, before pausing as he played the sentence back in his head. “Wait, you think I’m cute—pfft, no!”

Angel squeaked and rolled away from Alastor’s hands which had somehow snuck their way back under his arms. Alastor merely wiggled his fingers menacingly when the other shot him an accusatory glance. “The match isn’t over, yet.”

Angel swallowed nervously.

The next five minutes consisted of Alastor essentially chasing Angel Dust around the living space, the other demon a mess of nervous giggles and protests. Husk leaned his chin on one hand, smiling affectionately at the sight.

“Remember Angel, you’re never fully dressed without a smile~” Alastor reminded him, squeezing his knee and prompting an unearthly screech from the other. Angel managed to roll away from him once more, panting heavily from the chase.

“Alright, you know what?” Angel grinned, and the sight sent a strange chill down Alastor’s spine. “If that’s the way we’re gonna play this, so be it.”

He launched forward suddenly, sending them both tumbling to the floor. With his lower arms he secured Alastor’s wrists, pulling them far above his head. He wrapped his legs around Alastor’s as well, so now the overlord’s body was completely stretched out. Angel raised his remaining hands menacingly, a smirk overtaking his features.

“Angel, this is quite ridiculous,” Alastor protested, attempting to free himself. “Do you know who you’re dealing with here?”

“Of course I do,” Angel Dust scoffed. “Some cocky shit who needs to learn what happens when you mess with me. Tell me, Al, how long do you think I’ve been in this profession?”

“I—”

“Don’t answer that,” Angel interrupted, cutting off Alastor’s confused reply. “A long time. Long enough to meet all kinds of people, who are into allllll kinds of things.” He rested his hands under each of Alastor’s arms, drumming his fingers slowly against the fabric. “You don’t think I haven’t picked up on the different methods, the strategies, from those experiences?”

“I’m afraid I’m not understanding you, dear,” Alastor responded stiffly.

“Let me more clear, then.” Angel Dust dragged his nails in an excruciatingly slow manner up and around the edges of his armpits, and Alastor’s grin widened into something a tad more helpless. “Did you really think you could pick a fight with me and win?”

With a ferocious softness, Angel spidered nails into each of his armpits, a relentless pace that had Alastor instantly squirming. He bit his lips, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to resist the sensations. Across the bar, Husk stared mouth agape at the sight of the radio demon, the most feared overlord in all of the nine circles, desperately trying not to lose his composure from something as simple as tickling.

Truly, life was full of wonders.

“A-Angel!” Alastor stammered, forcing his words around the laughter that begged to escape. “I-I demand you s-stop thihis at once!”

“Or what?” Angel inquired. “You’ll break the rules of the bet and use your powers on me? Or are you gonna somehow break out of this all on your own?”

Alastor jerked on his arms once more, though the other’s hold held strong. “M-Maybe nohot n-now! B-Buhut after—grk—ahafterwords, I shall h-have my revehenge!”

The words were undoubtedly true and Angel shook off his temporary apprehensions. “So what? All the more reason to make my time with you now all the sweeter.”

He kneaded fingers into his ribs suddenly and Alastor let out a bark of laughter as his struggling increased drastically. “P-Pfft, ahahaha, Ahahahangel!”

“There it is!” Angel exclaimed triumphantly. “I knew I could get that cute laughter out of you one way or another.”

“C-Cuhuhuhute?” Alastor exclaimed indignantly, but Angel Dust’s sudden switch to vibrating his fingers in-between each rib had him cackling. “Nohohoho, ehehe, rehehehelease mehehehe!”

“Sure,” Angel agreed. “Just agree that I’m the strongest and you’re home free.”

“Y-Yohohou’re nohohot thehehe strohohongest!” Alastor protested, his fingers gripping into the back of Angel’s suit and tugging uselessly at it. “Yohohou’re cheheheating!”

“What?” Angel teased. “So you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

Angel moved his hands down, pinching a path down the demon’s sides. Each poke and prod prompted a jump from the other, a fact that Angel found endlessly amusing. When he finally reached his hips Alastor started really squirming, a round of giggles (giggles, of all things!) falling from his lips.

“Ihihihi cahahahan’t! Stahahahap ihihihit!”

“Do you give up?”

“Plehehehease!”

Angel Dust shrugged, as if to say the matter was taken out of his hands. Digging his thumbs into his hipbones turned out to be a wildly effective method, but it wasn’t until Angel started to edge his touch towards his stomach that Alastor really started fighting him.

“Wahahahait, wahahahait, yohohou dohohohon’t hahahave tohoho dohoho thihiHIHIHIS!”

Alastor all but screeched as nimble fingers danced upon his midsection, the soft touch driving him mad with sensation. “Ahahahahahahangel!”

“Hmm?”

“I hahahaHAHAHahahate yOHohohoHOHOu!”

“Duly noted. Feeling’s mutual, bub.”

Angel grinned fondly at the squirming, giggling radio demon, and found that he had to admit, the sight was sort of cute. He always had fun teasing Al, but turning him into the shrieking mess he was now was a power high and Angel was loving it.

“God you’re adorable,” he murmured before he could think through the words.

Alastor’s eyes widened, a violent blush overtaking his features. Evidently the comment had been the final straw, as he managed to grip Angel’s hips from his trapped position. Angel shrieked, instinctively shoving the other away from him which was all the help Alastor needed to more fully free himself. He stood up, dusting off his pants and clearing his throat.

“Well, I hardly think we can call that a wrestling match,” Alastor concluded at last, after the pink had receded some from his cheeks. “It was simply childish tussling. This proves nothing.”

“You’re just sore cause ya lost,” Angel pointed out, leaning back on his hands to smirk at the other.

“I did not ‘lose’,” Alastor informed him snippily. “Did you hear me give in, or tap out? I think we can call that a draw, at best.”

“A draw?” Angel exclaimed indignantly. “Bullshit! I totally won!”

“If by won, you mean cheated, then yes I suppose you did just that.”

“You cheated first!”

The night quickly dissolved into petty arguments similiar to that while Husk and Nifty watched on, highly entertained by the sight.

In the end, they never did find out who was the strongest.

#tickle fic #hazbin hotel #angel dust #alastor #radiodust #tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #husk #nifty #fic request #requests

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invisibleinorange · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 22/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: M Warnings: Presumed Character Death, Violence Descriptions (In This Chapter) Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties), Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington, Benedict Bridgerton, Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Pretty Much Everyone (at points) Additional Tags: Bridgerton, Polin Summary: Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

It was a simple affair that lacked the formality and solemnity that such a wedding might have had should it have been performed back home in London. Country weddings, especially elopements weren’t exactly known for their stark adherence to the religious doctrines. The fact of the matter was that the men who performed such rites were hardly true clergy.

Penelope could hardly believe that this had become her life and that she was indeed marrying Colin. After everything they’d been through, he had deemed her worthy to be his bride and the sentiment wasn’t lost on her. She couldn’t but look back seeking the safety and approval of Anthony and Benedict as she uttered her vows though.

Hearing Colin say the words and knowing that he meant them had been everything that she’d ever wanted before he’d gone missing and when he’d come back she’d been so caught up that she’d failed to really take notice of the fact she wasn’t quite the same infatuated girl she’d been before. She had changed as a person. She could hardly ignore the loudness of her thoughts against the quiet of his words and her own.

She certainly didn’t intend to regret this though, even if the whole thing felt a bit like an out of body experience. She wasn’t unhappy but she had imagined that she would feel more joy flittering through her veins, excitement at spending the rest of her life with the man she’d deemed as her soul mate. She felt something deep inside that she couldn’t quite explain though and she wasn’t quite willing to investigate.

To be perfectly honest she was terrified of what she might find if she did explore it. She loved Colin. She always had. God knew that she always would but a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she hadn’t made the right choice. Maybe they should have taken it slower, maybe they both needed more time to grow before they had their happy ever after if it was meant for them. It didn’t make sense to her when it felt so right though. She’d been so sure moment ago.

The smile she’d plastered on her face through the aftermath of the ceremony felt like a cover for the sheer and utter panic she was trying to keep down. There was something she felt deep down inside that she couldn’t quite explain, some feeling like something had to go wrong. She’d felt like that most of her life whenever something was going right. It didn’t normally take hold of her quite so strongly. She could feel it wrapping around her life a vice.

They were all to walk together to the local inn to eat and celebrate the occasion. Her arm was held steadfast by Colin and she was trying desperately not to have him catch on to the fact she was a bit shaky.

“It’s not like you to be so quiet,” Colin finally told her after a moment. His eyes gazed over her appraisingly from the side, his grip on her all the tighter. His normal smile was still there, never ceasing but there was concern etched in the depths of his eyes.

“I was just thinking,” Penelope told him though she didn’t choose to expand upon it. She nodded sympathetically, patting a hand on his arm to provide some sort of reassurance that she was okay but she wasn’t sure if it was believable or not. “Perhaps, I’m just a bit hungry.”

“Well… we’re going to fix that,” he insisted. Whatever skepticism he had over her words didn’t seem to last as he went back to smiling, holding conversation with Anthony as they walked. The words sort of managed to blur together until they’d found their way to their destination.

There had been food and dancing. It was definitely not the kind of thing that would have gone over as a social event in London but it was comfortable and homey. Penelope did feel full and the dancing did happen to calm her nerves and as the sky began to transition from day to twilight, she felt sure that maybe she’d simply let her mind get the best of her.

When Colin excused himself to go ensure that they had a proper to sleep on their wedding night, she’d let herself be left amongst the mix of stranger and Bridgertons. Anthony had certainly had allowed himself to partake of the libations to the point where he was a bit sloppy. She couldn’t help but feel a bit like she was intruding on a bachelor’s night with the way he was carrying on with a random woman.

Benedict for his part was keeping a respectful distance though every so often she would feel his eye on her and know he was more concerned with her safety than finding someone to spend the evening with. She was grateful for it honestly.

“You can actually converse with me, you know?” she told him, decisively moving so that she could sit across from him at a table. “You don’t have to go back to ignoring me.”

The fact he couldn’t quite meet her eye told her that it might have actually been his plan. He forced his gaze up after a minute though.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he lied.

She knew he was lying and she fully intended to call him out on it. She would have if she didn’t hear a crack of the door that pulled both of their focuses away.

A tall, broad shouldered man came barreling into the room. There was something about the presence of him that commanded everyone’s attention.

“Clara?” he bellowed.

The woman that Anthony had been carrying on with pulled away from Anthony and seemed to practically disappear into the wood of the floors. She paled and it became quite clear who Clara was.

The man’s next actions were to move toward her and raise his fist to strike. Anthony, for his part, attempted to stop it. His drinking had made him unsteady and he took the punch himself. Like any man of honor, he decided it appropriate to strike back.

Goosebumps formed on Penelope’s skin as she watched in absolute horror at what was taking place, the world slipping away. Before she could try and stop Benedict, he was up moving to try and get the giant away from his brother.

Anthony was most definitely losing. It wasn’t an even or fair fight by any stretch and he was going to be bloodied and bruised come the next day. Benedict simply wanted to stop it from being worse than all of that.

What she didn’t realize was the man was reaching for a knife and neither did Benedict until he was in the process of trying to get in the middle of them. The whole thing happened so abruptly that there was little she could do to stop the blood curling screams that escaped her as Benedict’s eyes widened and he crumpled to the floor.

The man clearly realized his mistake as soon as it happened, taking off running just as he’d came leaving a bloody mess in his wake. The woman who’d caused it all taking one look at everything before following after.

Penelope didn’t think, didn’t breath as she moved to try and see the extent of the damage. Anthony was trying his best to get up and be helpful but he was in no condition to go get a doctor when he needed one himself.

His voice broke as she demanded someone go find a doctor before crumpling to her own knees, accessing the wound. She ripped the fabric from her dress, trying to use it to compress the bleeding at his abdomen as if it might be enough to hold him until a physician could arrive.

“Hold on,” she demanded.

Benedict was still awake. His eyes were open and he was breathing. Those were all things to be hopeful for. He opened his mouth to speak a few times but the words seemed to be a struggle for him, the fact he wasn’t speaking only alarmed her all the more.

His hand moved to rest on top of her own, becoming increasingly caked in his blood. He didn’t have to utter the words for her to know what he was trying to say. She knew that he wasn’t going to make it but it wasn’t something that she could stand for. She wasn’t sure if she could live with herself if that was the outcome of this.

“Please don’t,” she begged.

Word had apparently gotten back to Colin about there being a problem. She didn’t hear his footsteps but she did know when she heard his horrified voice and saw him there kneeling beside her.

There was so much blood, it wasn’t completely clear who was hurt now.

“Are you hurt?” Colin asked her.

“No, Ben – he was trying to protect Anthony,” she couldn’t even finish the words. Colin tried to take over her task of holding the wound, trying to order her away with his hands.

“I have this,” he tried to tell her.

She didn’t move.

“I’m not leaving him,” she uttered. She was near hysterical anyways. She couldn’t unseen what she’d seen. She’d never be able to get the imagery out of her head.

“Pen, you shouldn’t have to - I’ll stay with him,” Colin insisted, trying to keep a calm exterior but he was far from it. The little cracks in the normally calm exterior were on full-display.

“No,” Benedict uttered, giving Colin a look that made him relent and completely give up on any ideas he might have had about sending Penelope away from the carnage. The damage was already done.

By the time they’d actually managed to get a physician there, Benedict was already beginning to fade. He was going in and out of consciousness. Every time that he went there, it began to feel as though he might not come back.

Anthony had begun to sober up thanks to water and the horror around him. If it was possible, he looked worse than Benedict. The guilt was clear on his face. He blamed himself for the whole damn thing.

“Not your fault,” Benedict had told him a few moments of alertness. “I’ve always had your back in a fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Anthony told him solidly as the physician attempted to examine the wound. The grim look on his face made it clear that Benedict wasn’t going to be okay.

“The wound penetrated the spleen,” the physician informed them, cleaning the wound with liquor which caused Benedict to writhe in pain. He was paler than usually the shirt that he’d been wearing long discarded to be used to help try and stop the bleeding.

Penelope had read enough books that she knew that the odds weren’t in favor of anything being able to be done here except provide comfort, drown out the suffering until the brutal end. There was a choice to be made here. They could either selfishly keep him alert or allow the physician to allow him to sleep until the end.

One look at his face and she knew the path he wanted.

“We need to get him to a bed,” she uttered. Colin and Anthony could get it done, especially with a little assistance. Benedict deserved a little dignity and not the floor of this place.

There was no argument from the two of them either, especially as they moved to help with Anthony taking the feet and Colin taking the torso. There was a room with a bed not far off from there so they made their way, physician in tow.

When they managed to get him there, she moved to help remove his boots and socks. She was trembling but there was a mission to be had here. She’d spent most of the last year grieving in one way or another and she would spend more of it doing the same but for now she needed to keep it together.

“Help him with the rest of his clothes,” she ordered to her new husband, turning away to provide him a little modesty.

Colin did precisely as instructed, Anthony fetching extra blankets to keep their brother warm. They were far too shell-shocked to offer much argument over what they should be doing.

When she turned around, the physician was mixing some ingredients in a mortar and then pouring it into a drink.

Benedict’s eyes were closed but the shift in the sound of her dress, made him open them again. He nodded through the pain, offering her a silent thank you for taking control of this.

“I want you all to leave me,” he said resolutely after a long moment. It was the strongest his voice had been since this whole nightmare had began. “He will let you know when it’s over.”

“I will not,” Penelope said firmly.

“We will not,” Colin chimed in.

“You will. You can’t deny a man’s last request,” he said trying to offer a weak smile. The wince made it clear it was a struggle for him. “Take her away from this.”

Colin and Anthony exchanged looks. As men, they had no choice but to honor the request.

Penelope wasn’t going to go as easily.

“Your last request is denied,” she told him firmly.

“I’m going to miss that fire,” he murmured after the doctor gave him the concoction. It was already starting to make him feel drowsy. Whatever words he had left would be slurred. His gaze moved between his brothers and then Penelope again. “I’ve loved you all. Take care of each other and… the others. Go.”

Bridgeton men were not above overly sentimental moments but Anthony touched a hand to his shoulder and nodded as if to silently say he loved him too. He then turned heel and left, following direction.

Colin followed suit, attempting to grab Penelope by hand at first but when she refused, he picked her up and outright carried her while she kicked and screamed to be allowed back down. He didn’t put her down until they were all outside to where they could get fresh air.

While the men handled this with stoicism, she absolutely fell apart. She crumbled into Colin’s arms, crying and screaming until her voice was gone. She had known something bad was going to happen and now it had.

#Bridgerton #colin bridgerton #Penelope Featherington #benedict bridgerton #⚜ writings — polin

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

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WINSoD - Pt.4

What You Need (Is What I’m About)

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2, part 3)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one more ;) Word count: 3400

Summary: In which fate has a strange sense of humour, the Maximoffs appear and... well.

Warnings: brief violence, mention of death, messing around in one’s brain, language, cutesy and fluff (yep, it’s all there)

Part 3

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You watched the kettle quiver as the temperature of the water climbed towards the boiling point. You’d like to say your blood was reaching it too, but despite the warm hoodie (Steve’s, naturally), you were feeling coldness seeping into your very core.

You hated waiting for him. You had never been a fan of it, sitting on your ass and stressing until he returned from a mission, bruised and usually bloody, but this time it was something else. This time, you had more than just a vague idea of what he was fighting; you had witnessed it first-hand. An army of fucking robots.

The team had left 43 hours ago, but who the hell was counting, right? Certainly not you. And you had certainly not been feeling the urge to ask Jarvis (R.I.P., my beloved A.I.) like every half an hour for any updates. You weren’t that desperate. You weren’t that scared-

Yeah, not even you were having your bullshit anymore.

You were shivering in cold from losing sleep, terrified and over all out of your mind. Nothing helped to ease your worries. Definitely not the fact they hadn’t made any contact ever since they had left.

They consisted of the usual Avengers team; Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Thor, plus Bucky. All of them under Steve’s attentive command.

Surprisingly, Matt Murdock – also known as a freaking vigilante (a blind lawyer!!) – did not join the quest. He had said that robots were way outside his territory. You would beg to differ, because he punched the robot like a champ, yet you didn’t quite blame him for refusing. Bottomline, you still thought he was pretty swell (not to mention easy on the eyes, but that was beside the point). He had saved your life though, so you might be a bit biased. A lot biased.

Sam Wilson might have fought once too, but he would sit this one out as well. It was not helping your anxiety.

The soft click of the kettle brought you back to reality and you grabbed the handle to pour water into your mug, only to see you failed to actually put a teabag in it.

To be fair, you would have sworn you had done it, but that was just another prove of you losing your mind. At this rate you were about to burn the kitchen down – not that you felt like cooking… or eating for that matter. Steve was out there, in his own sci-fi movie that had somehow become reality and-

You sighed and set the kettle down, reaching for the box with chamomile tea. Taking one bag, you felt a strange gust of wind and curled into the hoodie as a shiver ran down your spine. Was the air-conditioning misbehaving…? Perhaps it was an aftermath of what they called the Ultron mess-

You shook your head, scolding yourself for getting paranoid and went to finally finish the simplest task of making yourself tea.

Only for your blood turning to ice when you noticed the teabag was missing. You had just put it there half a minute ago, you were sure of it. Your heart started hammering in your chest as you spun on your heels, your eyes scanning the room.

The cupboard behind your head clacked and your head swiftly snapped back to it. Feeling your own pulse pounding in your temples, you forced your brain to come up with a rational explanation.

You were losing your mind, you were imagining things, you hadn’t slept in almost two days, your mind was playing tricks on you-

Another gust of wind and the kettle disappeared from your hands, a shriek escaping your lips. On instinct, you opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. You were probably useless with it, basically offering it the potential attacker as a weapon, because they would be able to disarm you and use it to their advantage, but you didn’t give a shit. You felt better being armed.

What the fuck was happening?!

A man suddenly appeared by your left hip, like a hurricane inside of the room, and your body acted on its own, driving the knife in his side.

Or you attempted to; the knife met something solid that could not have been a body and the blond – he was a blond man, younger, hell, looking younger than you, dressed in a jumpsuit – stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

It was only then when you registered a strange red matter--- no, something unsubstantial, like an energy, swirling and changing, hovering around the blade that had stopped an inch from the man’s torso.

“Taka se ubivate, kolibri,” a female voice sounded from the other side of the room, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest.

Yet, you couldn’t tear you gaze away from the strange man, whose face was now twisted in annoyed grimace as the woman seemed to be scolding him.

What kind of a language was that anyway?

Really not relevant.

There were two strangers in the Tower, in the very same room as you, they could be talking about how to kill you the most painful way and you wouldn’t even know, and for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you catch a break-

“Ne ti e zabavno, foĭerverk,” he hummed back, his lips spreading in a smile, baffling you to no end. “Zdraveĭ, krasavitse.”

Your hand still on the handle of the knife that was no longer under your control, of which you refused to let go though because you were not a complete idiot, you had no idea what to do.

The man sounded almost friendly, but then again, villains often did. Sleazy. You would know.

A tremble ran through your body and out of nowhere, you made a lightning-fast decision of kicking the man in the crotch.

Your knee only brushed his manhood when your leg was no longer yours. With horror filling every cell in your body, you realized it was caught in the freaky red spiderweb of energy and you couldn’t move it no matter how much you tried.

Tears filled your eyes and suddenly you were free, the man several feet from you. A gorgeous young woman, dressed even more strangely than him – crimson leather jacket, black and half-torn leather leggings with high boots with way too many straps, her outfit completed by sleeves peeking from under her jacket –, stood next to him, cuffing him in the back of his head.

“Idiot!” she hissed and in the back of your mind, the one tiny corner that was not occupied with the fact you might die in the next second, you thanked god for some words being international.

Then, the girl with long wild red hair smiled at you apologetically, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Hello. Sorry for startling you,” she spoke with thick accent which you identified as Eastern-European and shot her companion a murderous look. “My brother is an ass and doesn’t know the difference between being funny and scaring people.”

She didn’t sound menacing at all; in fact, you saw every responsible older sibling annoyed at their younger family member in her. You blinked away the sting in your eyes and attempted to focus despite the ringing in your ears.

“Huh?” slipped from your lips intelligently, utter confusion gradually replacing your despair.

The blond rolled his eyes, which only earned him another clip round his ear.

“See what you’ve done? This is all your fault!”

“I was just messing around!”

“Do you have any idea what she’s been through? You scared her to death!” the woman hissed, effectively sending you back to the spiral of dismay, your slowly calming heartbeat skyrocketing again.

What did she know about what you had been through?!

With your knees wobbly and not to be trusted to keep you upright on their own anymore, you gripped the counter behind you with such force your muscles cramped.

“Who- who are you?” you breathed out shakily, catching the attention of the supposed sibling duo once more.

The woman smiled warmly, patronizingly almost.

“My name is Wanda and this is my brother, Pietro. We are of Sokovia. Your Captain and the other Avengers found us, showing us that we were fighting on the wrong side of things. Would you like to see?”

Her words echoed in your suddenly dull skull, the meaning escaping you.

And because her last sentence was what made sense the most and yet the least, you nodded.

Later, you would realize just how stupid and trusting you had been when agreeing, mostly because Steve gave you his look of disappointment and horror, but at the moment, it seemed right.

Somehow, on a level you couldn’t quite comprehend, you already understood they weren’t a threat to you.

“See how?”

Wanda smiled.

*Like this,* a ghost of her voice sounded somewhere deep in your mind, making you dizzy. What the hell-? *Please, don’t judge me. I thought I was doing the right thing.*

Before you could question such statement or the fact her lips were not moving while you heard her voice crystal clear, you were thrown into a vortex.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Ultron had been sure they were coming; he left a bait for them, an easy track to follow. The track they could follow towards their end.

Wanda wasn’t one to enjoy killing or hurting people in general, no. She hadn’t even considered herself a strong person once, but that had all changed with their parent’s deaths. She had had to rely on herself – on herself and on her brother. Where an opportunity had risen, to step up their game and possibly to get revenge on the name still haunting them in their worst nightmares, they hadn’t even hesitated.

Wanda had once been a weakling. It had been the tempering in fire, in a burning pain of experimentation with the sceptre that had made her the woman who she was now.

And she had a mission; she and Pietro had a mission, their chance at revenge finally gaining a shape.

She had already played with Stark’s mind, with the scum only interested in money and destruction; now she could do the same to all of them.

Bursting in with a crash, they clearly hadn’t expected such livid counterattack. A response so… nightmare-like.

Just a flick of wrist and a little concentration on Wanda’s part and they were dropping like dead, trapped in their own minds.

Black Widow, locked in a scary base, ballet dancers, martial art training and merciless killing, her fresh fears creating a horror picture of aiming her gun at her current lover’s head, at her soulmate.

“I should have known you’d never change. You’re nothing but human reduced to a murder machine…”

Thor, oh so mighty God, travelling back to his home planet to a feast, legends messing with his headspace, confusion and helplessness, thunder and lightning all around and out of his control.

“You’ll kill us all! See, son of Odin, close your eyes and see!”

The righteous captain, trapped in his own mind, folded like a house of cards under his soulmate’s dead eyes, anger and accusation blossoming into hate and finally indifference.

“You cared about your 40’s sweetheart more, anyway, didn’t you? If it was her in my place, you would have chosen her before the thousands. You wouldn’t let her blow up… but if I’m nothing to you, then you are nothing to me…”

Satisfied with her work, with only a nudge to their consciousness and their own brains doing the work for her, Wanda smirked as she noticed the busy archer. Now what tricks his could mind come up with? What hardship would he get caught in?

As she slowly sneaked behind his back, a voice snarled behind her, causing her heart to stop from more than a simple fright.

“Kak mozhe neshto tolkova malko da prichini tolkova nepriyatnosti?”

Her first reaction to her blood crystallizing in her veins with horror and rage towards the whole fucking universe, was a snarky reply.

How dared he to call her small? Implying she was weak? Underestimating her and saying that she couldn’t cause any real trouble? Oh, she would show him… that arrogant bastard! She would show him trouble-

“Laĭna…ti mi narichash nepriyatnosti?” she hissed back, carelessly losing the sight of the archer, not interested in him in the slightest all of sudden. “Vie ste strana s greshni khora!”

This stranger, this—this man-machine radiating pain as her powers barely brushed the surface of his mind on instinct… he was the real trouble as she didn’t hesitate to tell him. He was on the wrong side of things! Fraternizing with a mass murderer, with her parent’s killer-

“Pone te sa kho—” he wanted to argue, but they his mind stopped before it started screaming, punching her telepathic powers she seemed suddenly unable to turn off.

Memories, a dozen of his own memories, the way he looked at his soulmark in a mirror, the pain, the sorrow, the torture… his encounter with the Avengers, living with them; with the band of heroes she just put down, one by one, teasing and laughter, compassion and acceptance, even from the man who was supposed to be nothing but a cocky heartless bastard-

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky rasped, astonished and horrified.

He realized it too then. Everyone always did, didn’t they? Because every person with a soulmark awaited a moment like this; the moment someone would finally say the words matching the ones on their skin, met their expectations or not…

But Bucky Burnes was the farthest from Wanda’s dream when it came to a life-long partner.

Strength is tempered in fire, she remembered reading once. She had once found a special irony in the fact that the treatment by the sceptre felt exactly like that. Wanda’s soul turned to steel with the games the fate had played with her.

So why did her hands fell from their defensive position to her side, limp and drained of all strength and determination they had known, tears stinging her eyes.

Her life was shit and she thought she had made her peace with that. But judging by the deep ache in her chest, she had been holding out for her soulmate more than she had thought. Because why else would it hurt so bad when she found out he was an enemy?

“And I thought Romeo and Juliet was just a lot of crap,” she chuckled bitterly, switching to English when he did.

His thoughts scream at her, disbelief, caution, pain, confusion, regret and hope— ambivalence. He had no idea what to do and he hated her for what she had done to his friends, but the knowledge of her being his, supposedly, it torn him in half, reaching out with willingness to forgive her if she fixed it, because if anyone understood fighting at the wrong side it was him--

Unable to resist, she dug deeper into his mind, baring his very soul, fascinated.

Pietro was still fighting with the archer and Stark, dodging the lame attempts at attack of the Avengers lost in their minds, but for two people, the time stopped.

They stood against each other, staring and motionless, and Wanda was confident she saw more than him. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions and desperate desire to get a hold of them and think rationally, bundle of memories and hopes colliding with reality and rock-solid facts and Wanda felt a pang at her heart, a crushing sensation in her chest when she finally embraced everything his headspace had to offer, getting lost in it.

Lost in him.

James Buchannan Barnes had a beautiful soul. Torn and glued together with little kind gestures from his friends, sweet memories of his sister and everlasting friendship with Steve, his no-longer-little-but-equally-stubborn Steve, Steve’s soulmate, his teammates that accepted Bucky with surprising ease and less judgement anyone would deserve… and the careful way he was giving away the pieces of the very same heart that was barely together, in gentle smiles and good-natured teasing, silent self-declaration of giving his whole life for every single one member of his new-found family.

And Wanda understood. In a fraction of second she looked under the illusions she had helped to build in the Avengers’ minds and saw the truth.

*Pietro, spri!* she cried out straight into his mind, begging him to stop fighting. With another flick of her wrist, her enemies were free of her handiwork, shell-shocked from the experience, too lost to find their footing. “Brat, spri! Pietro… greshim. They are right.”

The battle froze as if the time did and for a second, Wanda felt like she was in her brother’s skin, moving so fast that the world around her stopped turning. The stunned silence was only broken by a soft gush of wind when Pietro appeared by her side.

The Avengers seemed so baffled at her admission they didn’t try to attack them.

She exchanged a look with her twin, hoping her face spoke volumes as tears gathered in her eyes. She was far from convinced that Anthony Stark was a good man; but she knew he was better than the creature they had sworn to assist. And her mother always used to say that a man should be judged by the company he kept. From what she had seen in Bucky Barnes’ head, Stark had one bunch of fine people around; and their imperfections seemed to be balanced by the good they all wished to do.

Pietro understood. Of course he would. More than he could read her expression, he must have felt the change in Wanda’s aura, the transformation touching their bond as well.

He graced her with a reluctant nod of agreement. Via their mental connection, he whispered he trusted her. Her lips curled up in a tender smile.

“Are we just gonna stand here? Are we fighting together or against each other or what?!”

No, Tony Stark was by no means a man she would call good. In fact, she already found out he was an ass. But now, he had become her ally.

From all the eyes on their duo, she chose to meet her soulmate’s.

“Together, Anthony. Because there’s bigger malice in this world than you are.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Wanda nearly cut you off right then. The rest of what she showed was a blur of images, fear, pain and determination, destruction and cooperation, all of that leading to this very moment. It all resembled waking up from a very intense confusing dream, being pulled away into consciousness by the first sunrays of the dawn.

You blinked heavily as the world swayed off its place, the counter seemingly in a peculiar angle from your point of view.

Why was the lamp not up, but on the side? Why was it spinning?

“Oops. Sorry. Never made the connection for such a long period of time-“ a voice reached you, breaking through the hush of blood and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip on both your body and thoughts.

Bucky had a soulmate?

No, not relevant, the images were too unclear for you to be sure everyone made it out alright, you needed to see Steve first, you had to-

By the time Steve’s figure appeared in your field of vision, you were certain you were steady on your feet and finally managed to control your mouth.

“Steve!” you cried out excitedly as you sprang his direction, relief mixing with delight, because he was alive, he was not bleeding visibly, he-

-was suddenly graced with an identical twin, two loving tired smiles blending into one and splitting into two the next moment, swimming in your vision and you felt something solid grabbing your body and positioning it right into his strong arms.

You gazed at him in haze, melting into his warm and firm embrace, spotting a swirl of red energy flow around you.

Oh. Wanda’s work, no doubt. Sweet.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you sick? What happened?”

Wanda’s guilt was nearly solid in your reach, but you only let your head lull onto Steve’s shoulder, plunging into the fluff of love that his presence provided.

“Nah. I’m fine… just drunk on you…” you mumbled.

The girl’s bubbly relieved laughter rang in the room, bringing a satisfied smile on your face.

Steve’s kiss landed on your forehead, corners of his own lips upright despite the concern in his voice.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to bed…”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 5

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

I chose Bulgarian, just to avoid traditional Russian this once. Bucky is a Winter Soldier after all and he should know how to speak 30 languages or so :D just thought this would work. Google translator used; apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you had an okay start to 2021 :-*

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogres x you #soulmate au #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america soulmate #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #mcu #marvel #winsod #anika ann

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 48

Title: Alone

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip

He is content and sated under the familiar weight of her body; feather light in comparison to his much bulkier, muscly frame. Enjoying the warmth that clings to her smooth, naked flesh and the smell that lingers in her hair; a mixture of honey and coconut and the slight tinge of sweat. An arm tightly and protectively curled around her as she rests atop him; a single, heavy leg draped over both of hers, a palm cupping her back of her head as the tips of his fingers gently massage at her scalp. Short, dark hair fanned out over his chest, eyes closed and the top of her head tucked under his chin as her fingers blindly trace the tattoos that grace his left shoulder and the side of his neck. It feels incredible to experience this with her; the quiet aftermath of long and attentive lovemaking. Deviating from the normal frantic and desperate pace; punishing thrusts replaced by slow and steady deep movements that effortlessly pushed her up the bed and had her entire body arching underneath him.

It had been what they’d both needed; something more loving and meaningful. A search for absolution through whisper soft, lingering kisses and warm, adoring hands immersed in exploration. Using their bodies to speak for them; the pursuit of pleasure serving as a hopeful quest for forgiveness. Seeing it in those enormous, dark eyes whenever he’d pull back to look down at her; glistening with a mixture of want, desire, and trust. Her fingertips reaching up to push sweat dampened hair off his forehead and out of his eyes; his face cradled in her palms as she lifted her head from the mattress and covered his mouth with hers in a gentle kiss. It was sex that surpasses the act itself. Profound intimacy that comes with deep rooted knowledge and enjoyment of one another’s bodies. Always in sync, forever communicating with one another; a level that stretches far beyond just the physical feelings of lust, want, and need.

He’d never experienced that before; the emotions that both overwhelm and humble you. A body AND mind connection so strong and intense that it takes your breath away and has the ability to bring you to your knees. It’s what makes each coupling so incredible regardless of the style they agree upon. Whether it’s aggressive and bruising or quick and uncomplicated. Or the unhurried exploring and employing of the various ‘tricks’ and kinks that they both enjoy. And those long nights of long and lasting love making; the lazy kisses and the wandering hands and the bodies brought to the edge many times before finally being allowed to let go. Regardless of how it happens, there’s a deeper intimacy that he’d never before been privy to. An adoration and respect that is forever present; despite the degrading words (always at her consent, always agreed upon BEFORE beginning), or the hand around her throat, or the fingers biting into soft flesh of her hips and her ass, or the fist tightly and painfully gripping her hair. Love is always there; finding its way to the surface and communicated whether it be through their eyes or touch or in words themselves. So many things that are said in so many different ways; reaching a level where neither of them need to speak in order to get their wants, needs, and feelings across.

It’s an experience far beyond anything he’d ever encountered before. One that he’d actually never considered; long ago relegating sex to nothing more than a chance to escape from the stressors of the world and to reach a well needed release. In Dhaka he’d realized something was different between them; their bodies so easily and effortlessly responding to one another and merging together as if they’d known each other for years. There was an ease and a comfort between them; no awkward moments of silence afterwards, no feelings of regret, no embarrassment surrounding how out of control both had let themselves be. It was a tiny, sweat slick body cuddling into his; his initial hesitation greeted by her sheepish and almost apologetic smile. And when she’d gone to move away -afraid that she’d crossed a line between them- he’d simply reached out for her; curling an arm around her waist and pulling her tightly into him. Her face finding that spot that quickly became its favourite resting place ; settled in between his neck and shoulder with the tip of her nose pressed against the side of his throat. Neither of them speaking as they revelled in the aftermath; the feelings of peace and contentment that come after spending months without any form of real physical contact with someone. Enjoying one another’s presence; the way her fingers found and traced his tattoos while his slowly combed through her hair.

He’d known when he hadn’t been scared off by the gentler and more meaningful moments that he was entering uncharted territory. Caught up in a mess of tangled sheets and naked limbs; enjoying the smell of her hair and the sensation of her body pressed against his and her warmth breath that tickled his skin. He actually LIKED her; beyond the pangs of lust and the yearnings of want and need and the incredible sex that those things had led to. That bubbly and bright personality she possessed despite the enormity of the situation surrounding them; optimistic and cheerful even with the dangers hanging over their heads. Her smile; broad and beautiful and crinkling the corners of her eyes and the bridge of her nose. The sound of her voice; childlike and slightly high pitched, yet often so assertive and authoritative. That tiny body encompassing a huge personality; social and friendly yet demanding and forceful when need be. Possessing a strength that went far beyond the physical.

It’s one thing to have muscles and a powerful build and combat training. It's another to be mentally sound and prepared for anything thrown in your direction.

Even in those immediate days after their initial coupling, he’d considered the possibility of more. The chance of getting to know her better outside of the job; away from the stress and the worry and the fear of the unknown dangers lingering darkened corners. She’d already shown that his baggage and his issues weren’t a deal breaker; easily -and uncharacteristically- confiding in her about his drinking problem and his addiction to pain meds and the painful mistakes of the past. Not only the monsters and demons that haunted him over the death of his son, but the horrible decision he’d made in the months leading up to it. He’d told her about his mother dying when he was young and the nightmare he’d been left with; an alcoholic father that physically and mentally abused him. His failed marriage; a cheating, emotionally absent spouse that had deserved way more than he had given her. The horrors of the things he’d seen during his time in the military and what he’d done on the job; taking lives in order to save his own and that of his clients. His death wish; the hope that a stranger’s bullet would take him down because he’d been too chicken to do the job himself.

Everything had come pouring out of him; in the same way that she’d been so open and honest about her own life and failed marriage and the monster of a husband that had inflicted numerous traumas upon her. Both of them simply listening and absorbing the truths and confessions; neither judging the other for the things they’d done or the things that still haunted them. It was the first time he’d ever seen genuine sympathy in someone’s eyes; he’d gotten used to recognizing pity and disgust over the years. But the way she’d watched his face as he spoke and then tenderly cleared tears from his cheeks with gentle fingertips had told him everything he’d needed to know. She was different; unique and beautiful and put in his path for a reason. And IF the job went smoothly and they managed to get out of Bangladesh, he was going to make it happen; transform nothing into something. Willing to welcome her into his home and travel to Colorado to see hers. Wanting to know everything he possibly could about her; hungry for more time together and curious about just where things would end up. A long distance relationship perhaps; weeks or even months spent visiting each other, trips taken together, holidays enjoyed with one another. Suddenly he had a list of things to think forward to; the death wish suddenly pushed to the back of his mind and all but forgotten about.

Her fingers abandon their task. Halting the slow and methodical trace of his tattoos in favour lightly dragging a nail along the scar near his left shoulder; thin and faded and running vertically for several inches. An old injury; shrapnel from a roadside bomb in Kandahar that had made its way under the strap of his kevlar vest and left him a panicked and bleeding mess in the middle of the desert. She’s spent years exploring all of his blemishes and imperfections; committing each one to memory and able to blindly find each and every one. But it’s the internal scars that she attempts to fix; deep and jagged, some still open and festering. Every gentle touch, every whispered loving affirmation, each word of praise, all working together to heal him. Or to at least help him forget, even temporarily.

She peppers his collarbone with kisses. Slowly travelling from one shoulder to the other and then back again, stopping at his Adam’s apple and then moving up his throat and over the underside of his chin. Finishing with a chaste peck. Capturing his bottom lip between her teeth; giggling when he gives a dramatic frown.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he presses a kiss to her forehead; eyes briefly closing as he breathes in the soft, familiar scent that clings to her hair. “You good?”

A gentle smile plays on her lips as she nods. “You?”

“I think it’s safe to say I am. Even though I swear I went blind for about a minute.”

It’s a feat in itself when you manage to hold out THAT long. Approaching that much needed release several times and then backing off and starting from scratch; rebuilding that pressure and tension in your stomach and in the small of your back until it becomes physically painful and you simply can’t continue with the self inflicted torture. Those moments leading to completion frantic and desperate; hard and punishing thrusts and animalistic noises emanating from somewhere deep in your chest. The orgasm had been extremely powerful and seemed to encompass every muscle, tendon and ligament in his body. Leaving him a perspiration soaked mess; panting heavily and every inch of his tall and muscular frame trembling.

“If it makes you feel any better, I couldn’t feel my feet for about ten minutes.”

“Makes my ego feel pretty good. Knowing I could get THAT kind of response from you.”

“When it comes to sex, your ego should be the healthiest on the planet. Because you, husband, know how to get shit done. And you get it done very, very, VERY well.”

“You still going to be saying that thirty years from now? When I don’t last as long anymore? I don’t want to disappoint you; have you start looking for someone that can get ‘er done.”

“I have no reason to doubt that you will be just as amazing then as you are now. That kind of stamina? I can’t see that disappearing. EVER. And there’s no way you’d forget all those skills, so…”

“The way my brain is? Add in some dementia…”

“Muscle memory, Tae. Your body will remember. I have no reason to doubt that. And definitely no reason to EVER look for anyone else. You’re it for me. My one and only. My always and forever. So if you got a problem with growing old and gray and senile with me…”

“Definitely no problem on my end. It’s what I’ve been planning and hoping for since the day I put the first baby in you.”

Grinning, she fidgets with the chain around his neck; taking the pendant it bears between her forefinger and thumb; the pad of the latter brushing against the smooth surface. Never a jewellery type of guy, it’s as elaborate as he’ll ever get; a simple hammered copper disk with their initials and that infamous date on the Sultana Kamal bridge almost thirteen years ago. When their old lives ended and their new ones began. “So you were expecting that were you? Did you have some dastardly plan in Dhaka to knock me up? Keep me barefoot and pregnant for the next seven years?”

“Okay so maybe it wasn’t right when I put Millie in ya. But when you told me about her. Shortly after I asked the stupidest fucking question a guy could ever possibly ask.”

“It wasn’t a stupid question. You had every right to ask it; wonder if it really was yours. I mean, if I’d jump into bed with you that easily, what was there to say I wouldn’t with anyone else? Could have been old habit, right? Could have been something I’d been doing on the regular. Banging mercenaries.”

“I don’t know if I thought THAT. It’s not like I thought you were putting out for every guy you worked with. I was just...I don’t know...surprised. Things were happening damn quick. Those five days, the things we were both feeling, what went down on the bridge. It was quite the ride. One I’d definitely do again with you.”

“It was a whirlwind, that’s for sure. I wasn’t exactly surprised though. About Millie. I mean, we weren’t exactly careful. At all. That surprises me more than anything, actually. That neither of us even thought of protection. I mean, once I can see. The being caught up in the initial moment. But the days after? Neither of us considered we weren’t being safe?”

“I considered it. I just didn’t give a shit. I know that sounds bad. Pretty fucking selfish, actually.”

“I always wondered if maybe we didn’t expect to get out there. That deep down we knew something was going to go wrong so why bother? We didn’t acknowledge feeling or thinking about it, but maybe it was there. Underneath everything.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I was just having too much fun and my hormones and my cock were totally in charge and wouldn’t let my brain think about condoms and shit like that.”

“That could be it too,” she muses, and curls two fingers around the chain. “And I was just so blinded by lust and potential love that I couldn’t think straight. You just disabled any common sense and rationality. Like you have been for the last twelve and half years.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault, huh? That your brain wasn’t stronger than your hormones? You’re going to blame that on me?”

“No one else to blame it on. Who else transformed me into a horny, nymphomaniac mess? Who is responsible for totally making me go against my ‘I’ll never get married again. I’ll never trust another man’ way of thinking? I WAS hell bent on being Miss Independent, I don’t need no man. And then you came along…”

“You do realize you’re still those things, yeah? Just because you let me take care of you and provide for you, doesn’t mean you’re not capable of doing it all yourself. If you had to. You’re strong, Me. Strong as hell. Probably the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“Other than when you look in the mirror?”

“You have got me beat in the strong department by a wide margin. You know you could, right? Handle all of this on your own? If you had to?”

“I like to think I could.”

“I KNOW you could. And you need to realize it, too. Just in case…”

“We are NOT going down that path, Tyler. Not now. Not ever. Maybe I could do it on my own. But I don’t want to. I don’t even want to consider it. So could we NOT go there? Please?”

“We won’t go there,” he promises, then lightly grips her hair and pulls her into a kiss. Long and slow and soft; her naked body brushing against his and a soft sigh escaping her lips.

She’s smiling as she lays her forearm along his collarbone, resting her chin upon it as she peers up at him. “I know you’re okay. But are WE okay?”

“That’s a weird thing to ask considering what we just spent an hour doing.”

“Not exactly the way we should go about apologizing to each other. Isn’t that something we’ve been trying NOT to do? Wasn’t that one of the big things Doctor Klein has been working on us with? NOT using sex for comfort.”

“That’s NOT what we were doing. Maybe an apology here and there, but…”

“You don’t think it’s weird? That we fight and we still resort to making up through sex?”

“Okay, I’m going to use a really sappy and corny term, so please don’t hold it over my head for the rest of my life. But THAT? What went down a little while ago? That wasn’t sex. Or fucking. That was making love. Simple as that. Big difference, don’t you think? Between that and what we usually get up to?”

“Definitely a difference. A huge one.”

“So maybe we used it as a way to apologize for the shit that went down earlier. Sometimes things are better expressed without using words. You know how hard I struggle with that sometimes; saying the right things and getting my point across. So if there’s an easier way to get things across to you…”

“Easier and much more enjoyable, you mean. I know how uncomfortable talking about the ‘feels’ makes you. But just so you know? When you DO do it? Open up about things? Just let everything out? It’s beautiful and it’s genuine and there’s nothing for you to be embarrassed by. I’m the last person you should feel embarrassed around.”

“It’s just who I am. A part of me I can’t get rid of, I guess. It’s nothing to do with you. It’s ALL me.”

“Regardless, I just want you to know the way you say things? In that very Tyler way of yours? I like it. Seeing and hearing that side of you. But I don’t expect it. I don’t want you being uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want. And your way of apologizing a little while ago? One of your best yet.”

“You definitely weren’t complaining. Well, except for when you’re getting pissed that I was dragging shit out.”

“Frustrated, not pissed. But the ending more than made up for it, that’s for sure.”

Smiling, he places a kiss on her forehead and then drops a hand to her lower back; palm flat against her skin, fingertips resting on the cheek of her ass. The other hand slips from her hair and settles between her shoulders; a gentle pressure pulling her tightly into him.

“I’ve always liked this with you,” she says, and places her chin on his chest. A hand resting lightly on the top of his head and her fingers playing with his hair. “The after stuff. Not that I’m saying there’s something wrong with the BEFORE stuff. Because there definitely isn’t. But the after stuff is nice. It always has been. Just being like this with you. Comfortable and relaxed and being in your arms. It’s always where I feel the safest. ALWAYS.”

“You’re safe even if you’re NOT in them, you know that right? That I’d never let anything happen to you..Whether you’re in my arms or not. I meant what I said, Me. About protecting no matter what. Against anyone and anything.”

“I’ve never doubted your ability to do that. Not once. Even when you were busted up and trying to get back on your feet, I knew you’d find a way to keep me safe. That you’d stop at nothing to make sure that happened. But when I’m IN your hands, it’s this whole other experience in itself. I’ve never felt that before. Being that at ease and comfortable and feeling like nothing can touch me. I never realized I even NEEDED to feel that way. Until you.”

“In all fairness, I didn’t think I COULD feel anything. Until you came along.”

“Pleasant surprise, huh? When you realize you really were still alive inside?”

“A VERY pleasant one, actually. Things I was feeling? For you? I’d never felt those things before. For anyone.”

“Not even your ex? I mean, you loved her at one point in time. She was your wife. The mother of your son.”

“I’m not saying I didn’t love her. I did. But it comes nowhere close to the way I love you. I can’t describe THAT. I just know what it feels like.”

“It’s profound and it’s all encompassing. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once. Sometimes, it’s even physically painful.”

“You know…” he lays a palm against her forehead and pushes his hand through her hair. “...that’s pretty damn accurate, actually.”

“I didn’t think I could feel that way either. I didn’t think it was even possible. To love someone that much. Do you think this is what people mean? When they say love is sometimes a blessing AND a curse?”

“Maybe. But I like to think it’s more a blessing than anything else.”

“Me too.” She wriggles further down his body; placing the top of her head under his chin. Hand sliding to his rib cage; fingers easily finding and beginning the trace of the tattoo that decorates his skin. “You know what I was thinking about? How freaked out you seemed; the first time I snuggled into you in Dhaka.”

“I wasn’t freaked out.” He repeatedly grazes his knuckles up and down the length of her spine, the pad of his thumb ghosting over soft skin. “I just wasn’t into that. I didn’t exactly sow my wild oats with women that were into that sort of thing. I fucked them, I left. That was the arrangement.”

“None of them ever wanted you to stay the night? Not a single one ever got attached to you? BEYOND sex?”

“Maybe a few. Couple of them thought maybe they could scoop me up and get me out of the life. Away from the game.”

“Did you ever consider it? Taking them up on it? Letting yourself get scooped up?”

“Nope. I wasn’t at that point in my life. I was happy being the way I was. I didn’t like any of them in THAT way. I just wanted to get my dick wet, simple as that. I didn’t want anything more. Besides, even if I DID, I wasn’t in any place to get into any of that. Wouldn’t have been fair to them, you know? I was way too big of a mess. Way beyond anything they could have fixed.”

“And no feels? Towards any of them? I know some of them were just meant to be one night stands. But what about the ones you would go back to? You had a handful of those stashed all over the world. You didn’t feel anything for them?”

“Nope. They made my dick hard, that’s it. I wasn’t in the market for anything else, Me. Not companionship, not a relationship.”

“Just an escape. Get away from it all for a while. Forgetting about things. Just concentrate on the there and then.”

He nods.

“And not one single feel?”

“I didn’t exactly LET myself feel. And even if I had been at that point, none of them were what I would have wanted as a permanent thing. They were nice enough ladies; attractive, fairly smart, established. But just not what I would have been happy with. Then I met you…”

“And it all just changed? Out of the blue? No rhyme or reason to it?”

“You were the first person that made me actually FEEL things. Who made me realize I wasn’t a shit human being and that I still had a lot of living left to do. You were different. You were this tiny little thing with this massive personality. You looked so wee and so fragile and you were anything BUT. You were a challenge; you weren’t a pushover and you couldn’t be intimidated. And I liked that. ALL of it. You had so much light and so much optimism despite everything you’d been through. Despite what you’d seen on the job. And strong. So fucking strong.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re attracted to strong, assertive, aggressive women,” Esme concludes.

“What I’m saying is that I’m attracted to YOU. No one else.”

She presses a kiss to his left pec. “So I’m a keeper, in other words.”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders , he rolls over onto his side, effortlessly bringing her with him and then tucking her tightly into his chest. A smile curving his lips and his eyes closing as he buries his face in her hair. “Yup.”

*****

“I’m scared,” she says several minutes later, effectively snapping him out of the beginnings of sleep. Still lying on his side with her body pressed against his; a heavy leg draped over her top thigh and their heads sharing the same pillow.

His fingers find her hair; combing through the dark tresses, palm settling at the nape of her neck. “What are you scared of?”

“That we’re going to end up right back where we were. Before Nathan did what he did. Before you got sucked back into things. Before Australia, even.”

“Babe, either I’m really tired, or you're speaking in riddles. Because I have no clue where you're going with this. Talk to me like I’m a five year old; break it down for me.”

Pulling back to look at him, she lays a hand on the nape of his neck; fingernails lightly scraping against the bottom of his hairline. “Before we moved back, we were still struggling. A LOT. We’d come a long way, but we still weren’t communicating properly and we were keeping things from each other and we were fighting all the time. I HATED it; being that way with you. Loving you so much yet being so frustrated and worried and frightened that we weren’t going to make it. And right now? The way things have been over the past week and a half? I’m starting to get worried that we’re falling back into old habits. And I don’t like it. At all.”

“Neither do I. I hate the thought of it. But I didn’t think things are that bad. I mean, we’re both going through some pretty heavy shit. But I don’t think it’s anything like it was before. Not even close.”

“We’ve been arguing. A lot. Even the kids have mentioned it; that we’re fighting more and it reminds them of how things used to be. The first three? They remember ALL of that. They were there; hearing us argue, watching us be so angry with each other. And it’s done a number on them and I feel so fucking guilty for that. That we didn’t at least try and rein things in. For their sake.”

“Definitely not one of my prouder moments, that’s for sure,” Tyler admits. “All the shit they had to hear; all the times we were mean and horrible to each other. I know I always say I wouldn’t go back in time and fix things because it would fuck everything else up. But THAT? Letting them know just how hard things were? I’d definitely change that.”

“And Addie is terrified that something is going to happen. Between us. She brings it up at least once a day. Asks if we hate each other and if you’re going to go and live somewhere else when we get back home. She’s FIVE. She shouldn’t be worrying about stuff like that.”

“She’s also extremely sensitive. Talk above a certain level and she thinks we’re fighting. I can’t even raise my voice around her. You know what she’s like; how vulnerable she is sometimes.”

“I just hate that she even feels that way. That she’s so worried that things are going to fall apart, I mean, they’re not, right? Going to fall apart?”

“Babe…” his hand slips to her cheek, gently cradling it as he presses a kiss to her lips. “....things are fine. WE’RE fine. I’m not going anywhere. Just because we’re a little on edge and we fight once in a while, doesn’t mean there’s problems. It just means we’re going through some shit and we need to get home and work on things. That’s it. So we argue? Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. That I don’t love you.”

“I just hate it. Feeling like we’re slipping. That things are going back to THAT. And I worry if it slips any further…”

“We’re fine,” he assures her, and kisses her again; lips lingering against hers. “Everything is going to be okay. Nothing we can’t get past. We just gotta stick together. Not let anything or anyone fuck us up. That’s it. United front. Me and you against the world.”

Smiling, she drags her knuckles along the edge of his jaw; bristles of his beard tickling her skin. “Stronger together than we are apart.”

“Always have been. You know who ALSO said that today? Your son.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific. I have four of them.”

“Your oldest one. We had a little talk. After you took off. He brought up that same thing. That we’re stronger if we stick together.”

“He’s definitely been listening. And watching. He’s starting to sound even more like you. In so many different ways.”

“He’s going to be a good man, that kid. No doubt about it.”

“That’s because he has a good man in his life. An AMAZING man. And role model.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know about that. That’s pushing it, I think.”

“Think about it,” Esme gently implores. “ TJ remembers what things were like before. How WE were before. When things were so hard and I’m sure it seemed like we hated each other and couldn’t stand to be around one another. He remembers when you left. Six months of his life without you under the same roof. And before you say anything…” She places two fingers against his lips to prevent him from speaking. “...that was in no way a cheap shot against you and I am NOT putting the blame on you. We had a lot of issues and neither of us seemed to want to fix them. But he DOES remember all of that. And now? Now he sees how different you are. How you treat me. He sees how much you love me and respect me and how you’ll do anything to protect me. He IDOLIZES you, Tyler. He wants to be just like you. In every way possible.”

“But I don’t want that for him. To be like me. I want so much more for him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with who you are. I don’t know why you can’t see that. Why you can’t hear the words that are coming out of my mouth. You are NOT a bad person. You've made bad mistakes. We’ve ALL made them. You’re not the monster you think you are.”

“I don’t want him following in my footsteps.”

“Be a mercenary, you mean.”

He nods. “That’s the last thing I want for him. That kind of life. Because the things I’ve seen and heard and the things I’ve had to do? I don’t wish those on anyone. Look what it’s done to me, Esme. And I’m not talking the broken bones or the getting shot or stabbed or any of that shit. I’m talking about what it’s done to me MENTALLY. It has fucked me up. You know that.”

“First off, you are NOT fucked up. You’re flawed. So am I. You don’t love me any less, do you? Because of my issues? My imperfections?”

“These aren’t just small issues. Tiny imperfections. They’re…”

“Do you?” she softly interjects. “Love me any less? Knowing what I struggle with?”

“Of course not. There’s nothing that could make me love you less. NOTHING.”

“And I feel that same way about you. So do your kids. And you know what, I don’t want him in that life either. I don’t want him being a mercenary. But he’s TEN. And all he really thinks about is how cool and exciting it is that dad gets to travel places and kick bad guys’ asses. He’s not thinking about the things the job has done to you. He’s a kid. His mind doesn’t work that way. He was five when you were in the hospital. He probably doesn’t even remember most of it. Especially the worst times. All he knows is that dad goes away and he helps people and sometimes, the bad guys die. It’s just the way it is. That’s all that matters to him. That, and that you come home safe and sound.”

“But there’s so much more to it. So much. And I don’t want him finding those things out first hand.”

“If he keeps going on about it when he’s older, THEN we tell him. Or you tell him. But right now he is still a little boy and his mind romanticizes and glorifies what you’ve done. What you still do. He’ll change his career about a hundred times before he’s eighteen. I know I did.”

“It's just not a life I want for him. For any of them.”

“If the time comes where ANY of them are considering that life, then we do something about it. But right now? They’re all still so young. They have so much time ahead of him. And I wasn’t talking about that; the mercenary side of you. Because you are more than that man. WAY more. You’re a husband and you’re a father and a grandfather. And believe me, those things matter more than you being a mercenary when it comes to your kids.”

“I just want to set a good example. That’s ALL I want.”

“And you ARE setting it. They all see how you are, Tyler. They see how you treat me. How you love me. Respect me. ADORE me. What more could you want for your boys? Do you know that that’s teaching them? Seeing you that way? It’s showing how they should be when they grow up. With their own partners. And that’s huge, babe. HUGE.”

“I guess I never thought about it. I just do it. I just act on how I feel about you. That’s it.”

“And it’s a beautiful thing; when you act on it. They see this big, strong man being so loving and gentle and attentive. What could be better than that, in their eyes? Their dad being that way with their mum? It makes them realize that even the bad asses have a heart. And that’s okay to use that heart. For good.”

“They also see me being an emotional wreck sometimes. So…”

“And there’s nothing wrong with THAT, either. So what? You get emotional. You cry. You’re a human being. Not a machine. And isn’t that we want for our boys? To be strong and protective when they need to, but soft and sweet and caring ALL the time? I know that’s what I want for them. There's so many things I want for them. Things that will make them good men.”

“Am I? A good man?”

“A good man who’s made bad choices and who’s had a hard life. Who’s learned from his mistakes and always tries to fix things and be better. You’re a good man and a great husband and an even better father. Think about what you’re teaching the girls. When they see you emotional. When they see you loving me. It’s showing them what kind of man they should want. That they deserve that kind of love and they should never settle for less. They’ll look for someone like you. And I know you’ll argue and say that’s not a good thing, but it IS. It’s a VERY good thing.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words; blinking back the threatening tears and swallowing noisily around the lump of emotion sitting in his throat.

“You ARE a good man. Regardless of what your brain says. And I hope one day it stops telling you differently.”

“So do I.”

“Baby…” she lays a hand on the back of his head; lips pressing a series of feathery kisses across his forehead and along the top of each eyebrow and down the bridge of his nose. “...I didn’t mean to make you cry. That’s the last thing I wanted.”

“Good tears, Me. All good tears.”

“Does it make you feel better that I think you’re beautiful when you cry? That you do suffering so beautifully?”

“I don’t know if it makes me feel better, but it’s really goddamn weird.”

“I know I don’t say it as often as I should, but I appreciate you SO much. More than you could ever know. Everything you do for me and for us and for our family. That doesn’t go unnoticed. And I love you so much for it. For always getting back up and putting one foot in front of the other simply because we need you to. I know it’s hard; that it takes all the energy you have to keep going some days. But you do it. For us. And you have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

“You know how you say I have a knack of making you cry easily? I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

Smiling, she curls both arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his lips. Eyes sparkling adoringly when she pulls away; searching every inch of his face as her fingers move through his hair. “You’re a beautiful person, Tyler Rake. Don’t ever let anyone or anything tell you otherwise.”

*****

He’s unsure how long they doze for; stirred from sleep by the sound of the bedroom door creaking upon, followed by the clinking of Mac’s metal tags against his leather collar. The mattress swaying and bowing as the dog jumps onto it and curls into a ball at the bottom of Tyler’s feet; laying his head on his front paws and issuing a loud, comical yawn before closing his eyes.

The temperature has dropped; the furnace clicking on and then settling into a low, almost soothing hum. A strong wind rattles the windows; bare tree branches scrapping the glass and tapping against the metal roof. His left arm is asleep; circulation cut off by the weight of his wife’s head resting on his bicep. And despite cautiously slipping it out from underneath her slipping form, she stirs. A groan of protest escaping her lips as she rolls over onto her back with a groan; heels of her palms pressing into her eyes.

“Good back to sleep, baby,” he encourages, and throws back the heavy comforter. “It’s late.”

“I wasn’t fully out of it.” She pushes herself up onto her elbows, frowning as he slips out of bed. “Where you going?”

“Just getting some clothes to put on. We learned that lesson more than once; always put something on BEFORE the kids get up.”

“We’ve encountered a few awkward moments,” Esme admits, then giggles when the t-shirt he tosses her way lands on the top of her head. “Are you okay?” she asks, as she tugs the garment on. “You have pain? Did you have a nightmare?”

“Everything’s fine,” he assures her, then slips into a pair of weathered and tatted plaid pyjama pants he pulls from the dresser. “Just having a hard time sleeping, I guess.”

“Probably everything that went on today. Your brain probably can’t completely shut down. Come back to bed, though. There’s no reason to get up. Just come and lie down and let me cuddle you.”

“Me…” he grins. “...we’ve talked about this.”

“Sorry. Why don’t you come back to bed, lie down, and cuddle ME”

“That’s better.”

Rolling her eyes, she squirms across the wrinkled and rumpled sheets and settles herself -on her side- in her regular spot. Back towards him as he slides into bed behind her; a forearm placed across her pillow and a palm resting against her stomach and pulling her tightly into him. A groan rumbling deep in his chest when she wriggles her ass against him. “You be good,” he warns.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Bullshit you weren’t.”

“I was getting comfortable,” she informs him, and then pushes her fingers through his; their joined hands resting against the fabric of her t-shirt.

“Sure you were.”

“I like this. Being little spoon. It’s my favourite.”

“You’re the perfect little spoon,” he praises, and drapes a leg over hers. “You fit just right.”

“Doesn’t hurt when you’re so big and I’m so small. Do you ever notice the way people look at us? When we’re out in public? When we’re walking down the street together? Holding hands or arms around each other?”

“I’ve noticed. It probably looks cute; tall guy, teeny girl.”

“They’re probably wondering how we ever get things done. Between the sheets.”

“We manage. We don’t have seven kids for nothing.”

“Have you ever considered you’re just incredibly fertile? Or that we both are? That it didn’t take very much to get me pregnant all those times?”

“I’ll have you know that I worked very hard all those five times it happened. I busted out my best moves to put those kinds of smiles on your face.”

“Baby, sex with you is always amazing. Well, there was that one time when you were really drunk and passed out on top of me and…”

“You are NEVER going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” she laughs. “Never. Especially when Declan was conceived during your drunken escapade. Let’s never tell him that, okay? We don’t need him to have a complex.”

“He already has one. He’s a ginger. That’s enough to give you a complex.”

“Your mother was a ginger,” Esme points out. “He looks just like her. So do you. In some ways. Definitely the shape of your eyes and your forehead and chin. They’re identical. The rest…”

“The rest I get from my old man,” he reluctantly admits. “Yeah, I know.”

“From a physical appearance standpoint, that’s not a bad thing. You happen to be very attractive, husband. Very sexy.”

“Are you saying my dad was sexy?”

“Ewwww. No. God, no. I’m saying you inherited good genes. From a physical standpoint. You are NOTHING like him in other ways. How about we NOT take this conversation any further? Let’s NOT talk about him.”

He presses a kiss to the back of her head. “Good idea.”

“I know what I WANTED to tell you!” She rolls over to face him; his hand falling to the small of her back. “Some very strange things happened to me today. While I was out.”

“Baby, I have been eating at the buffet of strange ALL DAY.”

“Well, consider this the dessert. Guess who showed up? At the diner.”

“Do I really want to know?”

“Natalie. Alone. No kid in sight.”

“She just wandered in out of the blue? Did she follow you there or…?”

“I think this time was a complete coincidence. It’s not a normal place I go to. I specifically went in a direction I don’t usually take because I didn’t want to run into anyone. I wasn’t exactly feeling too social or chatty. But yep, she just wandered in. The waitress knew her. First name basis. So I’m thinking she’s a regular there and it was just a totally random event. For a change.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Not at first. At first she ran off as soon as she saw me. Or tried to. I chased her down. I’d had enough of her shit and I wasn’t letting her off the hook.”

“And I didn’t get a call to come and bail you out of jail?” he chides. “Me, you’re losing your edge.”

“She is insane. Legitimately. That can be the only explanation for the shit that came out of her mouth. She really does think that you two have some kind of connection. That you’re feeling the same way she is. And she’s pretty determined to bust us up and reel you in.”

“That’s never going to happen and you know it. I am perfectly content where I am. She’s just some crazy bitch.”

“A delusional crazy bitch. She tried telling me that you came onto her. At the American Girl store. That you propositioned her. Something about taking a break from the girls and finding a supply closet and…”

“Okay first off, I’d never do something like that. I’m a lot of things, but a cheater isn’t one of them. And even if I was that kind of guy, I sure as hell wouldn’t do THAT. In public. In front of my daughters and my grandkid. She’s fucked. Well and truly fucked.”

“The more I argued with her, the more adamant she became about stealing you away. She’s pretty hot and horny for you, honey. I don’t know…”

“If anything, the thought of her makes my dick shrivel up. In fear.”

“If she had a normally functioning brain, she’d probably be deadly. But she’s just so off the reservation and so delusional that there is no way she’s a threat. Even if she did sort of let on that she is.”

He frowns. “What did she say?”

“Something about how I don’t know who I’m messing with. The usual bullshit someone spouts when they’re called out. They always try to act big and bad. You’ve seen that before; guys trying to step up to you because you’ve threatened their masculinity. I mean, she’s obviously harmless. A bit of a stalker, but…”

“There’s something not right with her. At all.”

“You’re telling me! She’s plain nuts. And I called her out. For lying about TJ. The whole last name thing. Told her if she ever brought my kids into her shit again, I’d go over to her house and drag her out and beat her ass in the middle of the street.”

A grin plays on his mouth. “That’s my girl.”

“I also told her to stay away from you. I don’t appreciate her pissing in my front yard, and I sure as hell don’t share. I don’t know if she'll listen to me, but…”

“Don’t worry about her. She’s obviously not all there. We’ll be leaving in a few days. Won’t have to deal with her for a while.”

“Thank god for that. Any more run-ins with her and I WOULD catch an assault charge and you WOULD be bailing me out of jail.”

“Wouldn’t you want me to leave you there? You might meet some nice lady.”

Scowling, she reaches between their bodies; making him chuckle when she pinches his stomach.

“Don’t be mean,” he dramatically pouts, then pushes her hair behind one ear, then the other. “What’s the second thing? You said a couple weird things happened.”

“This one is so strange it tops anything odd that’s ever happened to me. There was this guy there…”

“I don’t know if I like the start of this…”

“...who looked EXACTLY like Mark. And when I mean exactly, I mean a ninety nine percent match. That’s how much he looked like him.”

His blood immediately runs cold, and he tries his best to hold back any sign of emotion. It’s been years since he’d found out that her first husband was actually still alive; responsible for sending him a handful of voicemails and text messages. Harmless at first. Then becoming very disturbing. “As in your ex Mark?”

Esme nods. “We are talking about his identical twin. If he had one. I swear to God I almost peed my pants. Scared the ever loving shit out of me. That whole saying ‘you look like you’ve seen a ghost’? That was me. I can only imagine what my face looked like. Freaked me out so bad. I honestly thought I’d wet myself."

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Just random chit chat. He held the door open for me. Nothing major.”

“Hmmm…”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Hmmm? What’s there to go ‘hmmm’ about? It’s obviously not him. He’s been dead a long time. Hopefully burning in hell. What’s the look on your face for? Now you look like YOU’VE seen a ghost.”

“It’s not that. I just...wow. I guess it IS true; people do have a twin out there somewhere.”

“Well Mark’s twin is from New Jersey and didn’t seem like a first class asshole. He was pretty friendly, actually. Are you okay? You don’t look so good. I know Mark brings back a lot of bad things, but…”

“I was just thinking how weird that must have been for you. Seeing someone that looked just like him. Considering everything he’d done to you.”

“Oh believe me, the memories all came up at once. I was sort of a wreck for a bit after all. But I mean, he’s dead. He’s hardly a threat. It’s not like people can come back from the grave. It was just really strange. Made me feel some things that weren’t very nice, that’s for sure.”

“You’re okay now though? You’re not still freaking out inside? You’re okay?”

“I was okay as soon as I got home. As soon as I saw you. And I got to be in these big, strong arms of yours.” She runs a palm over his left bicep and triceps; enjoying the feel of soft skin and hard muscle. “I’m fine. It was just really weird. I’m okay now.”

“Good,” he says, and kisses her; the back of her head cradled in his palm as his lips softly and slowly move against hers.

“What a weird ass day, huh?”

“It’s one for the record books, that’s for sure."

“It’s over. That’s all that matters. We dealt with it and we got past it and tomorrow...or today...we start again. We deal with our shit and we get on with things and we don’t let anything break us. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Smiling, she kisses him this time, pushing her fingers through his beard and lightly scraping her nails along his jaw. “We need sleep. Badly.”

“We do,” Tyler agrees, and his lips find her forehead. “I’m sorry, Me. That things were pretty shitty today.”

“None of that matters now. We both apologized and we both know what we need to work on. And we’ll do it together. Like we always do.”

“We will,” he confirms, and she once more turns her back towards him. He reaches around her slender body; palm pressed against her stomach, eyes closing as he buries his face in her hair.

“I love you, Tyler.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “So much.”

His hold on her tightens. “I love you too, Esme. More than you’ll ever know.”

Heaving a long, content sigh, she nestles her cheek into the pillow and closes her eyes. Body settling and relaxing against his; safe and protected in the confines of his arms. Completely oblivious to the building rage and worry. In the matter of minutes, so many unknowns have taken up residence inside of him; centred around the true nature and reason behind Natalie’s behaviour and the encounter with Mark’s ‘twin from New Jersey’.

Sleep won’t find him. Not tonight.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Chris Hemsworth Tyler Rake #Chris Hemsworth Extraction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction fan fic #Tyler Rake x OFC #Esme and Tyler series

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hallowxiu · 5 years ago

Text

Late Night Snack

Pairing: Beelzebub x gn!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Genre: fluff

Summary: Beel misses Belphie, and while you can’t yet explain to him where he is and why he won’t answer his texts, you can help cheer him up.

Beel misses Belphie, and while you can’t yet explain to him where he is and why he won’t answer his texts, you can help cheer him up.

☼☼☼

Pitch black. All you can see is the faint outline of the things in your room as your eyes try to adjust to your dark surroundings. Your hand reaches out and clumsily looks for your D.D.D to check for the time. A sigh escapes your lips when you finally find it. “Dammit,” you groan to yourself when you see it’s only three in the morning. Thankfully for you, it's a Saturday and you don’t have class to wake up to in the morning, unthankfully for you, however, you’re on cooking duty and that does require you to get up before six in the morning. You never liked getting assigned to cooking duty, it always stressed you out trying to impress the boys (specifically Lucifer) and making sure that you had made enough for Beelzebub to eat while making sure everyone else also got food was enough to leave you pulling your hair out.

For whatever reason, you're wide awake and unable to go back to sleep. With your D.D.D back on your nightstand, you decide you might as well start the day and attempt getting the meals at least prepped. Devildom knows you have your work cut out for you today. Your bare feet thud against the wooden floor as you slide out of bed and open the bedroom door, not bothering to change out of your pajamas. If Lucifer has a problem with it, you’ll have to deal with that later. After all, you’re only making breakfast for them, it’s not like you’ll be fixing a grand meal for a special event. You snort to yourself over the mental image of Lucifer getting worked up over your apparel.

From where you stand in the hallway, you can see the kitchen light on and sigh to yourself in realization that someone’s already up before you. It’s likely that it’s Lucifer; the man wakes up long before anyone else, and that’s if he goes to bed in the first place. You don’t know how someone can function on such little sleep while taking on an immense workload, but you decide it’s best not to question it too much. “Lucifer?” You drowsily call out as you step into the kitchen and bring up a hand to rub the sleep from your eyes. “Oh.” You pause where you stand and take in the sight of the broadened outline of a certain redheaded demon. You shouldn’t be surprised to see Beel in the kitchen, you knew he had a habit of getting up several times a night to get “midnight snacks”, as he often called it.

“Oh?” Your name falls from his lips as he turns around, and he briefly reminds you of a child who's been caught doing something bad. “I didn’t hear you. What are you doing up so late? It’s not like you to stay up all night, that’s more Levi’s thing.” You chuckle to yourself as you step around him and make your way into the kitchen.

“I guess I just couldn’t sleep. I decided I’d just start cooking duty early today; do something productive with my time, you know?” You raise an eyebrow when you notice that Beel wouldn’t look you in the eyes, and you find his attention on the tiled floor instead. You also notice that he doesn’t have any food with him and that he wasn’t near the fridge. “What are you doing up?” He only shrugs in response, his cheeks dusted with a faint red. This was… odd, to say the least. You know Beel as the silent type, but this is still unlike him. “Did I interrupt you from getting a snack?” You try your best to sound casual as you whip out your D.D.D. You fiddle around with it aimlessly to give Beel the impression that all your attention isn’t on him.

“Not really.” He eyes you momentarily before he speaks up again. “I couldn’t sleep either, so I thought maybe I was just hungry but…” His voice trails off as he plays nervously with his hands. “It’s not that.” Your eyes widen from his words.

“You mean, wait, are you saying that you aren’t hungry?” Beel’s almost always hungry, even when he doesn’t have a large appetite. He never passes up food, no matter what situation he’s in. To have him standing in the middle of the kitchen and not even think about eating was concerning. Maybe you should talk with Lucifer? You sigh inwardly at the thought; Beel doesn’t need Lucifer sticking his nose into his business. If it’s bad enough, you’re sure that Beel would approach his older brother on his own terms. “So then what is it? Why can’t you sleep?”

“I…” He looks embarrassed as he hesitates, almost as if he’s ashamed for how he feels. With a gentle smile you encourage him to continue. “I miss my twin brother, Belphie. I wish I knew why he wouldn’t answer my messages. I just want to know that he’s doing okay in the human realm.” Your heart breaks where you stand as your brain tries (and fails) to come up with something to say. Truth be told, you know where Belphegor is and why he hasn’t been answering any of Beel’s messages, but you can’t tell him… not yet, anyway, you’ll need more of a solid plan before doing so. “What if he’s in trouble? What if that’s why he’s not answering my messages? He’s quiet in nature, but it’s unlike him to keep things from me. Belphie and I tell each other everything.” As if to convince himself, Beel nods his head at the end of his sentence with his hand on his stomach. If he wasn’t so distraught, you would have thought the action was endearing.

“Ah, Beelzebub, maybe his D.D.D doesn’t work up there, kind of like how my cell phone doesn’t work down here, you know?” You don’t want Beel suspicious or worried over Belphie; it might throw things off for you. You aren’t sure what would happen if Beel finds out that Lucifer has been keeping him prisoner this entire time, and you definitely aren’t sure if you can handle the aftermath of him finding out.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m worrying over nothing.” His brows are creased together, though you can tell he’s trying his best to seem less concerned. You know for yourself he isn’t feeling any better, so you decide then and there to take things into your own hands. It’s the least you could do for Beel and Belphie in the moment.

“You know, when I would get anxious about things as a child, my mother would always make me my favorite meal.” Beel’s interest is peaked, his attention suddenly on you compared to earlier when he was actively avoiding you. When he doesn’t say anything you decide to continue. “Hot chocolate!” Beel’s expression falls from intrigued to confused, and before he can ask any questions you quickly speak up. “I know it’s not really a meal, it’s a drink, but it’s my favorite and it always made me feel better. Besides, I never hear anything about hot chocolate in the Devildom, so I think this would be a fun way for you to try a human beverage, right? You’re always saying how you want to try more human foods. Just think of this as, um-- a liquid dessert. Yeah, a liquid dessert!”

This will be my best choice, you find yourself thinking. It’s quick and easy to make, and you’ll still have plenty of time to start up breakfast afterwards. Maybe Beel will even go back to bed. “Okay.” A smile takes over his lips as he looks down at you. “I will make sure to share it with you.” He stands back while you look around the kitchen for the proper things you’ll need. Thankfully, hot chocolate isn’t a difficult recipe, and the Devildom has many of the ingredients to boot. After all, you really only needed milk, cocoa powder, and some marshmallows. And if you’re super lucky today, the House of Lamentation would have all of those things.

“You know,” pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, you search through the cabinet, “the best part about hot chocolate is picking which mug you use.”

“The mug?” There’s a look of confusion on Beel’s face, as if he wasn’t exactly sure what you were talking about. “Do you eat the mug too?” He knows he gets weird looks from his brothers and occasionally even you when he’d attempt to eat the plate along with his meal, but he didn’t think humans would eat the dishes too. Then again, he’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t know much about the human realm or the humans that live there.

“You don’t eat the mug.” You couldn’t hold back your laughter as you reassure him. “I mean, sometimes there are edible mugs, like chocolate mugs, but I don’t think the Devildom has anything like that.” You cut yourself off when you see that he’s confused again. “Nevermind that. Most people enjoy their hot chocolate in their favorite mug. Mine was always something cute and Disney related. Do you have a favorite mug, Beel?” He goes quiet as he takes a moment to think, his eyebrows furrowed while he shifts on his feet. It’s odd, you think, because in any other situation you’d be impatient, but you found out very early on into your stay that you had a not-so-small soft spot for the giant brother. You honestly believed that Beel could take an hour thinking about his answer and that you’d be okay with it.

“I do.” He says after a careful minute of decision. “If we use it, I don’t have to eat it, right? Because I won’t use it if I have to eat it.” Laughter bubbles up in the back of your throat when you see how serious his expression is.

“I promise you Beel, you don’t have to eat your mug.”

“Okay, great!” His smile is plastered on his lips once again when he claps his hands together. “So how do we make this liquid dessert?”

“Hot chocolate,” you politely point out, “and it’s very simple. Since you’ll probably want seconds, or even thirds, maybe fourths--” you’re getting side tracked, “I’ll be making more than I usually would.” You explain to him as you duck down and grab a pot from one of the lower ground cabinets. “So hopefully you like it!”

“I like anything that you make.” He’s a little too quick to answer, but you can feel the butterflies swarming uncomfortably in your stomach from his compliment. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s willing to eat almost anything, or if he actually does enjoy your cooking, but you figure it’s pointless to ask.

“That’s very sweet.” You reply with burning cheeks. You’re glad your back is turned to him so that he couldn’t see how red you are. “Uh, Beel, could you grab some milk from the fridge?” You figure he might want to take some part in the process of making it. He's gone just as fast as you ask the question, only to return seconds later with the milk. “Thank you!” You beam when he places it on the counter next to you.

“I did good?”

“You did great.” You lean up on your tiptoes and ruffle his hair as he smiles bashfully. “Okay, so we’ll just need three cups of milk and then three cups of half and half cream,” you grab the measuring cup you set out earlier and pour the milk into it, “and then we can get to the fun part.”

“The fun part? I thought the mug was the fun part.”

“The mug is the fun part, but there’s another fun part! And that’s adding the chocolate.” You angle your head so that you’re looking back at him, wiggling your eyebrows in anticipation. Beel peers over your shoulder from where he stands behind you, eagerly staring at the pot as if his gaze will cause it to warm.

“I have another question.”

“What is it?” You ask as you bring your attention back to the milk; you didn’t want to make a mess in front of him. It’s too early to be embarrassing yourself like that.

“What’s half and half?”

You pause slightly at Beel’s question. Shit. Did the Devildom even have half and half cream? Did they have anything similar to it? You drum your fingertips on the surface of the counter, your bottom lip pulled in between your teeth. “Ah!” You snap your fingers together and push yourself away from the counter. “Butter! Butter and more milk! I think I can make that a substitute.” You hope so, anyways, otherwise you’ll have a very odd tasting hot chocolate. Beel says nothing, only standing back and letting you do the work, not wanting to mess up anything. He wasn’t sure why you were going on about substitutes, but he knew better than to try and get involved now.

Once you have the half and half cream situation sorted out, you turn the stove top on and then turn around. “We just have to wait for the milk to heat up, and then we can add the chocolate.” You wiggle your eyebrows once again and Beel can’t help but to giggle from your antics. “So, why don’t you find some vanilla and I’ll look for the chocolate powder.”

“We don’t have chocolate powder.” Beel replies almost instantly as he wanders off to the pantry to look for the vanilla. “And why do we need vanilla mix if we’re making chocolate?”

“Dammit,” you curse under your breath, “what about chocolate chips?”

“We have chocolate squares.”

“Good enough; Beel, can you bring me a bag of chocolate squares? Please don’t eat them.” You can practically see his pout from where you stand, but nonetheless he brings you the bag unopened. Okay, so maybe your traditional hot chocolate recipe was straying from the original ingredients, but that’s okay. As long as it tasted like hot chocolate, you’d be happy with that. Besides, this might work out for the best anyway-- the chocolatier the better, right? You gently take the bag from Beel’s hands and quickly open it, popping one of the squares into his mouth before he can complain about how he’s just absolutely starving. The rest of the bag goes into the pot, Beel watching with a small frown as the chocolates melt and disappear into the milk.

“Goodbye chocolate squares; you’ll never be forgotten.” He nods his head once and you have to keep yourself from snorting. He could be so dramatic at times when it came to food. You expected nothing less from the avatar of glutton, though.

You smile in content as you mix everything in the pot together. “It smells good, right?” The kitchen was beginning to smell like chocolate and you definitely aren’t protesting. “It’ll taste even better.” You comment when you see him nod his head in agreement. This seems to satisfy him as his overall mood becomes a little brighter. “And now just a splash of vanilla…” You let out a surprised yelp when Beel pours nearly half of the bottle into the pot. “Oh, Beel!” That definitely wasn’t good.

“Did I do it wrong? I just wanted to help.” His mood’s dimmed again and the frown is back on his face. You feel panic rise in your chest and you quickly shake your head.

“No, no! That’s fine!” You didn’t mean to yell, but you just really needed to let Beel know that he did a good job (even if he didn’t). “I’m sure it’ll taste great!” You soothe his nerves and carefully take the bottle out of his large hands and screw the cap back on.

After what seems like enough time has passed, you turn off the stove and turn back to face Beel. “Do you want to get your mug now?” He beams from the question and hurries off without another word. You watch silently as he skims through the cabinets for his favorite mug. After a couple seconds pass, he’s walking back over to you with a black mug with yellow stars painted on it. It was definitely… homemade. It was cute, but you didn’t think it quite matched the demon’s personality.

“Belphie made it for me.” Beel says as if he’s able to read your thoughts. “He painted it himself and drew on the stars. It’s my favorite gift of all time.” There’s a softness to his features that you can only describe as complete and utter adoration.

“It’s beautiful, Beel.” And you certainly weren’t lying. Knowing the story and emotion behind it, you can’t help but to change your mind on its appearance. You gently take the mug from his hands and pour some of the hot chocolate into it. Once you were done, you handed it back to him. “Make sure to blow on it so it doesn’t burn your...tongue…” Your voice trails off as you watch Beel down the entire drink in one single gulp. You blink once, then twice. Your mouth opens, though no words come out as you stare at him in silence. That was impressive. Concerning, but impressive. “Did you even taste it?”

“I did! It was delicious.” He smiles brightly and for a second you’re convinced that he shines brighter than the sun. “May I have more?”

“You can have all of it.” You say and push the pot towards him. He frowns at this and you raise an eyebrow. Maybe he didn’t like it after all?

“You have to have some too. I told you I’d share.” You lean up and peck his nose, watching in amusement as an adorable flush spreads across his cheeks. “You don’t have a favorite mug here, do you?” His question catches you off guard, but you quickly nod your head in response. “Then I will let you borrow one of mine. Hold on.” He hands his now empty mug to you, and once again you find yourself silently watching as he disappears to find another mug. He comes back with a plain green one, a small golden heart engraved on the side. It looked similar to Beel’s in the fact that it was homemade.

“It’s cute, Beel.” You say softly as you two exchange mugs. “Where did you get this one?”

“Lilith made it in the celestial realm. Belphie and I were able to sneak it out before we were cast down here.” Your eyes widen slightly as you look down at the mug in your hands. “I think you should have it; I think she would like that.” This time it’s your turn to flush from Beel’s words. Could you really keep something like this? You weren’t sure how the others would feel if they found out that Beel gave you her mug. As if he can read your mind, he leans down and presses a brief, but soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m sure.”

Before you could say anything more, the sound of someone clearing their throat pulls your attention away. In the entrance of the kitchen stands Lucifer, a single eyebrow raised as he stares at the two of you. “Do I want to know what you two are doing up at this hour? And why there’s,” he peers around the two of you to look at the stove, “chocolate and milk spilled on the stove top?”

“Uh…” Your brain might have just died.

“Nevermind.” He’s letting out a sigh as he waves his hand in the air. “Just have it cleaned by breakfast--” He pauses and for a brief second there’s an expression of shock on his face, “that’s not our breakfast, is it?”

“What? No, of course not! It was just a late night snack--” Lucifer cuts you off with another wave of his hand once he hears what he wanted.

“Just clean it. You too, Beel. Oh, and please, if you insist on beginning your day this early, have the decency to change out of your nightwear.” The two of you share sheepish smiles as Lucifer walks out without another word. At least you were able to cheer him up? Maybe?

162 notes · View notes

stutterfly · 5 years ago

Text

Love Bytes 05 | Faulty Code | KNJ (M)

Last time on LB04: Dealing with the aftermath of Saturday night is the least of your concerns when you find out Hoseok has been conspiring to build you a new dating profile. Meanwhile, Namjoon battles with the idea of a student failing his course while doing his best to manage his feelings for you.

Rating: M (18+)

Word Count: 12.7K

Series: Love Bytes (5/?)

Genre: F2L, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, ANGST! pining, sexual tension, smut, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, S O F T Namjoon

CW: dirty talk, masturbation, teasing, grinding

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

A/N: Welp. Here’s me letting out some of the steam from the pot. Don’t worry. There’s more to come. Tell me your fave parts I love hearing you guys talk about this story. 💜 Do not repost.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

What a fucking day. A slew of procrastinated assignments came in right before class today. Namjoon planned on spending the majority of the night reviewing them from home over a big bowl of noodles and a hearty serving of beef. That was before you asked him to come save you from the photoshoot. It sounded serious. He knew you were overreacting, and the fact that he had no license probably made him the worst person for the job, but he was an idiot when it came to you. How could he say no?

He still couldn’t be sure if it was the best or worst decision he’s ever made, considering the stack of unread essays still sitting on his desk. He sits down in his chair, eyes skimming across the surface of the pile. As he uncaps the pen nearby, a heavy fog rolls into his mind--and with it, the perfect recollection of you in that dress. He grips the pen tightly.

That fucking dress. You looked absolutely incredible. The slit running along the bottom of the fabric captured his attention immediately, allowing him to steal glances at the thighs he often imagined burying his face between. What he wouldn’t give to have you sitting on this desk now. He imagines your legs parting for him as he trails his fingers along your thigh just beneath the cut of the fabric.

He greedily sucks air through his nostrils and pushes the thought away with his exhale.

Papers. Grade the papers.

One sentence in, his mind betrays him again by rolling in thoughts of your various outfits and the charming way you floundered to copy Jimin’s poses. He turns the pen between his fingers, a smile forming on his face as he remembers the nervous glances you continually shot his way. Were you looking to him for subconscious approval? While it’s doubtful, he hopes that he brought you some comfort at the very least.

The cloud of thoughts carries him away once more, bringing a vision of your smooth legs divided before him. This time there are shorts hindering his journey to your core, but sitting at eye level is a very distracting pair of breasts just barely clad in a cute bathing suit. His eyelids flutter for a second as the daydream takes hold.

The strap around your neck gives way and your nipples bounce free, already hardened from the chill in the air. He leans forward with his elbows on the desk, as if to plant himself between the soft flesh he knows is a mirage. Short, jagged breaths fill his lungs as his mind scrambles to assemble a scent that’s close to fragmented memory of yours.

Half lidded eyes stare blankly ahead and his lips slowly part, wishing he could lave his tongue across your chest and leave a trail of sloppy kisses along the valley between each mound. Instead he drags his tongue across his teeth and breathes deeply, forcing himself to sit back in the chair. He shouldn’t be thinking about this; you were mortified.

He desperately snatches the first page from the desk, bringing it close to his face. He furrows his brow, glaring at the small type on the sheet. You’re not here, but the papers are. It’s not that hard. Focus on something else.

He drags his eyes across the first sentence. Then the second. Soon he’s proudly admiring the way he finished the first paragraph, but the words jumble on their way to his brain. He repeatedly moves his eyes across the page but he still can’t make sense of the sentences. Throwing his head back with a loud, frustrated groan, he rests his neck against the hard wood of the chair.

He closes his eyes, quietly accepting the fact that his brain is useless to him right now. The papers have waited this long; they can wait a little longer. Even with his eyes closed, all he can see is your breasts popping out of your top. What he wouldn’t give to nibble and tease the supple flesh surrounding those perfect tits. His hand slides beneath the band of his sweatpants, fingers curling around the solid mass of his cock.

Every detail is burned into his memory with perfect clarity and he uses it to fuel his lurid fantasy. He strokes himself at the thought of you straddling him in this chair, holding a hand to your back to further thrust your tits into his face. He bites down on the pebbled nipple and pinches the other between his fingers, forcing you to twist your own fingers in his hair and keen for him.

The surface of the chair painfully digs into the nape of his neck as his head becomes heavy, but he merely shifts the position of his back against the wood. He pauses to pull down the fabric of his pants just enough to free the head of his cock, dragging his hand across the sensitive tip to collect a mix precum and sweat before resuming his rhythmic pumping. He lets out a deep, throaty groan at the wet sound his cock makes sliding through his hollow fist.

With one tit in his mouth and the other clamped between his fingers, you slowly grind yourself back and forth on his lap, a loud, pornstar-esque moan escaping your lips every time the tip just barely grazes your clit. The hand at your back moves up to knot fingers in your hair, pulling your gaze toward the ceiling. The hand at your chest drops to your waist, halting the stuttered movement of your hips. I want you to beg me. Beg me for more. Come on. Beg me to put this cock in you, baby.

Just as you’re about to oblige, the phone on the desk starts buzzing; the familiar chime of three texts in rapid succession threatens to pull him from his thoughts. He slows his pace only to ensure there’s nothing else on its way to the device. When he’s met with silence, he increases the pressure of his palm against his sensitive tip on each upstroke. The impending wave of pleasure gains momentum as he imagines your needy voice whispering in his ear. How many different ways had he heard you beg in that sweet, tired voice of yours? “Namjoonie… Please?”

“Oh... fuck…” he chokes, drowing out the sound of two more messages pinging on his phone. He leans back into the chair and tilts his head towards the ceiling in ecstasy, desperately thrusting his hips into the phantom of you. Sharp, brittle exhales stab at the air around him as he feels his release drawing nearer. His hand grips his shaft tighter, pumping over himself as fast as he can. That’s it baby. Take it.

The obnoxious moan his mind conjures as a placeholder for whatever sounds you might make has him grasping at his own throat, desperate to have both hands occupied. You try to gasp out his name but each time you begin he plunges deep into your cunt, forcing you to start over with every inhale; you stutter out a hail of desperate “Na”s before finally giving in to a breathless curse as he bounces you up and down.

He can’t help the wicked smile that curls around his lips with the accuracy of his fantasy portrayal. He savors the frustration in your features that just barely mask the shy smile underneath. Even now he can’t stop thinking of your charming, bashful mannerisms: the tremble of dry lips devoid of their natural sarcasm, the rigidity of your posture as you self-consciously suck in your gut, the nervous comb of your fingers through your hair, and the arms that curl across your chest to hide a needless shame. Somehow that manages to further ensnare him in the trap of your beauty.

His thighs begin to quake, toes lifting his heels from the floor. “Oh, fuck…” he desperately tries to warn the empty air around him, as though you can hear the way he’s about to empty himself into you. “...Baby...” His hand is like lightning now, but with the rigidity of his arm, the repetitive motions are causing a cramp to form. He’s so close though. Just a bit more.

The phone on the desk buzzes again, alert breaking the fantasy just enough to slow his pace and use his free hand to flip the screen around. He’s sure if anything serious was happening, he’d get a phone call, but it’s better to make sure nothing is going on. As the screen lights up, his eyes glaze over the fresh text notification a few times. His heart sinks, halting his strokes before bringing the phone close to his torso.

You: are u avoiding me Namjoonie????

He sighs, trying to compose himself enough to open the app. A second message soon follows, bumping the notification down.

You: pls don’t :c

Why would you think that? He opens the message thread to be assaulted by your previous messages.

You: hey… so

You: i may have overreacted earlier when i asked u to save me 🤔

You: but you still came through for me and i do appreciate it

You: i guess what i’m trying to say is thanks

You: it was nice that you made an attempt

You: are u avoiding me Namjoonie????

You: pls don’t :c

Fuck. I’m sorry. He puffs his cheeks, cursing himself for being too preoccupied to respond when you first messaged him. You’re probably worried about things being weird now that he’s caught a glimpse of your perfect tits. But it’s not weird; it’s just hard. He steals a glance at his shaft, which twitches involuntarily in response to being robbed of its climax. Very hard.

Focusing back on the screen, shaky thumbs attempt to map out a dignified response. A mix of precum and sweat smears the keyboard and he cringes, dragging his tongue across a finger and wiping it across the screen before rubbing the surface with his shirt. There’s a bunch of gibberish in the textbox, but it thankfully hasn’t sent. He deletes it carefully before deciding on what you need to hear to allay your fears.

He lets out a deep breath and presses the green phone button. He smiles as your contact photo blows up on the screen. You’re stealing a sip of his milkshake just as he had turned around, and looking guilty as fuck as you do it. Jin had been kind enough to send it his way as a reminder not to leave things unattended around the drink thief.

“Hello?” You answer much quicker than expected.

“Geeksquad… Why you being paranoid?” He does his best to carry humor into the question, but he barely has time to conceal the shakiness in his breath.

“Are you okay? You sound a little out of breath.” You don’t buy it.

“Oh,” he sighs loudly, trying to reduce the sound of any following exhales. “Sorry I’m…” he fumbles to find a reasonable excuse for his demeanor.”...just uh, working out.”

“You?” you begin in an accusatory tone. “...Working out?”

“It’s a great stress reliever,” he manages to counter. “Anyway, I’m just calling so you won’t worry yourself to sleep.”

“Wow. What? Pshh. I wasn’t worried, like, at all, dude.”

Okay. You were freaking out. Confirmed, he muses to himself.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah… I was just making sure you weren’t too mad about the false alarm.”

Quit beating around the bush, Y/N. I know that’s not what you’re really worried about.

Regardless, he chuckles. “Look, I’ll say it now and any time you need me to repeat it: I’m always gonna be there for you when I can. I wasn’t doing anything important tonight anyway and the uber ride was hella cheap from my place to Tae’s. Plus… I got to see you model next to Jimin, which was hilarious by the way.”

“Har. Har. Har. I got completely blindsided by Hobi and Tae. Super hilarious. Especially considering I haven’t spoken to Jimin really since Saturday. You know. When I made him think we were gonna hook up and then just peaced out. Like a bitch.”

You’re not a bitch. It’s my fault you think that, isn’t it? You’d understand if you knew, wouldn’t you?

“He’s not going to hold it against you. You know that.” The words are painful. He wants to admit his own guilt in making the others back off, but he can’t seem to pull them out.

“Yeah.” You hum a sound of discontent into his ear. “...Hey Joonie? Do you think those photos are going to look okay?”

Your mind moves a mile a minute; he rolls his eyes at your insecurity. Why can’t you see the beauty in yourself? “I think Tae can pull out some decent ones. He has an eye for that kinda thing. Once you started smiling for real and let go of that fake shit, I think those were the money shots.”

“Good. I’m anxious about it still, but I feel slightly better.”

“Glad to help. Is there anything else?” His dick flexes at the thought of ending the conversation, the orgasm still close enough to easily pump out. It’s taking all his willpower not to run his fingers along his shaft in preparation.

“Um….” You hesitate against the receiver. “W-We’re good right? I mean...about that whole thing with Kookie in the hall.”

There it is.

Namjoon clicks his tongue, white lies spilling from his lips rather easily tonight. “Ah, I hadn’t even thought about it all that much. But I suppose we need to address it.”

“Do you think you can pretend like it didn’t happen?”

“Like what didn’t happen?” he asks lightheartedly, trying to ease the awkwardness out of your lives.

“The nip slip!” you hiss, failing to catch on.

Oh god, you’re killing me, Geeksquad. Come on.

The image of you spinning away from him just a bit too slowly plays over and over in his mind. He flexes his muscles to still the heat building in his gut. He’s just about ready to blow and his thoughts become jumbled on the way to his brain. “I-uh,Ah, yeah-Hmm. I know. I was, uh… making a joke Y/N.”

“Oh.” The exhale on the other end causes him to wince, your humiliation practically tangible.

“Well... Ithinkthat’sallweneedtotalkabout.Ineedtogotobed. Thanks,Namjoonie. Youhaveagoodnight.”

“You... too.” Were any of those actually words or was that a sneeze in disguise? You really don’t handle embarrassment well, but then again neither does he.

“And remember to forget!”

Oh my god. Please just hang up.

His flingers set the phone face-down as the call ends. He slides back against his chair and stares down at the exposed swollen head of his cock, dripping with precum and begging to continue where he left off.

“No worries… Hadn’t even thought about it at all.”

His fingers curl around the base and he pumps it a few times, throwing his head back against the hard surface of the chair with a loud ‘WHACK’. He flinches with a grumble and grabs at the back of his scalp. Frustrated, he tugs up his waistband and stands. The friction of the material against his sensitive tip forces him to suck air through clenched teeth.

Pulling his shirt off in one swift motion, he jumps into the bed across the room. He reclines against the pillows and basks in the chill of the sheets beneath him. His jaw shifts back and forth as he stares at the ceiling, reaching beneath the band of his pants once more to pull free the aching erection in his hand. Never once had it gone soft during your conversation.

Was it wrong to still be thinking about you? Maybe. But he was so fucking close before. He was exhausted. He needed this. There would be time to feel guilty tomorrow. He closes his eyes and begins again, slowly building to a pace that has him digging into his thigh with his free hand. He squeezes on the upstroke, always hitting the tip with just enough pressure to edge him closer and closer to ruin.

He sucks his lips over his teeth, poking his tongue out from between them. It’s easy to imagine your body above him, tits smacking his face with every bounce from his hips. A constricted moan fights its way from his throat as he imagines twisting fingers in your hair, pulling you down to meet his gaze. As he increases the ferocity of his thrusts, you wail uncharacteristically at the sensation. Your foreheads touch, heavy breaths fanning each other’s cheeks before he finally pulls you down on his lips for the kiss he desperately needs. That’s all it takes.

“Mmhph...!” He draws a hand across his mouth and bites down to muffle the helpless sound of pleasure that escapes him. His cock finally loses control and sputters thick ropes of cum across his belly. Another squirt leaves gooey trails up his chest. His seed pulses rhythmically from him again and again, hot streams of cum coating his torso and reaching all the way to his chin. He rides out the waves of pleasure, and strokes himself in tandem with its tempo until his balls are completely empty. His eyelids flutter open and he looks down at the mess he’s made.

“Holy. Fuck.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Plink! The notification sound is a foreign one. You close out the request for replacement printer paper and shove your hand in your cargo pants in search of your phone. You plop down in your chair to see there’s a message waiting from a match on Tinder.

Oh no.

Was this an accidental swipe again? You quickly load the app to see what’s waiting for you. You open the profile and vaguely remember swiping right on him. He was kind of cute in a tall, stick-man kind of way. The few pictures showing a smile were fairly captivating and you couldn’t find a reason to say no. His profile made him out to be intellectually stimulating with a sarcastic sense of humor, so what the hell right? Besides, he already sent the first introductory message.

Chul: Good morning! Please accept this unimpressive hello as an attempt to woo you. ~Chul

It makes you smile and you bite your lip as you try to compose a response. It’s not that hard. Just say hi back.

Your fingers hesitantly tap the screen, painfully piecing together your first reply to a potential date. Your words feel clumsy and stiff as you struggle to make a joke. Is it too cringey to send emojis to people you don’t know? You pick at least four different emojis before deleting your sentence and starting over again.

You: Oh hey! I see your message and raise you a second, equally unimpressive hello. 😅

Feeling like you could have done a better job at actually giving him something to work with, you quickly send another text.

You: I hope you’re having a good day so far! TGIF right???

Wow. That’s a really fucking stupid thing to say. You hate yourself so much for not being better at this and dejectedly put your phone down. Maybe you were just fooling yourself if you were thinking a person like you could ever be comfortable enough to talk with strangers.

Despite feeling like a loser who has nothing of value to contribute to this conversation, the notification sounds again. You spend the rest of the day texting back and forth with him about your shared interests before agreeing to finally meet him for coffee after work.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’re texting the group chat as you sit in your car, listening to the soft patter of rain hitting your windshield as you mentally prepare yourself to enter the cafe. You exhale, knowing your gloating will cause trouble, but man if you didn’t want to rub it in their faces just a little bit.

You: Y’all motherfuckers can eat me. My profile was so good I’m bouta be on my first date

Hobi: WHAAAA? REALLY!

Joonie: Don’t blow it.

Jin: Where is he taking you?

Jin: Maybe a 5 star fancy restaurant run by an incredibly handsome chef? :D

Yoongi: I wish I knew a place like that. I’m hungry

Jin: -____-

Jin: You should be nicer to your elders

Taehyung: But my photos aren’t ready yet? Is this magic?

Jimin: Uh oh you bruised his ego!! >u<

Taehyung: NO NOT TRUE! I just want Y/N to explain how this happens before our hard work gets shown to the world? I am suspicious. Send a photo of your date

Yoongi: Can you photograph things that don’t exist?

You: WOW. OKAY.

You: His name is Chul he’s nice. We’re getting coffee to meet in person

You: Also. 😤Fuck you all. My shitty profile got me a date obvs don’t need your help

Hobi: AWWW I’m proud of you dirty girl

Hobi: sorry my phone keeps auto-correcting dirty girl to dirty girl

Hobi: …

Hobi: Who did this to my phone

Jin: You did last week..

Hobi: REALLY? I don’t remember at all! LOL

You should have known better than to text them all at once.

You: well this has been real guys thx for ur valuable input. Ima go have coffee with a hottie

Jin: Is it still coffee if you put all that sugar and whipped cream on it?

Yoongi: Bring me back an iced americano

Jungkook: as long as ur taking requests can you get spicy pork?

You were wondering when that brat would finally respond.

You: NO. HERE. Choke on this photo of a real place where ima be meeting a real person

You snap a quick photo of the cafe and send it to the group, hoping it will satisfy their need to know the details.

A private text from Namjoon comes through.

Joonie: You brought that conversation on yourself lmao... But anyway, be safe

You: no worries im always safe. besides you have photo evidence of my last known location if i go missing

You: oh u want my license plate number too just in case???

Joonie: Not funny

You: pfft says you my anxiety thinks I’m hilarious right now they definitely wont find my body 3 days from now

Joonie: No one’s gonna murder you. Relax Y/N. Just be yourself

You: Be obnoxious?

Joonie: Exactly

You: caaan doooo lmao 😘

Joonie: Text me when you get home, okay?

You: Okay mom

Joonie: Good luck Geeksquad

You flip your phone around and stuff it into your pocket. Shit. Maybe you should have changed out of your work clothes. Oh well, the t-shirt and cargo pants will have to be enough. After all, you always look like this; it’s better to be honest, right? You compose your thoughts long enough to will yourself out of the car into the rain, taking your first step through the doors to the coffee shop.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Yoongi stretches, rising from his bed as the expected second group chat begins, this time without you or Namjoon.

Hoseok: The Java Stop. Where’s that?

Yoongi: It’s not far from here. I worked there last summer remember?

Hoseok: I don’t think I can make it in this traffic

Tae: I’m a couple hours out for a gallery opening… Sorry guys

Hoseok: So who’s running surveillance?

Seokjin: I can step out for a break

Yoongi: I’ll go. It’s right here

Jimin: I wish I could. I’d love to see how it goes T_T But I’m stuck working late with no way out

Yoongi: See you at the cafe then

Yoongi: Please don’t look suspicious

Seokjin: Ha! No worries. I am a master of hiding in plain sight

Jungkook: Sorry was in the middle of a game but it looks like you got it figured out lol

Hoseok: Jungkookie you’re on duty next time >:(

Jungkook: Huh? Why me?

Hoseok: You play too many video games!!!

Jungkook: what? Oh no i can’t hear you you’re breaking up

Jungkook leaves the group chat just as a text flies in from Namjoon, addressed to the six of them.

Namjoon: Don’t get involved and mess up her date. She deserves to have something good. Stay out of it please, all of you.

Yoongi reads the message and chooses to ignore it. He pulls a hoodie over himself and pops a baseball cap on before heading out the door. The warning from Namjoon does nothing to dissuade him from his mission; it’s harmless really if they’re just watching. Boy, did he plan to watch this trainwreck.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The trek is damp and slightly miserable, but he doesn’t mind. It’s familiar. He thinks of all the days he spent walking to work from the apartment when finances were tight. In his recollection he finds a new appreciation for his car and the extra time he’s able to spend sleeping. While he works a lot now, it’s by choice and not circumstance. His charm, good looks, and ability to concoct beverages that are deceptively strong have built him somewhat of a fan following and reputation as an excellent bartender. The tips are good, too good to pass up on a Friday night, but there’s plenty of time until his shift starts.

It’s no trouble to enter the busy coffee shop unnoticed; the swarm of people seeking shelter from the muggy rain provides enough cover for his tiny frame. He places his order, offering a boxy smile to the barista before sneaking inconspicuous glances around the room.

His eyes settle on your familiar form but his features twist in displeasure as he scrutinizes your choice in attire. You definitely should have changed your clothes given how close the apartment is to this area. He finds a table across the room to watch you from, tonguing the straw to his drink.

A shadow clouds the table as he places his phone down on its glossy surface. Jin towers over him before sitting in the adjacent seat. Yoongi takes in the sight of his friend’s aviator sunglasses and hideous brown fedora before grimacing. “Ew.”

“Ew, yourself. At least I’m in disguise,” he says, flippantly opening a large newspaper and ducking down behind it as if engrossed in the copy at its center.

Yoongi blinks at him. “You’re right. No one would want to look at such a disaster.” He takes a sip of his coffee, shifting his focus back to you.

Jin drops the paper onto the table, glaring from over the rim of his glasses. “I had to go deep undercover because women are always coming up to me telling me how handsome I am. Do you know what it’s like?” He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms with a scoff. “What am I saying, of course you don’t.”

Yoongi sports a cocked smile. “You’re right. People must be able to tell I don’t need constant validation.”

“Woooooow.” Jin holds his hand over his heart, bowing his head forward. “Who do you think I am: Jimin? Y/N?”

“Y/N is right there, aren’t you watching?” With a subtle nod of his head, Yoongi tips Jin off to your position across the room.

“Oh.” His broad shoulders instantly relax, perking up at the sight of your smiling face. “Ah, how do you think it’s going then?”

“Look at her. How do you think it’s going?” Yoongi takes another sip of his coffee and casually scrolls through his twitter feed.

“She’s smiling, that’s good, right?” Jin pulls his glasses down a bit further to get a better look.

“Oh wait, what is she doing with her cup? Why is she sliding it back and forth like that? She’s going to spill it.”

“Well…” Yoongi begins, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek before shifting his attention to his friend. “She’s already done that twice. I don’t think she noticed the second time since it’s still on her shirt.”

“Okay. Did she get a real coffee this time?”

“No... It looks like pure sugar. She was sucking whipped cream off her fingers before you got here.” He squints. “She still has some on her nose.”

Jin’s mouth twists in disgust for half a second, but then he shrugs and raises his eyebrows. “It can be hot if done right.”

“It wasn’t,” Yoongi responds plainly, stealing another glance in your direction.

Jin follows suit, pulling the newspaper up to cover his nose. He watches you excessively wave your hands as you speak, your own gaze downcast. “Is the table her date? Eye contact is important you know.”

“She must be nervous,” Yoongi guesses, casting his attention back to the screen at his fingertips.

“Her hands are all over the place. I feel like she’s going to knock him out… Oh great, now she’s slouching too.” Jin clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Such bad posture.”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and nods his head in agreement, despite the fact that he has the exact same slumped shoulders and arch in his back as he leans over his phone.

Jin watches you fumble your way through attempted conversation. You smile and nod as your date talks to you, keeping your gaze affixed elsewhere at all times. The conversation appears to go dead and you both sip your drinks. “He’s pretty good-looking actually, don’t you think?”

“Are you surprised?” There’s a hint of movement in his eyebrow, but the rest of Yoongi’s face remains unchanged.

“Ha, a little actually,” Jin admits, leaning forward across the table and sliding the sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I mean no one is going to measure up to this face.” He pauses to gesture around himself before he rests his chin in his hands. He peers across the cafe, a distant silence overtaking him. “But…”

Yoongi side-eyes him without moving, waiting for the rest of Seokjin’s objection. When the word is left trailing on its own for too long he finally pushes his friend’s arm, causing his elbow to slip out from beneath the weight of his head. Fortunately for Jin, he’s able to catch himself before his chin collides with the gloss of the table, and he shifts his hidden accusatory gaze onto the man beside him.

With a simple shrug, Yoongi goes back to looking at his phone. “Continue.”

He grumbles in response. “I think she can do better.”

“No shit.” With a scoff, Yoongi lets his eyes wander across to you. Have you ever looked so miserable in your life? There was a smile on your lips, but no joy came from the motion. A stranger might not know the difference, but he had shared enough genuine laughter with you in the last year to spot the phoniness within it.

You don’t look all that interested and neither does your date. The conversation keeps flickering out, but both of you are struggling to rekindle whatever sad spark of it there is. Is sparing a stranger’s feelings worth hours of agonizing moments like these? He would tell you no until he’s blue in the face, but you’d be there trying to convince him of the opposite for just as long.

You care about even the most negligible things. You expend so much energy trying to do the right thing, even when it doesn’t matter. You negotiate and mediate every escalating situation, like a control freak. It’s exhausting. It’s frustrating. It’s maddening. The fact that you’re able to somehow survive like this is perplexing to say the least. It’s also incredibly endearing; no wonder Namjoon is absolutely head-over-heels for you. He gets it.

But this guy sitting across from you? He doesn’t.

He looks older than what Yoongi pegged you for, older than Seokjin, and definitely older than you. Maybe you really are getting this desperate? Or maybe your date lied. It’s easy enough to do when you don’t have to advertise in person. Whoever this guy is in reality, he’s probably just an empty promise an online personality sold you on. That’s why these stupid apps don’t work for people like you. But if you wanted to try, well fuck if he wasn’t going to let you fail and make fun of you for it later. He smacks his lips loudly and gulps down a good portion of his americano.

Jin lifts his fedora and rubs his temple with both hands. “We have to do something. I can’t keep watching this.”

Just as he’s about to stand, Yoongi reaches out to grasp his shirt. “Don’t make a big scene. You’ll only make things worse.” Jin slumps back in his chair with a pout as he continues, “I know your break is almost up. Let’s meet her at her apartment later. I’m closing tonight, but I can at least start to talk her through some confidence building before you get there. I’ll keep an eye on things here and let you know if there’s anything going on. But this one’s obviously a dud.”

Reluctantly, Jin takes his newspaper and stands. “Okay, but if anything changes, you let us know what we’re in for.”

Yoongi nods, swirling the straw in his iced coffee. An afterthought hits him and he perks up. “Oh, could you do something before you come over though?”

“What? Do you need me to bring something?” Seokjin asks earnestly, leaning over his shoulder. “What do you need?”

“Burn the hat,” he replies with a deadpan expression.

Seokjin stands up straight, lip curling in disgust. “This is my coworker’s hat. I’ll tell him you said that.”

“He should know the truth.”

The bell on the cafe door rings and Yoongi now sits alone, slumping further down in his chair. Honestly, he’d rather set himself on fire than keep watching this sad display. But he only has to wait it out a little bit longer.

At least that’s what he tells himself before another thirty minutes pass of this awkward situation. You’ve given your straw a flat edge, biting down on it whenever you feel nervous since the drink has long been emptied. Clearly you’re both unable to end this disaster and he’s already exhausted his twitter feed multiple times.

Yoongi: Hey are you back yet? Hobi said he needs something that might have rolled under your couch? He wouldn’t say what…. Figured I’d warn you he’s trying to get in...

Total bullshit but still plausible. You’re already looking down at your phone and rising from your seat, ending the date just like that --much to everyone’s relief. You all but practically run from the cafe and Yoongi pauses before making a move, waiting for your date to leave as well.

A family happens to be leaving the shop and he puts his hood up to blend in as he exits, trying to remain inconspicuous as he looks for your car. It doesn’t take long before he picks it out in the thinning parking lot. Even in the rain, he can make out your form at the dashboard, hunched over and sobbing.

His heart drops into a pit in his stomach as you sit there with your face pressed into the vinyl of the steering wheel. Every swipe the wipers make against your windshield is an opportunity to glean more information on the state of your distress. The faint glow of the cellphone in your hand illuminates the tears on your cheeks and it drives a stake of guilt through him. There goes that gloating opportunity.

He lets the rain beat down on his hoodie as he continues walking towards the apartment, trying to scratch away the image of your puffy, tear streaked face. But it clings to him like a stubborn leech, threatening to steal every last positive vibe for the day.

He beelines for the convenience store across the street.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’re already tearing up your living room, looking for anything that Hobi might have left. Anything to distract yourself from that disaster of a date is a blessing. He didn’t answer the door when you knocked and neither did Yoongi. Part of you is grateful; the last thing you want right now is to face any of your friends after being so cocksure you were about to have an excellent time.

Regardless, you text them both to try to clarify what it is that Hobi thinks he lost at your apartment. You don’t have time to properly interpret his confused reaction as a loud knock sounds from across the room. Frustrated and upset at the way things have played out tonight, you jerk the door open, too far gone in self-pity to care who could be on the other side.

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at you as he stands near the door frame, plastic bag hanging from his arm. He wordlessly struts across the threshold. Stunned into silence, you let the door close of its own accord. He extends the bag out to you, droplets of water rolling off its surface and pooling on the carpet below. You hesitantly accept the gift, wondering what might warrant such a kind gesture from Yoongi.

Then you remember the text that acted as a convenient excuse. The timing was good, too good to be coincidence. Hoseok’s confusion begins to make sense as you piece it together in your brain. You don’t know what to be more embarrassed about: the date itself or the fact that Yoongi had watched at least part of that train wreck.

“Thought you could use some ice cream. I don’t know what flavor you liked so I picked up a few,” he says as he flops onto your couch. “Maybe you’ll like one. If not just leave them in your freezer and I’ll eat them later.”

He declares the act is a selfish one, so he won’t feel quite so bad when he leaves for his shift. But he knows there’s something more at play; your kindness is contagious.

“Yoongi? Why would I…?” You finally separate the handles and peer inside the bag and the rest of the feigned words trail off.

A few is an understatement. There must be at least fifteen pints, if not more. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out from your chest. “Wow! What did you do, clean out the 7-Eleven?”

He does his best to hide his embarrassment, but you still catch the way his posture bristles at your joke, reminiscent of a cat before it swipes its claw at a perceived threat. “Like I said, if you don’t want them I’ll take them off your hands.”

You possessively cling the treats close to your chest. “No! They’re mine. You said so. But I’m not hungry right now… Hold, please!”

As you disappear into the kitchen to put them away, he smirks. “Hey. Geek. Squad,” he calls, the nickname sounding awkward on his tongue as he kicks his shoes across the room.

The thud of his sneakers hitting the floor makes you peek your head around the corner, crinkling your nose at him. “Don’t you start on that too.”

“What? Only Namjoonie can use that one?” he snickers, resting his feet up on the cushions. He only has to bend his knees a little to fully recline on the little loveseat.

Your face flushes with heat. Why do you let him call you that? It’s insulting, really. And yet there’s something endearing about the way he says it. “No,” you spit as you finish up. Instead of pestering him to move, you glide past his feet and find a place on the floor to sit comfortably. There’s still an uneasiness in your stomach. “He’s not allowed to either. He’s just a dick.”

“Okay,” he teases in a doubtful tone. He exhales, turning his head toward you. The darkness in his eyes causes you to shiver and avert your gaze. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in response.

“So I’m guessing I should thank you for saving me,” you say quietly, staring at the peacock pattern on the sofa. “How long were you watching?”

“Long enough.”

You purse your lips together and hold back the tears building heat behind your eyes. “So are you gonna get it over with and make fun of me? Please stop drawing it out.”

He shifts his body to fully lay on his side and lazily extends his arm out to pat you on the head a few times. Keeping his palm pressed on your forehead, he mumbles, “It’s okay. Even though it was bad, I’m sure you did your best.”

You look up and shift your jaw back and forth, trying not to expel the tears you’ve been holding. He’s trying to be nice at the very least, trying being the keyword.

“I just never want to see something so pathetic again. You need confidence. That’s why I’m here,” he explains casually, dropping his arm and letting his knuckles graze the floor. “We both know the reason you won’t look me in the eyes…” he pauses, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips when you tense up. “But why did you avoid looking at the guy in the coffee shop? You were there to see him weren’t you?”

You feel yourself shrink back, shoulders raising as you shake your head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He raises his eyebrows and keeps his gaze fixed ahead as he bounces a foot on the armrest. “Try me.”

“Do you know what it’s like to meet someone for the first time and immediately be able to see their disappointment?”

The response is quiet. “Yes.”

You furrow your brow and look up at him. Could he really understand?

“But so what? They don’t like you? Fuck ‘em. They don’t know you,” he declares, eyes locking with yours.

Instead of recoiling and searching for a new target to focus on, you stare into those dark pools twinkling in the dim light. “So, what, just don’t worry about it?”

“Can you change their preconceptions? You can’t make someone think differently than they do. All you can control is yourself, your own thoughts, and how you approach the situation.”

You ponder his words for a moment. “But…What if I could show them that I’m not this mess that I come off as? What if I can change their mind?”

“Maybe you could. But you’d expend so much energy and time into someone that wouldn’t do the same. The world is already unfair. You don’t have to bring more injustice down on yourself.”

“But… I know I’m not good enough for a lot of people. I need to prove that I can make up for my shortcomings. If I can just highlight the good things--Ow!”

Yoongi interrupts you with a flick to the forehead. “Stop. You’re good as you are. Everyone has their flaws, but it’s part of a bigger package. There shouldn’t be a need for you to justify that. You don’t need to say your smile makes up for your clumsiness, or that your anxious behaviors are made up for by your kindness. When you care about someone enough, everything becomes endearing in its own fucked up way.”

You sit there quietly, scanning his expressionless features for any hint of deceit.

“Not to mention people are attracted to different things. Even what you think are terrible traits probably turn someone on.” He laughs. “Everyone’s into something…”

You swallow, mulling over his words as you search his eyes for some excuse to doubt him. “Yeah…” A laugh falls from your lips. “I guess you’re right.”

“Hey. You just looked at my eyes when you talked to me.” He clicks his tongue and chuckles. “Looks like you’ll be fine on any date, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Yoongi.”

The blush that creeps across your cheeks doesn’t deter your gaze, and you manage to hold eye contact with him for most of the following hour as he tries to teach you how to be a little more blunt. Of course with your personality there’s only so much he can do, especially in such a short amount of time.

You find yourself disappointed when he tells you he’s got to get ready for his shift and heads for the door. “Remember, if all else fails and you need a way out: believable bullshit.” But before he’s taken the final step out he motions at the coffee stains on your shirt. “Oh you should probably wash that by the way.”

You let out a sound that’s half a groan and half a sigh. It wouldn’t be Yoongi if he didn’t leave you feeling bittersweet at the end of your conversation. “Thanks.”

As you close the door and give your work shirt a disgusted once-over, your phone starts buzzing, cross-eyed photo of Namjoon lighting up the screen. Oh, shit I forgot to check in.

“Namjoon I’m so sorry!” you answer quickly, beginning to pace around your living room.

“Well, you’re not dead so there’s that. It’s been a few hours and you didn’t respond to my texts. You good?”

I haven’t even looked. Wow I’m a terrible fucking friend.

Opening the freezer, you grab one of the pints of ice cream. You can’t go wrong with cookie dough. You bob your head back and forth as you try to come up with a lie that will sound convincing. “Yeah...Yeah! Everything is totally fine. Better than fine actually. It was good, so, so good. I can’t even believe how good it went. Whew!”

Good. Believable bullshit. Isn’t that what Yoongi had just talked about?

“Really…? That’s--”

Your mind is racing and you cut Namjoon’s response short. “But you-you know, I-I-I don’t think he had the right… mmm--noodle.”

“What.”

ABORT. Abort. Stop talking please.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, just gonna keep my options open. You know what they say. Plenty of other noodles out there… You know, for the sucking.”

Holy fucking shit. Stop talking.

“Wow.” He’s quiet for a few seconds before he chokes back a fit of laughter. “You’re a shitty actress you know but that was… something else. Just how bad was it?”

You groan as you stick a spoonful of cookie dough chunks into your mouth. “Bad enough that Yoongi had to end the date for me. He must have been watching.”

Hopefully he understood that. You never used to talk with your mouth full, but hanging around with these particular men has changed your habits; almost every one of them chew with their mouths wide open. You’ve given up on trying to correct the habit for them or yourself at this point.

You hear a frustrated sigh on the receiver. “I told them not to get involved. Sorry.”

“No, no. I’m grateful. I have a freezer full of ice cream now.”

“Oof. You that upset about it?”

You laugh, taking another spoonful of ice cream into you mouth. “Actually I didn’t buy it, Yoongi did. No way I can eat it all though. He came over after and gave some advice to go with it. You know, he’s a lot nicer than he lets on. Maybe I should just give up and date him instead.”

The comment takes him by surprise and he forces a laugh from his throat that comes out like a snort.

Sensing the stiffness on the other end of the line, you laugh awkwardly. “That was a joke, no worries. Firewall is still in full effect. Besides, if it were anybody you know it would be Jimin and I goin hard.”

His relieved sigh is concealed by the sound of his heart breaking. That and the clearing of his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Want me to come over?”

“Nah, I don’t want to make you Uber it all the way here just because I’m a dumb bitch.”

Honestly you’d rather be by yourself because it feels like you’re about to start crying again, and god knows Namjoon has seen enough of your tears to be drowned in them by now. Why subject him to that? You’re still genuinely bummed out about the date. Via text Chul seemed really cool, but he was insanely boring and rigid in person; he was also way older looking than the photos indicated.

Yoongi did some damage control for your ego, but if even so you feel loneliness tugging at your heart strings. As soon as you get off the phone, you’re going to cry and eat ice cream all night. Is it healthy? Not at all. Is there anything good about it? Well, the ice cream was free.

“I don’t mind. Come on, we can watch some kung-fu movies and make fun of the villains,” he insists. “I understand if you want to be alone but you sound kind of sad. And I don’t want you to get drunk and mope about some fool.”

Oh right I have alcohol! Ice cream and liquor. What could be a better dinner for a sad adult with excellent decision making skills?

As though he’s reading your mind, he sighs. “And you need something more substantial for dinner than ice cream and whatever sugary garbage you had at the coffee shop.”

“Hmm. Kung-fu movies and dinner. Tempting…But I’m sure I have something in here.” You put the pint on the counter and open the refrigerator. All that remains is some chicken in a tupperware container which looks like it’s growing mold. You cringe as you toss the entire thing in the garbage.

“Bullshit. It’s payday, which means you’ve been stretching your meals all week and you haven’t been grocery shopping yet because you had a date tonight.”

No way, motherfucker.

You open your cabinets in search of some hidden morsel to prove him wrong, but instead a pile of discount ramen greets you. It can only be appealing for so many dinners in a row.

“And I know you ain’t gonna be going tonight because you’ve started tearing into that ice cream,” he continues. “But you have that hang-up about delivery fees and only tip with cash, which we both know you don’t have on you, so…”

“I hate you,” you groan, slamming the cabinet shut.

“Because I’m right?”

You roll your eyes at the accuracy of his question. “Because you’re a know-it-all.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. I know if I came over right now with pork skewers and fried rice, you’d demolish that shit in a second. But if you don’t want to vent about your date and sit on that terrible thing you call a couch while you eat free food and watch Bruce Lee kick some ass, then alright. That’s cool too, I guess.”

Your stomach growls loudly at the thought of actual food touching your tongue. “Well, when you put it like that…”

He laughs. “I’m just presenting an alternative for you. You don’t have to take it.”

Heat gathers in your cheeks as pieces of last weekend resurface in your mind: Namjoon in your bed, pressed against you and tracing lines up your arms with soft fingertips. You shiver as you remember his touch. It felt so good to curl up with another human being in such a vulnerable state. It was probably a one-time only thing, but you’re hopeful that a repeat of the interaction is in your near future. Something. Anything to fight this feeling aching in your chest.

“Geeksquad? You there?”

You snap out of your memory fog. “Mmm. Bring me some food, Namjoonie?”

“Well now I don’t know,” he scoffs. You can practically see his smirk through the phone.

“Please, Namjoonie?” you pout, pressing your forehead against the cabinet. “I don’t want to eat ramen again this week. I’ll pay you back.”

And there it is: the begging tone that sets him on edge. He’d do anything to hear you say his name like that once more.

“Aight. Gimme like half an hour?”

You look over at the clock on the microwave and grumble. It’ll be eight by the time he gets here. “Ugh so long.”

“You’ll live. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

The receiver goes dead and you stare at the remainder of the ice cream on the counter. “Yeah I’m not waiting that long.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

By the time he arrives, you’ve been mixing your ice cream and rum for some time. You’re not sure if it’s good or bad, but it sure is getting you drunk fast. Soon you don’t even remember why you were sad in the first place. Then you open tinder and immediately remember.

The buzzer near the door rings and you stand there a moment, petrified of what someone might want to contact you for. You press the “TALK” button as you try to gather your nerves.

“H-Hello?”

You hit “LISTEN” immediately after, repressing the urge to turn off the lights and pretend you’re not home.

“Delivery,” Namjoon’s voice booms through the speaker; it sounds like he’s trying to disguise it with either a British or New York accent, but the sound falls somewhere between the two. You exhale a relieved breath and laugh as you press the button to allow him through the building entrance. You hold the door to your apartment open as you wait for him to round the corner. He’s got a big smile on his face and paper bags tucked under each arm. He’s sporting a white t-shirt, baseball cap, and sweats. He wasted no time in making his transformation from professor to lazy bum. You’re glad you’ve already changed into your own comfy shorts and baggy t-shirt, so there’s nothing to remind either of you about work.

“You took so long I forgot you were coming,” you tease as the door closes behind him.

As he sets the food down on the counter his eyebrows raise at the glass nearby, which is filled with melting chocolate ice cream and rum. “Clearly… Ah.” The smile on his face remains as he reaches behind his back. “I got you this.”

“Whoa, what are you pulling out of your pants?” You eye him suspiciously, blinking rapidly in anticipation. You give yourself a double chin and make a gross teeth-baring grin, dropping the octave of your voice as you repeat the question. “What are you pulling out of your pants Namjoon?”

“Don’t get it twisted. I’m flattered you think my dick is big enough to wrap around my legs. But...” He scrunches his face and sucks his teeth. “I only had so much room in my hands and I wanted it to be a surprise.”

He extends his arm. Pressed between his thumb and forefinger is the carefully trimmed stem of a beautiful red rose. Your face relaxes and your lips part, trying to find something to say as your eyes dart from the rose to his face. You try to hide the pleasantly surprised smile threatening to break through your confusion.

“Na…” You’re frozen in place, stunned as your buzzed mind tries to piece together a sound as simple as his name.

Butterflies swirl in your stomach and your heart feels like it’s beating a mile a minute. You’ve never gotten a single flower from someone else in your goddamn life. At your high school prom you bought your own corsage. High school and college graduation? Bought your own flowers and teddy bear. Valentine’s Day? Chocolate and flowers shipped from you to you. Be your own damn hero, right? But now your mind practically melts at the prospect of receiving something as beautiful and symbolic as a red rose that you completely forget the donor is Namjoon.

“I thought it might cheer you up since your date was lame. I’m sorry. It was a dumb idea. You don’t have to take it.” The hand holding the rose drops to his side and you can’t help but catch the crestfallen expression staining his features.

You snatch the flower from his grasp. “No, it’s perfect! I--Thank you so much!”

Your brain finally processes the grateful smile dancing around the corners of your mouth, allowing it to fully form. He visibly perks up at the response and grins so wide his eyes nearly close. You know you’re on the road to being drunk, but the gesture has tears welling up in your eyes. He’s always so thoughtful and kind, despite being a thorn in your side and the butt of your jokes. He’s become this pillar that you don’t know what you would do without.

“Thank you,” you repeat softly. You nervously spin the flower with both hands, trying to quash the tears before they start. “This is so nice. I --Ow!”

The sharp prick at your fingertip catches you by surprise. Immediately Namjoon steps forward, eyebrows knotting together in concern. “Are you okay?”

You blink a few times as you wiggle your injured finger. Upon inspection, a small amount of blood sits on the tip of the puncture. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just pricked my finger.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I trimmed them all off.” He moves closer, one arm cradling your back and the other turning your barely injured hand around in his palm.

Your eyes travel across his concentrated gaze, noting the damp, overgrown hair poking out from the sides of his hat. Goosebumps begin to colonize your forearm and your body rolls with the electric tingle his feathery hold sends up your spine. He seems oblivious as his sweaty palm searches your own for further signs of damage. The warmth of his body mingling with yours is a comfort you subconsciously lean towards.

Maybe it’s the rose. Maybe it’s the alcohol. But the sight of his profile quickly becomes increasingly fascinating. You scan every mole on his sun-kissed skin, hyperfocusing on every mark as though you’re seeing them for the first time. Your eyes dance around the contours of his features, drinking in every last detail of compassion until he turns to meet them.

The moment seems to stretch on forever, both of you doe-eyed and caught in the trap of one another’s light. The butterflies in your stomach are still wreaking havoc, flapping a heat up into your chest that makes you tense up. You feel like there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you now, but you can’t say for sure what it might be. All you know is that your chest is tight, scorching your insides with the flames of anxiety as he holds your limp hand in his.

“What?” he croaks out, heart pounding. Is now the right time? He tortures himself with the thought for a second too long.

The sound is enough to make you jump and you laugh at yourself as you shake your head. “Nothing. I’m just spacing out.” You bring your forehead to his chest and inhale through your nose in an attempt to compose yourself, inadvertently taking in his scent and soothing the ache in your gut for a moment before breathing out.

“Thank you, Joonie,” you mumble into his shirt, forehead pressed into the moisture of the fabric. You’re careful to keep your bad finger folded into the meat of your palm as you wrap your arms across his back.

He smiles and exhales softly, reciprocating with a tight hug of his own from beneath your arms. “You’re welcome, Y/N.”

Why does he have to smell so damn good all the time? As you pull away, his hands linger on your shoulder blades a moment longer than expected and you stiffen as he begins sliding two slow paths down either side of your spine. When they come to rest at the small of your back, you can’t help but sigh, hoping the butterflies inside will flee with your breath. Why can’t you just pull it together like a normal human?

“What am I supposed to do with this now, hmm?” The rose in your hand rises to tap his face twice as a thinly veiled attempt to distract from the shakiness of your voice. “I... don’t think I have a vase.”

“I should have known,” he nearly groans as you wave the flower in front of his nose. “Give it here. I’m surprised all the petals haven’t dropped off with the way you’re handling it.” He drops his hold on your waist to take the rose from your clumsy fingers.

“I’m gonna go take care of this.” You gesture to your pointer, a bubble of blood sitting perfectly on its tip. “If you wanna find something for that to go in?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We both know you’d find a way to kill it immediately if I let you do it. Don’t worry I’ll find something.”

You spin on your heels, heading for the bathroom and eager to get away from the man making your stomach feel like gelatin. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“You killed a cactus!” he argues from the kitchen.

You hum in response; it’s not that you didn’t try to take proper care of his birthday gift to you, but you may have accidentally drowned it in an effort to compensate for your forgetfulness. Your mind wanders as you rummage through the medicine cabinet for a simple band-aid, recalling the look on his face when you brought him the blackened remains of ��Needles.” He had told you it would be great to name your plant, but it felt that much worse when you weren’t able to save it.

By the time you’ve applied the band-aid, the rose is sitting in your favorite drinking glass on the small dining room table. You walk over to it and inspect how nicely he’s trimmed it up.

“Oh you removed the last thorn,” you say, unable to hide your disappointment.

“Did you not want me to?” he asks confusedly as he removes the pints of noodles from the bag on the counter, not finding what he’s looking for. “I figured less risk of you poking yourself again.”

You shake your head. “No. It’s not that… Ah, sorry. It’s stupid.”

He turns his head in your direction, already sliding pork off a skewer with his teeth. “What is?” he asks as he begins to loudly chew with his mouth open.

You sit in the chair across from it and lay your arm down on the table, resting your head on the inside of your arm as you look up at it. “Well, now it’s beautiful and perfect. I liked it when it was beautiful and still had a flaw. Kind of poetic, you know? Now it just seems unfair.”

He thinks on what you’ve said and quickly nods as he draws the comparison. Seeing that your attention is engrossed elsewhere, he swallows what’s in his mouth, sets the skewer down on the counter, and wipes his hands on his pants before making his way over. “What makes you think it’s without flaws?”

Your gaze is fixed on the flush petals in full bloom. “It smells good. It looks beautiful. The color is so vibrant… Its stem is smooth and safe now... It’s got the perfect amount of leaves on both sides… There’s nothing bad about it, Joonie. It’s just... perfect.”

You reach your fingers out to touch the velvety texture of the petals as he sits in the chair beside yours. “I chose the best one I could find, but if you look hard enough, I’m sure you’ll find some flaws. Nothing’s perfect.”

He pauses for you to find them on your own, but continues when you don’t say anything. “The edges are a little frayed, some of them are a little darker underneath, a little dried.” He points to a section that your eyes glossed over before. “There’s even a hole in one of the petals over here.”

You tilt your head, resting your chin on the hard surface of the table with your brows furrowed. Hazy eyes hone in on bits that have dried out and edges that are cracked and torn. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s clear now that you’ve said something.”

“Now that you’ve seen what’s wrong with it, do you still like it?”

Even in a half-sober state you realize when you’re being psychoanalyzed. “Hmmm. I don’t know. It’s all I can think about now. I’m gonna focus on the hole. And the dry bits.” You crack a smile and bite your lip at the dumb innuendo.

He chokes back a pitying laugh and rolls his eyes. “But you thought it was perfect before I pointed out all those things. It’s amazing how perspective can change when you accentuate the negative, huh?”

You sigh loudly and groan, rolling your head around to catch the shit-eating grin on his face. “I get it. Your brain is so big.”

He shivers, shimmying his shoulders just a bit. “Mmm I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

He slams down a pint of food before you, effectively blocking your view. You scrunch your nose at him as you rise from the table to tease him back. “Like, oh em gee. No problem Professor Kim.”

“Ugh. Stop. I’m about to lose my appetite if you keep that shit up.”

You grab the pint and open it enough to inhale the sweet scent of fried rice. It smells like heaven. “Oops. Sorry, Mr. Joonie.”

“Ew. Y/N...I am going to take all this food to Hoseok’s,” he warns.

“But he’s not even home,” you whine, digging a mushroom out of the container with your fingers. “And Yoongi’s working so it’s not like you can get in.”

“I’ll eat it outside then,” he counters, raising both eyebrows at you

You pop the mushroom in your mouth and stand, making your way over to the kitchen. “Okay, fine. Have it your way... professor.”

As he bolts from his seat, you’re already across the room with the two bags of food. You spin on the ball of your foot to taunt him before you reach the couch, but he trips on his way over. You shut your eyes tightly as solid mass of his body collides with yours.

The impact sends your knees into the corner of the sofa, causing your stance to give way as he comes crashing down on top of you. The food, which you have saved by clutching to your chest, is now sandwiched between the two of you and you’re sure it’s about to explode all over you. Unable to hide from the panic in your mind, your eyes open to overlook the fiasco, but you’re still dry. He catches himself in an awkward lunge to spare the bags from being completely squashed. He hovers over you with a sheepish grin, fighting the blush at his cheeks as best he can. An elbow digs into the back of the couch as his other hand sinks into the cushion beside you.

“This is really hot,” you mumble.

“Hmm?” His eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. There’s no way he heard you correctly.

You wiggle beneath him and look down, doing your best to quietly indicate one of the paper bags is boring a hole through your shirt and searing straight into your skin. He carefully moves the bags over the side of the couch and places them safely on the floor.

“You’re so clumsy,” you chide as you push against his chest with tented fingers.

“Hah. Maybe it’s all part of my plan. Maybe I’ve got you right where I want you.”

The words shed light on your position and send a new wave of butterflies into your stomach. You fight through the flutter building in your chest, cutting through them with your snark. “What, so you can lecture me to death?”

“Or maybe I know you’re ticklish,” he suggests casually, leaning down towards your face with a devilish smirk. “And you have nowhere to go.”

“I’m not,” you lie, eyes narrowing.

He adjusts his stance, bringing a knee onto the cushion beside your hips so he can dangle his fingers above your waist. When they tap lightly against your side, you manage to choke back the giggle in your throat, but your body quivers and gives away your bluff, causing your shirt to rise just enough to expose a bit of skin.

He silently challenges you by quirking an eyebrow, maintaining eye contact as he hovers just inches above you. Something new stirs deep in your abdomen, a prickling heat that mixes with the butterflies that have apparently turned your belly into their domicile. Can you blame all of this on the booze?

When his fingers prod your side again, he stills at the unexpected contact with your flesh. You weakly jerk away with a soft whimper that discloses the faintest undertone of delight. His eyes drag over the shame hidden beneath the mask of surprise in your features. It’s a sign, albeit a small one, but still a sign that you enjoyed that more than you should have.

He speaks in a low voice, barely above a whisper, but with a hint of that familiar bass. “I think you are.”

It’s not so much the words, but the tone in which he says them that sends a wave of guilty anticipation through your spine. What was once a simple closing of your thighs has become a vice-grip tension that you would need human-sized pliers to separate. You’re not eager to admit there is a wetness in your panties that has brought a discomfort that makes you ache in all the ways you never thought possible by this man. You barely catch the subtle wag of his tongue across the edge of his teeth and it causes the muscles in your pussy to helplessly spasm with need. You want to turn your head away, feeling like he can hear the blood pumping through your ears, but you find yourself trapped beneath his gaze.

His heart is pounding and he can’t seem to stop himself from reaching out to your side again. Your chest rises and falls with apprehension of the impending touch. His fingers play across your side with hard jabs and it rips laughter from your throat.

“Stop! Stop! I’m sorry!” You wheeze between the hysterical noises pouring out of you. He shows no signs of letting up, a huge grin plastered on his face. “Namjoon!” You wiggle beneath his touch, careful to keep your legs shut as your own hands jump to his ribs, trying to give him a taste of his own medicine.

He rounds his back a moment and twitches as a goofy laugh escapes him; you know for a fact he’s just as ticklish, if not more. But not about to be defeated, he moves his hand further up your waist, snaking his arm beneath your shirt. The tap of his fingers rising up your body has you shuddering and the gentle nudges you’ve been dishing back with your fingers quickly turns into a sturdy, unmoving clamp of your palms around his side. Entwined with your laughter is a needy whine that spills out from your lips and threatens to drive him insane.

His contented sigh is drowned out by the sound of your labored breathing. He moves his hand further and further up, absolutely intoxicated by the noises he’s managed to pull from you, but he wants more. His hand glides across the lace of your bra and brushes across the contour of your breast and he stills. It’s your loungewear bra for comfortable nights of staying in and doing nothing since it offers no actual support for the weights fixed to your torso; there’s no underwire and there’s almost nothing to the material itself. He might as well have touched your bare boob.

You both blink at each other for a moment as you catch your breath. He slowly slides his hand down your side and out from beneath your shirt as he looks away apologetically. There are tears in your eyes from laughing so hard, but you’re internally weeping at the loss of his touch. You don’t remember the last time someone got so close to feeling you up and then stopped like that--Jimin excluded of course because your games with him could hardly count as anything but mutual teasing. But this?

Your chest rises and falls in large, slow movements. Before you can consult your brain, your hand makes the decision to grab his wrist and drag his palm back beneath your shirt, resting it just below your ribs. His jaw falls open and you look up at him with a bashful smile and eyes that hunger for more. Your eyelids flutter as he accepts the invitation to slide his palm further up your side once more, adrenalin destroying any shakiness in his touch.

The hand that was guiding his wrist lazily wraps itself around the firm forearm supporting his weight as he leans above you, your fingernails lightly digging into the muscle. His own breathing has become shallow and messy, like he can’t believe that he’s seeing you like this beneath him anywhere other than his dreams. His gentle fingers brush against the outer edge of lace as he searches your eyes with need, desperate for permission to go further.

God, this is fucking unbearable. Your other hand glides from his side to the back of his neck, willing him to come down to meet you. Just as he lowers himself, eager to meet your lips for the first time, his fingers dip beneath the band at your chest and barely graze the soft flesh you desperately want him to grab.

This is it. This is the moment. He can’t stop his breath from hitching as your noses caress one another.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Y/N?”

The sound of the door opening has you both flying towards opposite sides of the room. You’ve never seen Joon move so fast in your life. He’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall with his cheeks puffed out. You swing your legs off the side of the sofa and plant them on the floor, pursing your lips as you bend down to pick up the bags of food beside them.

Jin looks like a parent who just walked in on a couple of horny teenagers. His eyes go wide and his eyebrows furrow, but an excited smile plays just below the surface of his shock. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” you grumble as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and look into the bag closest to your feet

“Hyung, what’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to walk in a second later?” Namjoon asks in a huff as his eyes stare at the carpet. He’s got his arms crossed over his lap, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while concealing the raging boner he didn’t have time to tuck beneath the band of his sweatpants.

“Lock your door next time if you’ve got something to hide,” Jin says accusingly as he plants himself beside you, looking down into the bag of food. “Ooh what are we having? Do I smell meat?”

Your lips are pressed into a thin line, the color fading from them with how much pressure you’re applying. You scold yourself for being disappointed with the fact that Namjoon did not feel you up. Wow. This alcohol must have hit harder than you thought. Maybe just water for the rest of the night.

“I came because of that disaster of a date. Yoongi and I were going to help you fix your habits. Namjoon, are you going to help too?” he asks as he bites into a chunk of pork.

You spare a guilty glance at Namjoon as Jin starts further digging into the food. He looks back at you and exhales softly, a warm smile on his lips that fills you with hope that maybe you can pretend like that didn’t just happen.

“Seokjin, I don’t need any help. I’m fine, really,” you argue, reaching into the bag for a pork skewer of your own.

“Oh, Y/N, honey. You need all the help you can get. Trust me.”

#love bytes #bangtan seonyeondan #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenario #bts imagine #bts smut #namjoon smut #bts au #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts scenario #namjoon fic #kim namjoon #namjoon #bts fic #bts #fic: love bytes

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creative-type · 4 years ago

Text

wake from death and return to life vi

AO3 First Previous Summary: Zoro had always been told that Kuina died falling down the stairs. But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dead.

AN: buckle up, kiddos. This is a long one

“It goes like this.”

Danny and Kuina exited the canteen line each with a bowl of rice and limp vegetables. They’d had to wait nearly an hour for even that, the Revolution carefully rationing the stores they’d raided from Tolouse’s granaries in the short time they were in control of the city. Danny claimed they had enough for at least a week of fighting, longer, perhaps, if the situation grew truly dire. Kuina couldn’t help but wonder how many of the men and women of Tolouse were allied with the Revolution simply because they filled their bellies, and how many would turn against them as their supplies dwindled.

Together, Kuina and Danny found a quiet corner and crouched down in the shadows to eat. It felt criminal, but Kuina was hungry, and she didn’t want the others to hear that she was grilling the one member of de Gris’s crew she could trust to be honest with her.

“Aria came from some Grand Line island or other known for its fencers,” Danny said in a low tone. She was just as eager to be left alone as Kuina, and perfectly happy to share the information she knew. “I heard her mother ran one of the more successful ones before she was killed in a pirate attack. It was after that Aria joined the marines.”

“I knew it!” Kuina said triumphantly. That damn coat never lied.

Danny looked at her askance, before chuckling wrly to herself. “She’s not the only one. Lyudmila was a marine, too, though not near as distinguished. When Aria left she took her ship with her, the Lady Valor. It made quite the stir at the time, I remember my parents reading about it in the paper. Of course, that was before I joined the Revolution,” she added, somewhat bitterly.

They paused as a Revolutionary wearing a tiger mask walked past. Kuina ate a few spoonfuls in silence, unwilling to admit she didn’t trust the Government-controlled news, nor care enough about world events, to bother with the paper. But before Danny had a chance to continue, the question burning at the end of her tongue spilled out. “Lady Valor…That’s something I don’t understand. Why are all her subordinates women? Doesn’t that make you conspicuous when you go from port to port? It’s not like there are that many lady sailors in the world.”

Kuina was half-afraid the other woman would laugh, or at least chastise her, but Danny simply took another bite of rice. “If I understand correctly—and mind you I heard all this second-hand; Boss gets real persnickety when asked—Aria sailed for a time under Vice Admiral Tsuru. She’s pretty famous for having an all female squadron on the Grand Line, so I guess that’s where she picked it up. But her whole crew isn’t women.”

“Just the important ones,” Kuina said, not sure if she was making a statement or asking a question.

“More or less,” Danny agreed.

Kuina scowled down in the general direction of her shoes. “That is so weird.”

“Aria has an eye for finding talent, no matter where that talent comes from,” Danny said. “There are a lot of men out there who wouldn’t even see people like us, let alone think to recruit us for the Revolution, no matter how talented we are. I mean, Dara was a street thief before Aria picked her up, and now she’s one of our best spooks, Elizabeth was on the run after accidentally causing an explosion at a marine garrison...”

“What?” Kuina interjected. “How?”

“Dust explosion with their flour supply,” Danny said. Seeing Kuina’s bug-eyed look of shock, she added hastily, “I mean, not all recruitments are that dramatic—I was only a naive apprentice stuck working under a jackass of a master when I first met her—but the point stands.” She finished the rest of her food and leaned her head back against the wall with a contented sigh. “She’s a bitch to work under sometimes, but at the time I was thankful to be free.”

“And now?”

Danny shrugged. “The Revolution isn’t for everyone. I think the next time we stop off at a base I’ll request to stay behind. Just build and fix ships, without having to worry about all this.” She gestured broadly to the streets of Tolouse.

“You can do that?” Kuina asked, surprised. “Just...ask not to fight any more?”

“Oh, sure. The Revolution is nothing about giving people the freedom of choice,” Danny said. “In fact, Aria’s crew rotates pretty frequently depending on what job she’s working on. Before you came along, Elizabeth was newest. She’s still pretty hopeless when it comes to fighting and sailcraft, so I think she’ll transfer to HQ one of these days to work on making weapons full time. Lyudmila is pretty much the only constant, but then again they left the marines together, so that’s not that a big of a surprise.”

Kuina squinted at her suspiciously. “Do you know everything about everyone?”

Danny laughed. “Well, I haven’t heard much about you. What’s your story? No, wait, let me guess—You’re a failed kabuki actor who accidentally swapped a prop sword for the real deal and killed the trope’s best actor, forcing you to go on the lam.”

Kuina couldn’t help it. She laughed. There was something about Danny’s flippant tone mixed with the ridiculousness of what she’d said that broke something within her. The tension that had been building within her since Loguetown eased from Kuina’s shoulders, and despite the smoky air, she could actually breathe.

The weak attempt at a joke wasn’t even funny. If anything, the truth that she’d revealed her face to a marine who might as well be her twin was even more ridiculous. But Kuina laughed until she cried, not caring if the people who walked past thought she was crazy, or that she’d spent her morning witnessing the aftermath of a massacre and her afternoon trying to comfort the hurt and dying.

It was infectious. Danny held back as long as she could, but soon her shoulders were shaking as she tried unsuccessfully to suppress giggles of her own. Each errant snort or cackle made the cycle start anew, each feeding into the other until their energy was spent and they were sprawled out in the street like a pair of drunks.

“That’s good. No matter what happens, you can’t forget how to laugh,” Danny said as she tried to catch her breath.

“What are you now, a sage?” Kuina asked.

“Maybe,” she said mysteriously, before falling into another fit of giggles. When she finally got herself under control, she pushed herself upright. “You never did answer the question, by the way. What are you doing here if you’re not a part of the Revolution?”

“I’m…”

“There you are.”

The shadow of Aria de Gris fell over them. The sun was sinking fast, the last rays of light skimming over the top of the barricades to shroud her in a celestial glow. Kuina suddenly felt very small and very foolish, and chided herself for being caught off guard. Hastily she got to her feet, settling her mask back over her face.

“Come on,” de Gris said, seemingly unaware of how her very presence sucked what little joy and happiness Kuina had found since leaving Loguetown. “I’ve got a job for the both of you.”

They were led inside a tiny seamstress’s shop. What little space that was available was crowded by shelves full of vibrant bolts of fabric, while spools of thread organized by color hung on racks next to mannequins draped with half-finished dresses. At the back of the shop a table had been swept away of cutting boards, material, sewing machines, and needles, dominated instead by a large map of the city.

Spooled bobbins, blue thread indicating the position of the Revolutionaries and red the Tolouse army, had been set down marking their respective positions. Kuina was no master strategist, but it seemed to her that there was a lot more red than blue. She squeezed in a small space between Danny and Dara, who had beaten them to the meeting, glad to be next to the two members of de Gris’s crew she was most familiar with.

“Alright, ladies. I know it’s been a hell of a day already, but we’ve received new orders,” de Gris said once everyone was settled. She rested her hands against the table, staring down at the bobbins as if a glare was enough to wipe them off the face of the map. “To start with some good news, earlier today Betty was able to capture a couple ships without damaging them—one military, one merchant. Incorporating them into our plans going forward will be vital to our mission’s success.”

“I’ve seen those ships, Captain,” Camille interrupted. “They’re small, and the merchant vessel isn’t outfitted for battle. I’m not sure they’ll be of much help in a fight.”

Heads around the table nodded in unison. Of de Gris’s crewmembers Kuina had already met, only Lyudmila was missing, replaced by an old woman she had never seen before. The old woman had a stoop in her back that made her even shorter than Elizabeth and wore a pair of glasses so tiny that it was a wonder she could even see through them. She appeared to only half-listen to what de Gris was saying, concentrating more on a line of snail phones laying at the edge of the map.

The communications expert, then. Danny had said something of her earlier, but Kuina couldn’t recall her name. Ignoring her for the moment, she turned her attention back to de Gris.

“The surprise attack on the square and fires have cut deeply into our numbers,” Camille said. “Even with Betty’s tropes, I don’t know how we can undo the damage that’s been done. Perhaps if Dragon had stayed…”

“Dragon had his own business to attend to,” de Gris said sharply. “And we aren’t going to use those ships to attack. Betty has decided—-and I agree—-that it’s time for our squad to pull out. Reinforcements should be arriving from the Venn Islands within the week, and we’re needed elsewhere.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room, and de Gris continued, “Betty’s people are gathering those who wish to escape the island, and we are to help escort them to safety with a coordinated rearguard action. Those who wish to continue the liberation effort will flee from the city to an underground cave system to the north and hopefully live to fight another day.”

“You can’t just leave them.”

Aria de Gris looked up even as Kuina regretted the words that came out of her mouth, but to her immense surprise a few heads around the table bobbed in agreement.

“We stopped them once, we can do it again,” Dara said, putting a hand on Kuina’s shoulder. Her facepaint was worse for wear, smeared in some places and scraped off entirely in others, but that didn’t put a damper on her determination. “I was out there all day, and they’re no stronger than before. They caught us by surprise. That doesn’t mean they won.”

“This isn’t about winning,” de Gris said. Her voice was cold and her eyes shifted into the same ugly look they had upon arriving at Tolouse. Elizabeth, who happened to be nearest to her, took a small step to the side, until she was touching elbows with Clara Cross.

“This isn’t about winning,” she repeated after taking a deep, cleansing breath. “Our current position is indefensible. Military reinforcements will soon arrive from outside the city, and with them is a civilian army that thinks we killed their king in cold blood. The ones Betty had been grooming to take over once we secured control were murdered when the authorities purged the unions. Even here, half the men on our side believe we set the fires that destroyed their homes and killed their loved ones. If Betty were to use her ability now, there’s a fifty-fifty chance the riots would turn on the Revolution.

“There are powers at play trying very hard to ensure that we do not claim this island. For God’s sake, use your brain,” de Gris said harshly. “Why do you think Dragon came to the East Blue? Hell, why do you think he brought us to the East Blue, if he didn’t expect some sort of foul play?”

“Then why didn’t he stick around?” Elizabeth demanded.

“Because he thought we won,” Camille said slowly, comprehension dawning as she put together what de Gris was saying. “Because we all thought we won.”

“I don’t think anyone could have predicted them blowing up their king,” Clara said.

De Gris nodded. “We’ve been had. It’s dangerous for Dragon to stay in any one place for an extended period of time, and I think our enemy realized that when planning their counterattack. If the World Government knew he was in the East Blue for weeks on end they wouldn’t hesitate to send forces after him.”

“As if the marines could defeat Dragon,” Dara snorted.

“The collateral damage would be enormous. Would any of you like to face off against a Buster Call?” She paused for effect as the faces around the table paled. “I thought not.”

Tapping a finger against the map, de Gris continued, “In any case, the Revolution doesn’t overthrow islands with the intention of taking control for ourselves. We follow the will of the people, and, unfortunately, with the stories that have been circulated island-wide, we have lost the war of public opinion. The best thing is to cut our losses and regroup for a prolonged fight elsewhere. And that fight doesn’t include us.”

She fell silent, unease settling over the crew like a lead blanket. Kuina looked down at her sword. For the most part she agreed with de Gris’s logic, but the idea of de Gris abandoning the island didn’t sit well with her. Dara and Camille’s efforts getting Betty’s people ashore safely proved that a handful of skilled fighters could turn the tide of battle. Surely the rebellion on Tolouse needed doctors, and bomb makers, and...and…

God above, she was taking their side. Kuina didn’t even have proof that their war was justified, and she wanted to stay and help them fight it. What was wrong with her? They had promised her passage to the Grand Line, she couldn’t stay here and follow her ambition at the same time.

She wondered how disappointed Zoro would be if he could see her now.

“When’s the retreat?” Danny asked, propping her head up on her chin as she looked down at the map thoughtfully.

“Tonight. I take it the Valor is ready to sail?” de Gris said.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,” Danny said.

“And our snails? Trini?”

The old woman blinked as she looked up. “I have attempted several frequencies across the natural spectrum den-den mushi are capable of, and each have been jammed. That means there are a large number of horned den-den mushi active, likely spread out across the city.”

“Horned den-den mushi?” Elizabeth asked.

“A new breed of snail, dear, just developed in the last several years. Instead of sending and receiving transmissions, the horn-like protrusions on their bodies instead send bursts of white noise that overload the wavelengths the snails use to communicate. They seem to be quite contrary little creatures.”

“Seem?” de Gris said. “You’ve never handled them?”

“Until today, no.”

Trini pulled a snail from the pocket of her apron and set it on the table. It was smaller than the snail typically used for making calls, but larger than a baby den-den mushi. Two small protrusions stuck out on either side, just below the head. Twin eyestalks glared balefully up Trini, as if showing how little it appreciated being stuffed in an old woman’s pocket.

“One of the lads found him on a windowsill. Bless his heart, he brought it here not even thirty minutes ago thinking it was one of mine that had run away. As if any snail of mine would be so ornery,” Trini said. She looked back up at de Gris regretfully. “My dear, someone brought it here, likely after the barricades were placed.”

“Dear god, that means…” Danny breathed. She suddenly cut herself, unable to bring herself to say aloud what the presence of enemy snails in the heart of the Revolutionary’s stronghold meant.

“If possible, Aria, I would like more,” Trini said. “They would be invaluable to the Revolution going forward.”

“That would necessitate finding the little beasts,” de Gris said, but even then a thoughtful look crossed over her face.”

“All the literature I’ve read suggests their range is limited. And, if I might add, they block all signals, not just ours. Considering the dearth of homing pigeons of late, I can only assume that Tolouse’s network is working without difficulty,” Trini said. “The one time I was able to contact you while at sea, I happened to be outside the barricades. I believe that if the Revolution leaves the city entirely, communications should be restored without need for further intervention.”

“Assuming no one brings the little bastards along with them,” de Gris said, her eyes narrowed into slits. Her crew didn’t say a word as she silently fumed.

Suddenly de Gris slammed a fist against the table, throwing bobbins into the air and making the wood crack under the blow. “They’ve had us outplayed from the very beginning,” she said darkly. “Trini, go to Betty with what you’ve found. I want this hellhole scoured for any more of those snails before we move. Clara, get back to the wounded. Make it so that those who are healthy enough to travel can travel. Camille, Danny, get to the Valor and make sure she’s ready for a hasty exit. Dara, there should be some scouts ensuring our path of retreat is clear, I want you to help them. Elizabeth, I want anyone who comes after the Revolution’s retreat to run into some surprises along the way. Understood?”

There were a few snapped salutes, a few more, yes ma’ams, and de Gris’s crew gathered their belongings and started for the exit. Kuina alone stayed in place, closing her eyes as the Revolutionary women brushed past her to leave. Someone clasped their hand on her shoulder, but her thoughts were too jumbled to try and figure out who.

In seconds she was alone with de Gris. Slowly Kuina opened her eyes, but de Gris didn’t seem to realize that she was still there. She was still staring down at the map as if had the answers that she sought.

“Uhh...” Kuina forced herself to keep her face neutral as de Gris’s head snapped up.

De Gris’s eyes bored into her, but Kuina got the feeling that it was looking without really seeing. Her mind was too busy elsewhere. “”What do you want?”

“Am I supposed to just go with Danny?” Kuina asked. You said this was an army. What are my orders?

De Gris let out a heavy breath, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. Her eyebrows knit together in an unhappy line. “No…” she said slowly. “We need strong swords to help escort the ones who are fleeing. They’re just ordinary people. Most don’t know how to hold themselves in a fight, and I can’t trust the few who do to keep a clear head in a sticky situation.”

She paused then. So long that Kuina wondered if she’d been dismissed, but before she could take her leave, de Gris said in a low voice, “I can’t promise I can get you to the Grand Line after this.”

Kuina froze in place.

“There’s too much here that doesn’t make sense. Too many resources being used to ensure we don’t win this island. I’m not going to be satisfied with running away with my tail tucked between my legs without bloodying their nose first. My pride won’t allow it. Do you understand, Swordsman?”

“You promised,” Kuina said, the buzz in her ears making her voice sound faint and very far away. “Dragon promised!”

“I know,” de Gris said. “That’s why I’m telling you I want you on that boat with the rest of the refugees. It’s headed for a Revolutionary stronghold at the entrance of the Grand Line. From there, you’re free to do as you please.”

At first Kuina didn’t hear the words that came out of her mouth. But when they pierced through her defensive walls of anger she deflated like a punctured balloon. “You’re going to just...let me go? Even after seeing one of your bases?”

De Gris showed what she thought about Kuina selling the Revolution out with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You said it yourself—the marines don’t like people who beat up their officers, even if the information’s good. I don’t know if that shot would have hit Elizabeth earlier today, but you saved me from having to find out. The Revolution saved your ass at Loguetown, but you’ve paid that debt. A life for a life.” She chuckled darkly to herself. “Hell, if you wanted to go out there and fight for the Tolouse army I wouldn’t stop you. But I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?”

“No, of course not.” Getting to the Grand Line was all that mattered.

“Then get out of my sight. God willing, we’ll never have to see one another again.”

Kuina’s frown deepened. It would take hours to organize the retreat. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t cross paths before then.

Unless…

“You told everyone else what their jobs were,” Kuina said carefully, “but you never said what you’re planning to do in all this mess.”

A wolfish grin spread across de Gris’s face. “You need to get your ears checked, kid. I told you already—there are some people out there who deserve to get their noses bloody, and I’m going to make sure they get what’s coming to them.”

She turned back to the table and carefully rolled up the map. Recognizing the dismissal when she saw it, Kuina left the shop, not sure if she should be apprehensive or jealous.

Elizabeth was just outside the doorway, talking with a Revolutionary in a fox helmet. Kuina stopped, a feeling that was strangely familiar to regret washing over her. It would have been so much easier if these were bad people, but they weren't. Making a snap decision, Kuina slung her bag from her shoulder and rummaged through its contents until she found a

her few remaining bills that had survived falling into the sea.

She counted out five hundred berries and shoved them into Elizabeth’s hand, ignoring the girl’s indignant, and then confused look as she stalked away.

After all, a swordsman always paid their debts.

Xxx

The Revolutionary Kuina was partnered with described sewers as the arteries of a city. Smelly, dirty arteries that were barely passable for a healthy, able-bodied person, and the majority of the men, women, and children that fleeing Tolouse couldn’t rightly be called either.

Kuina was glad that she didn’t have the thankless task of choosing between who had the opportunity to flee and the ones forced to stay. The Revolution didn’t have nearly enough ships to accommodate those whose homes had been destroyed, and even if they did, they had to be cautious who they allowed into their secret bases scattered throughout the world.

Instead she and a man called Azem shuffled small clusters of people through the city’s underground. They were one of several teams, each taking different routes to the various boats hidden up and down the coast. The hope was that the Revolutionaries above would provide enough of a distraction to the army for them to get away safely, but the depleted numbers of the Revolution meant they had to move quickly or risk being overrun.

That was a task easier said than done. Many of the people Kuina guided were in shock, some refusing to acknowledge that they may never return to their homes. Some screamed when they were forced to leave behind treasured belongings too heavy or awkward to carry. Kuina heard enough ungrateful grumbling to last a thousand lifetimes, and those who didn’t complain wept, an overwhelming sense of fear exuding from them that was more pungent than the foulness they were forced to travel through.

It was exhausting in a way her training had never prepared her for. Kuina made the last trip with a boy strapped across her back, his little arms like vice grips around her neck. Even though she could scarcely breathe, Kuina didn’t chastise him. Strangulation was better than him crying, which seemed inevitable by his hitched, haggard breathing every time she adjusted his weight on her back.

Clasped around her hand, equally tight, was the boy’s older sister. Kuina didn’t like having only one hand free for her sword, but the girl had refused to move unless she had someone to hold on to, and no one else volunteered for the task. The clothes of both children were well cared for and they lacked the thin-limbed, gaunt look of hunger, which meant that they had had someone to watch over them at one point in time, but who that person was Kuina had no idea. Asking had made fat tears fall down the girl’s face, and she eventually decided she was better off not knowing.

Every few minutes the walls of the sewer would shake and rumble from an explosion above ground, each one dislodging bits of mortar and grime overhead and sending a jolt of increased urgency and anxiety through their small group. It was in those tensest moments that Kuina was most grateful for Azem. He was a jovial, middle aged man who chose to go without a mask, going from person to person encouraging them onward, helping stragglers, and generally keeping this last group from panicking.

It was miserable, thankless work, but finally they reached the metal rungs that would lead them to safety. Azem climbed first, pausing to listen at the cover of the manhole before lifting it aside.

“Hurry,” he urged. “There’s not much time—”

A blinding flash of light flashed in the sky above, followed immediately by a roar of fire. Those trying to flee screamed, and Kuina had to catch one who tried to run back through the tunnels even as the girl at her side tried to bury her head in Kuina’s shirt.

Azem was knocked from the ladder and landed awkwardly on the walkway below. He cried out in pain, immediately clutching at his leg.

“We’re dead! They’ve found us and now we’re dead!” a woman screamed shrilly.

“No one’s dying!” Kuina snapped. She threw the attempted runaway back into the group and pried the children off of her body, handing them off to the nearest person who seemed willing to take them before rushing to Azem.

His right leg was obviously broken, but the bone hadn’t cut through the skin. Breathing a prayer for small mercies, Kuina looked up at the uncovered manhole. The moon was bright enough to break through the haze of smoke and ash. No further sounds of fighting filtered down below, and Kuina took a deep breath.

“It looks like it was an unlucky shot,” she said, keeping her voice calm and firm. She felt dozens of eyes boring into her back as she tried to think. “I’m going up to double check. Everyone stay put—running now probably will get you killed.”

She crouched down to Azem and asked quietly, “Did you hurt anything other than the leg?”

“No,” he gasped. “I don’t think so.”

Remembering one of the tricks the doctors used back at the Oldtown hospital, Kuina checked for the pulse by his ankle and found it was still strong. He was getting blood to his foot. With nothing here to help brace it, the best thing to do was probably get him to the ships to be looked after by someone who knew what they were doing.

That meant exiting the sewers.

Taking a deep breath, Kuina began to climb, straining her ears to hear anything that might have been amiss. When she reached the surface she lifted her head out carefully. She could hear the sound of fighting, but it was still in the distance. Chewing on her bottom lip, Kuina thought hard. The Tolouse Army was never supposed to get this close. Another misfired rocket could kill her whole group, but she didn’t know any other way to the ships.

They would have to be fast, but she couldn’t let them panic. Kuina lowered herself back into the tunnel.

“Definitely an unlucky shot,” she hissed. “Come on, we’re close now.”

The people looked at one another, naked fear in their expressions, but after a few tense seconds the man who’d tried to run stepped to the rungs. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not staying here.”

After that, they started fighting one another to escape. With her partner unable to organize the chaos below, it was all Kuina could do to pull them out of the hole as fast as they could climb. With her sword sheathed and her back to any potential enemy, the minutes passed with agonizing slowness, but Kuina was able to at least get them all out of the sewers.

All except Azem.

The sound of the battle grew louder. In her gut, Kuina knew that they only had before their position would be exposed. Her eyes flickered from the refugees to Azem and back again, while the people waited anxiously for her to tell them what to do.

“Do you remember where you’re going?” Kuina asked. A few nodded their heads hesitantly. “Then run. When you reach the ship tell the Revolutionaries to prepare ready to sail; I’ll be right behind you.”

Without waiting for their response, Kuina went down to the tunnel. Azem’s eyes bulged at the sight of her. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed. “The mission—”

“Do you want to die?” Kuina said sharply. “Because if I leave you here, that’s what’s going to happen.”

Kuina glanced up, but the shadows of the refugees were already gone. She hoped the little boy had found someone to carry him.

“My life isn’t what’s important here,” Azem said. “Besides, how the hell do you expect to get me out of here? You’ve condemned us both.”

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Kuina threw Azem over her shoulder. He bit back a groan, and without waiting for him to argue, Kuina began to climb.

It was neither elegant nor easy, but Kuina managed to get Azem out of the sewers. The fighting was even closer now. Kuina hadn’t managed more than a few steps before she heard someone yell, followed closely by the rapport of a rifle.

Kuina had no choice. She ran, the sound of her feet pounding against the ground in rhythm with the thundering of her heart. She smelt blood, but didn’t know where it was coming from. She ignored it. She ignored everything but the urge to run.

A bullet passed by overhead. Cursing, Kuina ducked down and forced herself faster. She could see the ocean now, and the silhouette of the Revolutionary’s ship against the backdrop of the rising moon. She was so close she could taste it…

A shadowy figure stepped out of the darkness and raised a gun. Kuina tried to stop, but she was going too fast, Azem’s weight making her clumsy. The flash of the muzzle blinded her vision, bullet missing her by inches.

When Kuina finally stopped, she recognized Danny’s terrified face. The shipwright fired twice more, and behind her, Kuina heard someone scream. A broken laugh bubbled through the terror.

“What are you doing?” Kuina screamed. “You’re supposed to be at the ship!”

“I...I couldn’t do it,” Danny said. “I can’t keep living like this. Weren’t you listening earlier? There a traitor leaking information to the marines. I know how Aria is. She won’t stop until she gets everyone under her command killed trying to figure out who.”

Danny fired twice more, and would have kept firing, except she’d run out of bullets. She had the wide-eyed look of a spooked horse and obviously wasn't thinking clearly. Kuina risked a glance behind her and swore. The battle was coming to them, and there was no time left to argue.

“Hold on Azem, almost there,” Kuina whispered, and once again she ran, grabbing Danny as she passed.

“I knew you’d understand,” she gasped. “That’s why I waited, I was so scared when you didn’t come with the rest, I thought you’d gone back to fight…”

“Less talking, more running,” Kuina growled. “I can’t carry the both of you—”

Sudden pain exploded in the back of her head. She barely felt the jolt as she collapsed to her knees, Azem sliding out of her arms, and was unconscious before ever hitting the ground

Xxx

Kuina woke in a dark, dingy room that smelled of shit and sweat. Clumsily she brought a hand to the back of her head, only to have it come back wet and sticky with blood. Even in the darkness she could feel the press of humanity around her, too many bodies in too close a space.

Someone had taken her sword.

“Wha...what happened?” she groaned. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she felt the gentle rock of water. A ship. She was on a ship.

Beams of moonlight came in from a hatch above, where bars of iron locked them away from their freedom. So not just a ship, she was in a brig. Groggily, Kuina got to her feet and looked around her, lurching forward without having any real idea where she was going.

Someone tugged on her shirt. Kuina looked down to see the girl she’d helped guide through the sewers. De Gris said the Revolution had commandeered a military vessel, but there was no reason to force the refugees into a literal prison. Unless that was their way of hiding them until they reached their base on the Grand Line? It was the only explanation that made sense. Kuina couldn’t think. It hurt too much.

“Danny?” she groaned. “Azem?”

“They brought you in alone,” a man said hoarsely. Kuina recognized him, too. He’d tried to run away when Azem fell. The shadows of the night made the hollows of his cheeks seem deeper, his eyes more hopeless.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?” Kuina said.

“They captured us. Now they’re going to take us with all the rest.”

The words made someone else burst into a sob. Kuina looked all around, but only grew more confused. None of them were bound, yet they weren’t trying to escape. Nor was anyone in hysterics, or screaming for help. All around her Kuina saw faces drawn in weary resignation, as if they weren’t surprised by this turn of events.

“Take us with all the rest...where?” Kuina asked.

The man laughed a thin, reedy laugh. “They didn’t tell you? All criminals on Tolouse get shipped to Tequila Wolf. Damn you and your revolution, at least back home we could have died like men. You people have—” He cut himself off suddenly and turned his back on Kuina. “I hope you’re happy with yourself. Because of you, we’re all going to die.”

Kuina felt as if she’d been plunged in a bucket of ice water, but anger fueled by pain and confusion quickly burned through the shock. “No one forced you to come. You could have stayed and fought for your home, but you chose to flee. That’s not my fault.”

“I saw my wife burn!” the man screamed. “What was I supposed to do? I was a bricklayer, for god’s sake. I don’t know how to hold a sword or fire a gun. I didn’t ask for you to come, I didn’t want to fight!”

He came so close that Kuina began to see double, and for a moment it looked as if he might try to hit her. Kuina didn’t flinch as he grabbed a fist full of her jacket. Didn’t look away from the anguish burning in his eyes.

The only sound was of his labored breathing, his breath hot on her face. Still Kuina did not move. Then, all at once, his lip quivered, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye. Kuina could do nothing as the man in front of her broke. Her jacket slid through his fingers as he slumped to his knees, face crumpled in abject misery before he buried it in his arms and wept.

“I remember when they took my uncle,” a woman said. “They stole him right from his bed, and we never saw him again.”

“The bastards got my best friend. Said he’d been stirring up sedition, whatever that means,” another said bitterly. “Found out later it was someone else handing out those fliers, but when we went to the judge asking them to bring him back he said there was nothing he could do.”

Others murmured in agreement, telling stories of other people They had gotten in the samed hushed tones children used for ghost stories, and with the same bone-chilling effect. Unease setting her teeth on edge, Kuina kneeled down to the man in front of her. Body-wracking sobs had overtaken him, and no matter what she did, Kuina couldn’t get him to even look at her.

The little girl pressed closer to her side, eyes wide as saucers. Kuina looked down at her and asked, “I don’t suppose you can tell me what Tequila Wolf is?”

When she spoke, the words came out in a little puff of air that scarcely bridged the distance between them. “It’s a place where bad people go until they learn how to be good.”

If the stories swirling around them were any indication, being good was a feat few managed to achieve. Head pounding, Kuina got to her feet and tried to think. The ship wasn’t sailing yet, but likely would be soon. She had to strain, but she could still hear the sounds of battle. Which she supposed was a good thing as it meant the Revolution hadn’t been overrun, but the plan had only been for short, distracting skirmishes to pull the Tolouse army’s attention away from the various retreats. They weren’t prepared to get dragged into a headon clash tonight.

There’s a traitor. Danny’s words rang in Kuina’s mind. That must have been how they knew to target the transport ships. Kuina didn’t know if any of the other ship’s locations had been compromised, but had to assume the worst. The Revolution’s closest reinforcements were still on the Venn Islands. No one was coming to rescue them once they got out to sea.

“Where’s your brother?” Kuina asked.

The girl shrugged. “They said he was too little and took him away. Can you find him? Please?”

Boots marched on the decks overhead. Over the murmuring of the captives Kuina heard the orders to raise anchor. Her eyes darted around looking for some escape, but it was a brig. Even if she stood on someone’s shoulders she didn’t think she’d be tall enough to reach the metal bars separating her from freedom.

If only I had my sword. But no. They’d taken it from her, along with her backpack and mask, and with her time and options dwindling to nothing, Kuina didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

It quickly became apparent that she couldn’t escape on her own, and the people around her were too busy wallowing in their own misery to be of much help. If she were somehow able to convince the sailors above she wasn’t a Revolutionary then maybe they might let her go, but based on the stories she was hearing even that seemed doubtful.

Kuina’s thought up and discarded several ideas in rapid succession, each more unlikely than the last, until she stumbled upon an idea that was insane enough to be worth trying. Not giving herself a chance to second guess her own stupidity, Kuina pushed through the crowd of people until she was directly under the hatch and bellowed at the top of her lungs,

“My name is Master Chief Petty Officer Tashigi of the 223rd Division, and I demand to speak with the captain of this ship!”

Ignoring the gasps of surprise from the Tolouse refugees, she cupped her hands against her face and repeated her demand. Her heart sank as she got no immediate answer, but she had never been one to let something as trifling as disappointment stop her before. Kuina bellowed her doppleganger’s name and rank again and again and again, until her voice cracked and her throat burned. Even if they did not believe her, Kuina hoped to at least annoy them enough to send someone to shut her up.

It took a few minutes of arduous effort, but eventually a head leaned over the iron bars, casting a shadow over Kuina. “Quit your hollering,” the sailor snapped. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but I know for a fact there ain’t no marines in Tolouse.”

“I’m not from Tolouse you imbecile,” Kuina retorted. She tried to ape the same haughty manner she saw in the officers that came through Loguetown. It took a certain level of imperiousness that the real Tashigi had never managed to grasp, but this idiot wouldn’t know the difference. “Under the orders of Captain Smoker, I infiltrated a Revolutionary ship docked at Loguetown pretending to be a sympathizer. We had hoped to find out what the Revolutionary leader Dragon was doing stinking up our waters and would have notified local authorities through the proper channels if someone hadn’t decided to put horned snails all over the city.”

“The marines know better than to—”

“Do you think Captain Smoker has ever let anyone tell him what to do?” Kuina said, somehow managing to keep her voice cool and collected even as she scrambled for excuses. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased as punch when I tell him you assholes forced me to blow my cover. Or would you rather wait until I get to Tequila Wolf to deliver that bit of news?”

The sailor gulped. It seemed that Smoker’s reputation traveled farther than expected.

“I’m waiting,” Kuina said after giving the implications sink in properly.

“I, uh...I need to run this by my captain,” the sailor said. “If you don’t mind, can I have your identification number, just to be safe?”

Kuina gave it, having memorized Tashigi’s military ID through sheer repetition after years of filling paperwork verifying bounties. Between that and all the times Tashigi used Ipponmatsu’s shop to clean her sword, Kuina knew enough of her personal information to satisfy any interrogator, but if they actually contacted the base in Loguetown she was done for.

She held her breath as the sailor disappeared. Kuina hardly paid attention when one of the Tolouse refugees approached, an old woman that Kuina remembered having to carry through parts of the journey through the sewers.

“What is it?” Kuina asked impatiently.

“How dare you,” the woman said, her voice barely contained fury. “How dare the marines show their face here, after all you’ve done.”

She slapped Kuina across the face, hard, and spit at her feet. Kuina brought a hand to her now-burning cheek in shock, saying nothing as a wave of vitriol spilled from the old woman’s mouth. It was only when the woman raised her hand again Kuina moved, effortlessly catching her wrist.

“I let you hit me once, in deference to your age and obvious distress,” Kuina said in a low, dangerous voice, “but I will not suffer that indignity twice. You know nothing about me or my purpose for coming here, so shut up and leave me alone.” She shoved the hand away, causing the old woman to stumble back.

Kuina eyed the rest warily, but they were too afraid to challenge her. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, mixing with the blood from the blow to the back of her skull. Her head pounded, making it hard to think much past the fear.

If I just had my sword…

It felt like an eternity past, but in all likelihood it had only been minutes before the sailor came back, this time with friends. He unlocked the hatch, swinging it open before lowering down a ladder. Kuina climbed her way to freedom, while the sailors used the butts of their rifles to keep any of the other prisoners from doing the same.

Kuina wasn’t sure she had ever been more glad for the fresh sea air, but one look at the sailors showed she wasn’t out of the woods yet. One sailor with a no-nonsense buzz cut and a muscular frame so compact it was nearly square snapped a salute, acting as the leader for the rest. “Our apologies for the inconvenience, Petty Officer, but the captain would like to speak with you.”

“I want my sword,” Kuina said.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but—”

“Someone knocked me unconscious this evening, sailor, and I don’t think it was the Revolution,” Kuina said. “Give me my sword or put me back in the brig and wait for Tequila Wolf. Your choice.”

“I...er, yes, ma’am. What I was trying to say was that your belongings have already been taken to the captain’s quarters.”

“...Oh.” Kuina almost apologized, but managed to stop herself in time. She’d never met a marine who would admit fault if they could help it, Tashigi being the exception that proved that rule. Instead she nodded curtly, and Buzz Cut snapped an order that was hastily obeyed by a pudgy-faced boy who didn’t look old enough to shave.

Kuina glanced out at Tolouse before letting them take her into the captain’s quarters. Explosions burst through the sky like fireworks in a New Year celebration, lighting up a skyline that flickered red and orange. The fires the Revolution had worked so hard to put out were back in full force, and under the light of the moon, Tolouse had transformed to hell on earth. And with the fighting still going in earnest, there wasn’t any way to stop it.

“There was a boy with this group of prisoners, couldn’t have been much older than five,” Kuina said. “Where is he?”

Buzz Cut’s poker face was excellent, his subordinates’, less so. Shame-faced, the pudgy boy opened the door to the captain’s quarters and bid her to enter. Frowning, Kuina squared her shoulders and tried to make herself as intimidating as a person who smelled like a sewer possibly could.

Buzz Cut didn’t even wait for Kuina to fully enter before he began shouting orders. “Prepare to sail. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

“No.”

Buzz Cut turned to Kuina in shock. “Petty Officer, with all due respect—”

“I said no,” Kuina said coldly. “And until I get in contact with Captain Smoker, I’m the voice of the World Government for this entire damn island. Right now you’d have better luck arguing with god than getting me to change my mind.”

Laughter rumbled deep within the captain’s quarters that made a chill crawl up Kuina’s spine. “My, my, my, look how assertive you’ve gotten since we’ve last met. I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you, Petty Officer.”

Sitting behind an ornately carved desk was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing the long coat and epaulettes of a captain. His face might have been handsome once, but his features had the squashed, lumpy look of a brawler who’d lost more fights than they won. A saber hung at his hip.

“Close the door,” the captain said.

“But sir,” Buzz Cut protested, “our orders…”

“Our orders can wait the few minutes it will take to put our marine friend at ease. Now, shut the door. Please.”

While framed as a request, the order was anything but. Buzz Cut swallowed loudly and did as he was told. When they were alone, the captain reached behind his desk and retrieved Kuina’s sword. “I see you’re as obsessed as ever ‘bout your steel, Petty Officer. Always thought it were a shame you got leashed that wild dog Smoker, and it seems he’s baying just as loud as ever. You deserve a better sort of man than him.”

He laughed again, the sound like a rusty knife drug over stone. Confused and more than a little suspicious, Kuina quickly inspected its blade. When she was satisfied it hadn’t been damaged or tampered with, Kuina hung it at her hip.

“Do I know you?” she asked. The words had hardly escaped her lips before she regretted them, but the man snorted.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already, Petty Officer. It’ll wound me manly pride.” His grin widened, revealing a mouth full of blackened, rotting teeth. “Or are you really that blind without your glasses?”

“I’d like to think I purposefully forgot to save myself the pain of remembering that ugly mug of yours,” Kuina said. “Now identify yourself! What in the world is going on here? Why do you have children in your brig?”

“Is that what this is about?” the man said, sounding disappointed. “Smoker was the same way when I spoke to him last year. You soft-hearted types are why the world’s going to shit. You know as well as I do that age doesn’t matter when it comes to criminals. We have legal justification for every one of those rebels we locked up. Excusing your pretty face, o’ course. Or did you somehow miss the fucking war right outside these doors?”

Kuina balled her hands into fists and didn’t answer.

A look of satisfaction spread across the captain’s face. He bowed slightly, with a little, mocking flourish that made Kuina want to punch him in his ugly, leering face. “Captain Jack O’Neil at your service, of the Callihan Trading Company. It’s a pleasure to remake your acquaintance, Petty Officer. To be honest, it’s been far too long since a lady of your caliber graced these planks, and I’m sorry one of my men had to crack your skull to do it. Once we get this sorted I’ll have my men do everything in our power to ensure your stay on my ship is a comfortable one.”

Kuina’s frown deepened. She’d heard of the CTC—they were forever hanging advertisements near the docks of Loguetown in search of sailors and hired swords to protect their wares from pirates.There’d been a time when she’d been tempted to sign up for a voyage, but when she went to inquire about the post she was laughed out of the room by a pair of burly men with more muscles than sense.

The company dabbled in everything from the spice trade to arms transport and weren’t particularly picky about who they worked for. There were even rumors that pirates and crime lords used them as a front for their smuggling operations, but Kuina had always dismissed them as overblown talk from jealous competitors.

She was beginning to think now that there was some truth behind those allegations.

Jack O’Neil cleared his throat when the silence stretched a beat too long to remain comfortable. “You and I both know that all this destruction could have been avoided if not for these rebels. You agree that the perpetrators need to be punished, doncha, Petty Officer?”

Kuina's eyes hardened. “The boy. Where is he?”

“Expedited sentence,” O’Neil said with a shrug. “Couldn’t be helped, ones that little are no good for hard labor. It’s the same with the known Revolutionaries, they’re too much of a risk to imprison, and the money on their heads is good even if we turn ‘em in cold. It’s just good business. You understand how it is.”

He’d killed him. The monster in front of her had killed a child in cold blood. He’d killed Azem. He’d killed Danny, who regretted joining the Revolution and had been trying to escape a life of violence and death.

Kuina’s world went red.

“No, Captain. I’m afraid I don’t.”

It was now O’Neil’s turn for silence. He squinted down at Kuina, perplexed and exasperated. “Did that blow to the head knock your common sense loose, Petty Officer? I don’t you recall you bein’ half this mouthy before, or didja spend enough time with the menfolk that you finally grew a pair of—”

Kuina struck before he could even think to move. A gurgled scream tore from his lips as O’Neil grasped the wound at the base of his throat. His eyes bulged in terror and pain, one hand trying to stem the bleeding while the other reached for the sword at his side.

Kuina didn’t give him the chance.

Stepping over O’Neil’s rapidly-cooling body. Behind his desk she found her bag, which had obviously been searched through and hastily repacked, and her mask. She put the latter in her bag after wrapping it in a shirt to keep it from breaking and slung it over her shoulder.

She wanted them to see her face before they died.

A den-den mushi at the corner of O’Neil’s desk caught her eye. It was attached to a machine that allowed faxes, and Kuina laughed when she saw that it hadn’t been used. The idiot captain hadn’t bothered to verify her story, trusting that he’d be able to recognize Tashigi on sight.

There were papers, too. Logs and ledgers and a map of the area. Kuina was in the process of stuffing them in her backpack when the door to the office opened, revealing the face of the pudgy boy.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mo wanted to know if we had permission to set sail yet. He says it’s getting bad…”

His voice trailed off into a whisper as his eyes followed the path of blood from O’Neil to Kuina. He stood, slack jawed and wide-eyed, swaying gently on his feet as if he were about to faint.

“Whu...what happened?”

Kuina leveled her sword at the boy. “Get off this ship, or I will kill you.”

The boy flinched. Kuina didn’t know if it was an attempt to draw his weapon or a visceral response to fear, but she took no chances. The boy screamed as she darted forward, but remained firmly rooted in place. He quickly joined his captain in death.

The advantage of stealth was gone with the cry of alarm. If nothing else, the men waiting on deck were professionals and quickly recovered from their initial shock. Kuina dodged the blow from a cutlass, her counter catching him on the wrist. The sailor screamed, clutching the bloody stump where his hand used to be.

“Call the alarm!” Buzz Cut bellowed, deflecting Kuina’s katana as she rushed toward him. “Bring reinforcements!”

Kuina ducked to avoid another slash, and was forced to roll to avoid being shot. She cursed as more men crawled out of the bowels of the ship like ants from an overturned hill. She disentangled herself from a block and cut down two more, managing to hamstrung a third before crossing blades with Buzz Cut once more.

“What are you doing?” he screamed. “We’re on the same side!”

“I don’t think we are,” Kuina said coldly. With a twist of her wrist she batted his sword aside and ran him through.

That was a mistake. Buzz Cut coughed bloody foam as he slumped to the ground, and it took Kuina too long to dislodge her sword from his body. She was forced to twist awkwardly to avoid the crushing blow of a weighted club, and doing so put her right in the path of another sailor’s saber.

Pure reflex saved Kuina from decapitation. She danced away from the saber, trying to keep herself in the middle of a crowd, using the threat of friendly fire to dissuade them from shooting. She was quickly surrounded, and a feral grin spread across her face. A distress flare shot into the night sky, burning boldly over the stolen ship.

This was it. This was where she belonged, with a blade in hand and nothing but her skill and fickle fortune between her from death. All the worry and anxiety of the last week melted away, replaced with pure bloodlust fueled by her fury.

“Gods above, she’s gone mad,” one of the sailors whispered, and the mixture of fear and awe like music to her ears.

It was the last thing she heard for a long time.

Xxx

Kuina came to her senses covered in blood that was not her own. She found herself standing over the Buzz Cut sailor, who was miraculously still alive, gasping erratically and frantically for air. Under the light of the moon the blood that bubbled out of the cut in his chest looked black. Pausing to flick the excess blood off her katana, Kuina kneeled beside him. He couldn’t die yet. Not when there was so much she didn’t know.

“Who hired you?” she asked calmly. “It’s not marines, or else they would have messaged Loguetown. Who’s paining you to murder little children.”

“You’re too late, bitch. Help is coming. Gemini will cut you down.” He looked weakly to the side and laughed. “They’re here already.”

Kuina followed his gaze. Soldiers were marching towards the ship, too many for any one person to deal with. Getting back to her feet, Kuina hurried to the brig. She had to shove aside a body before she could open it and lower the ladder.

“Do any of you know how to sail a ship?” Kuina called. To her surprise, the Tolouse refugees huddled in the corners, packed as close to one another as they could manage and refusing to move. Belatedly she realized they had no idea what happened other than what they’d overheard above. Drops of blood continued to drop down below.

“You’re safe,” she said. “None of them can hurt you, but you need to leave now.”

“And go where?” one asked. “I don’t know who you are, but the Revolutionaries who promised to get us to safety are dead.”

“And you’re about to join them if you don’t hurry up!” Kuina snapped. She looked over her shoulder. The soldiers were even closer now, and her energy was spent. A dozen shallow wounds slowed her movements, the blood loss making her vision hazy. And on top of it all, she had a pounding headache that would not stop.

“Look,” Kuina said to the terrified men and women below, “I can’t tell you where to go. No one, not even the Revolutionary Army, has the right to do that. But what I can do is buy you time to make that decision. For your sake, I hope it’s a quick one.”

She walked to the ship’s railing. The dying sailor laughed as she passed, and in a weak, sneering voice said, “What do you hope to accomplish, brat? They’ll be recaptured within the day. All you’ve done is prolong their execution.”

Kuina paused, looking down at the oncoming army, rage building once more as all the atrocities that she’d seen since arriving to Tolouse flashed through her mind: The bombing of the square, the fires, the desecration of the dead.

She remembered Danny and Azem, and the small, strong hands of the little boy grasping her neck. She remembered, and she felt the weight of unbalanced scales.

A life for a life. It was a saying that went both ways, and for the first time she thought she understood Aria de Gris’s desire to bloody some noses.

Kuina jumped down from the ship and landed in a summersault on the docks. Her arms trembled with fatigue and exhilaration as she raised her sword. She felt the heat and the smoke mix with the mists rolling off of the sea, obscuring the mass of bodies wearing the uniforms of the Tolouse army coming toward her.

Her blood hummed with anticipation. This was what she was made for. This was her purpose. Kuina couldn’t sail a ship. She couldn’t heal wounds or cook food or build ships or inspire others. But she could fight. She loved to fight, loved the synergy between body and blade. There was something beautiful testing her strength against another, her life hanging in the balance.

In the haze Kuina was almost invincible, striking down enemies before they knew she was there. Unlike the frenzied battle of the ship, this cat and mouse style suited the skills she’d honed over her years of bounty hunting.

The difference was she now had nowhere to retreat. Until the ship behind her set sail she couldn’t give up a single inch of ground. For the first time in her life, Kuina could not run.

And for the first time since she was eleven years old, Kuina felt alive.

It didn’t take long for the Tolouse army to retreat from the docks. Kuina couldn’t help but laugh as she caught her breath, allowing herself to believe for a brief moment that she’d won.

Then she heard orders being barked into snail phones, and in the distance saw the flash of matches being lit.

They had cannons.

Kuina jumped in the air in time to intercept the first shot with no thought other than to protect the ship behind her. She screamed as she slashed downward, cutting the iron cannonball neatly in two. The halves exploded on either side of her, momentarily filling the air with brilliant light.

She landed in a predator’s crouch, gasping for air. There was no time to process what she’d just done, because more shots followed the first, punctuated with the sharper fire of rifles.

Kuina cut a second cannonball just as easily as the first, but as she landed a third slammed into the docks behind her. Wood exploded, and the concussive blast of air threw Kuina onto the shore. The air was forced from her lungs, her katana thrown from her grasp. Kuina clasped her hands against her ears to stop the ringing, curled helplessly in a ball.

Get up!

She couldn’t. It hurt too much, and her body was too weak. Kuina dug her fingers into the sand and pushed, but there was nothing left for her to give.

You promised!

She’d promised a lot of things. She’d promised her father that she’d stay safe, and the refugees that she would buy them time, and herself that she would avenge the dead of Tolouse. Kuina had proven herself a liar time and time again. What chance did she have of fulfilling her promise to Zoro if she couldn’t manage something as simple as that?

So get up. Keep fighting.

Kuina groaned, a low, keening noise drawn directly from her soul. She rested her arms against the beach as the last of her strength bled from her limbs. Something brushed against her hand, and instinctively Kuina reached for it.

Her sword.

Kuina’s fingers wrapped around the wrapped leather handle. Was this how she wanted to die, like a dog beaten one too many times? Or would she fight with pride? With honor?

I’m going to be the greatest swordsman in the world, or die trying. Slowly Kuina rose to her feet. Decision made, there was nothing else to worry about. Nothing that required her to think. Bruised and bloody, Kuina raised her sword one last time just as the first rays of dawn spilled over the horizon.

The enemy came, and Kuina defeated them all. She didn’t care if they shot or stabbed at her. She didn’t care about anything at all.

The earlier bloodlust was gone, replaced with the mechanical, instinctive movements of a woman who’d spent her life learning to kill. The sun rose and the bodies multiplied, but Kuina didn’t stop. Cut by cut, slash by slash, the only thing that kept her moving was the strength of her ambition.

She didn’t know how long she lasted before she missed a parry, her opponent’s sword gliding against her arm. She stumbled back into the rising tide, her back hitting one of the few remaining posts of the splintered dock. It was the only thing that kept her upright as she ducked under the following slash. Blackness ate at the edge of her vision, her lungs burning for want of air. She knew she wouldn’t be able to raise her sword in time.

Her opponent looked just like all the rest, just another young man wearing the grey uniform of the Tolouse army. There was nothing to differentiate him from the hundreds of others she’d seen since the night began. And yet, he would be the one to kill her.

Kuina laughed at the absurdity of it all.

The man yelled as he swung his sword. Kuina closed her eyes and waited, smile still spread across her face. But instead of death there was only a choked scream and the sound of a full grown man falling into the water.

Kuina blinked her eyes open. A figure in full armor, helmet shaped like a roaring lion, pulled a thin blade from the young soldier’s back. Kuina blinked again as the rising sun glinted off the polished steel, seeing but not understanding.

Then she felt it, a presence like wind swirling around the eye of a hurricane. Whoever this person was, was the real deal. A true swordsman.

“Wanna fight?” Kuina gasped, drawing enough energy to spit a mouth full of blood into the sea before raising her sword.

“It’s over, kid. You did good.”

“Did...good?” Kuina tried to take a step forward, but her vision went sideways. The armored swordsman caught her before she hit the ground. When Kuina looked up again the helmet was gone, and she stared into the dark eyes of Aria de Gris.

“C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

#one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #creative-type writes #kuina #wake from death (and return to life)

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ghostspideys-moved · 5 years ago

Text

We’ll Have Tomorrow

Chapter Five

A/N: Somehow this ended up being the longest chapter, and I’m not sure how, but hopefully you guys enjoy more content.

Word Count: 5.7k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x OC, Jonathan x Nancy x OC (eventually)

Summary: Pretty much wrapping up the last bit of the actual canon plot before we get into the extra stuff of the aftermath.

River had quickly gathered that the random girl that so easily killed a Demogorgon was El. Honestly, she was pretty impressed. Even more so when she said she’d be able to close the gate.

Hopper was more than willing to take her back to the lab. As soon as they took off, that left her, her brother, and Steve to look after the kids in the meantime.

They tasked themselves with shoving the Demodog into the fridge. River hoped Joyce wouldn’t freak out too much when she discovered it after the ordeal. She’d feel a little bad if she did. For the few moments that she’d seen Joyce, she seemed nice despite her frantic state.

"God, these things are freaky," she mumbled. "They look like Audrey the plant or some shit."

"What are you talking about?" Dustin asked.

River gave him a shocked look. "You know. Audrey? Plant that eats people? From Little Shop of Horrors?" She sighed. "It's a great movie, and you guys suck for not knowing that. Heard it got turned into a musical a few years ago, or something."

Clearly, they weren’t understanding, probably because she just had too much free time and watched lots of movies. She gave up on them and sat on the couch, waiting for something to do.

River hated sitting around and doing nothing, but it was all they could do for now. She was almost hoping for something exciting to happen, as much as she probably shouldn’t be.

As if she’d been given a sign, the roaring of a car engine alerted everyone, and Max scrambled to the window to look. She seemed a little worried. While River was by no means popular, she was observant, and knew a lot more than people might give her credit for.

The car sitting out in the driveway could only belong to Billy Hargrove, which would explain Max’s fear. He hardly seemed like a decent person, from what she’d seen.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Billy stepped out, and Steve went outside to deal with him. Whatever he was saying clearly wasn’t satisfying Billy. It didn’t help that the kids were all gathered at the window. They ducked as soon as he spotted them, and she had to keep them from freaking out too much.

Billy pushed past Steve, causing him to topple to the ground. He took a kick to the ribs before Billy barged in, slowly approaching Max.

River eyed him for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t try anything stupid. As luck would have it, he grabbed Lucas by the collar, trapping him. As he went off on the poor kid, she held the kids back for now, unsure what to do. She couldn’t just let him pick on a kid like that.

Lucas kicked him on the groin and escaped. River pulled him close, glaring at Billy. If looks could kill, he’d already be dead ten times over.

Impressively enough, Steve stumbled back in and decked him right in the face. It was creepy how Billy laughed and egged him on, as if he was enjoying this.

Steve tried to be civil and gave him a chance to leave, but he didn’t take it. It escalated quickly when Bill swung at him, turning into a full-blown fight. The kids were cheering on Steve, especially Dustin.

“Kick his ass, Steve!” he cheered.

Unsure what else to do, River stepped in, trying to tear them apart. Billy was a lot stronger than she had hoped, and it didn’t seem like he was going to give up. It didn’t help that River was still in pain, her leg protesting with every step she took.

As much as she didn’t really like Steve, the guy was losing horribly, and at least he was trying to protect the kids. She’d give him that much. River managed to pull them apart for a second, landing a hit on Billy. She’d at least busted his nose judging by the blood trickling towards his lips. He’d shaken it off pretty quickly and shoved her aside, her leg giving out under her.

The only thing she registered for a moment was Hawthorne rushing over to make sure she hadn’t been hurt more than she already was. Despite the fact that the room was spinning a little, she was fine. Or so she claimed. Her whole body was in way too much pain.

It was Steve she was worried about. Billy had him pinned down and was beating his face in. River watched as Max pushed past the boys and went over to her stepbrother. While he was occupied, she jabbed a syringe into his neck, taking him by surprise.

Billy stumbled back, a shocked look crossing his face. He pulled the syringe from his neck and threw it aside before falling to the floor with a thud.

River stood up, her lightheadedness nearly getting the better of her, and watched in awe as Max grabbed Steve’s bat. This kid was a hell of a lot braver than she seemed, and River really admired it. In Billy’s position, she would feel intimidated by her, even if she was a kid. Her threatening tone was just that; threatening, and surprisingly intimidating.

Max took Billy’s car keys, and it was then that River passed out from the pain. The last thing she remembered was Hawthorne picking her up, and then she was out like a light.

River wasn’t sure how long she’d been passed out, but by the time she came to, they were stopped outside in a field. Steve was freaking out, and from what she could tell, Max had attempted to drive Billy’s car while they were out.

“Maybe next time let someone else drive,” he exclaimed, looking at Hawthorne.

She watched as her brother’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Uh, actually I have a confession,” he stammered. “I don’t know how to drive.”

Steve gave an exasperated sigh. It was then that River noticed just how bad his face looked after taking so many hits. His face was horribly bruised, and it made her wince just thinking about how much it must hurt.

“Hey, what are you doing?” The kids were setting up, what for she wasn’t sure, and ignoring him. “Are you deaf? Hello!”

Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose and went over, limping a little. “Yeah, hey. Hate to be a buzzkill, but I’m with Steve on this one,” she cut in.

None of the kids seemed to be listening, and Dustin had a rather convincing argument of his own.

It didn’t take long before she was geared up with the goggles and bandanna he’d handed her. Sharing a look of dismay with Hawthorne, she followed after them, carefully climbing down into the tunnel.

There were spores drifting in the air like dust, but a hell of a lot grosser. She wasn’t much of a germaphobe, but it kind of grossed her out more than she cared to admit.

River wasn’t far behind Steve. Mike tried to lead them ahead, but Steve wasn’t having it. He made them stay behind him in case anything happened. Figuring it was the smart thing to do, she brought up the rear, in the event that something attacked them from behind.

Feeling a little more than grossed out the more they pressed on, she limped behind, failing to notice Dustin fall behind her. An oversight she would definitely notice as soon as she heard him screaming bloody murder.

As soon as he claimed he was fine, she let out a sigh of relief and helped him up.

“God, don’t give me a heart attack, Henderson.” River patted his back and pushed him forward again, where she could keep an eye on him.

They finally stopped where the tunnels converged into a central area. They quickly got to work, covering as much as they could in gasoline. They had to cover a lot of space for this plan to work. The more fire, the more it would hurt the Mind Flayer. And that was the most important part of the whole operation.

Steve gathered everyone behind him again, flicking open his lighter before tossing it. Flames erupted, consuming the walls of the tunnel immediately. They rushed out, sprinting back the way they came.

Mike tripped, his leg getting caught as he screamed for help. River took his arm, pulling him away as Steve hit whatever was holding him down. Worse yet, a Demodog found them. It snarled, bearing its many teeth.

Dustin realized this was none other than Dart. How the hell did this kid keep a creature like this in his room? It really was as big as a dog, and that alone was pretty terrifying.

River watched in horror as he approached Dart, and she readied her weapon in case he needed help. She had to give it to him; the kid was brave as hell for trying to talk to it. These kids were all braver than she previously assumed. It gave her a heart attack, but she admired it, really.

Dustin continued to reason with Dart as he pulled out a candy bar. It was insane that it even worked. He motioned for them to go on ahead while Dart was busy eating the candy bar.

After saying his goodbyes, a look of sorrow on his face, Dustin joined them again as they headed back to the entrance. As they were approaching, the ground rumbled, causing River to stumble back, her leg flaring up again from the fall.

Steve was nice enough to help her up and make sure she was okay. They were cut off by the sound of Demodogs roaring. Before they could waste any time, they were all running to the entrance again.

Sadly, River was falling behind, but Hawthorne pulled her forward, more worried about getting her out. The kids were the first to make it up, Steve made sure of it. Of course, Dustin was the last kid left when the roaring grew closer. Steve and River bother pulled out their weapons as soon as they could hear the Demodogs approaching. They were more than ready to protect him in case of an attack.

River braced herself, expecting an attack. She was shocked when they ran past them, as if they weren’t even there. Like they were running away. El must have closed the gate.

Taking this as their chance to escape, River helped Dustin up again, making sure he got up safely. Steve insisted she go up next, and she heaved herself up the rope, dusting herself off once she was above ground. Hawthorne joined them, and Steve was the last one out.

Just like that, it was all over. River hardly knew how to process the fact that they’d won, at least she hoped so.

Dealing with the aftermath wasn’t any more fun, either. After everything, River’s leg was causing her an excruciating amount of pain. And as much as she tried to hide it, there was no escaping the concerned looks from her brother. Naturally, he insisted that she sit down and keep off her leg, and he made a point of checking on her quite often. At some point, he tasked himself with changing out the dressing on her wound.

“You really need to be more careful,” he fretted. “I can’t believe I even let you walk around with your leg this bad.” Hawthorne sighed as he wrapped her leg again. By now, there really wasn’t as much blood, but it was very painful.

“It’s really not that bad.” The last thing River wanted was to burden anyone when she probably didn’t even have the worst injury by comparison.

Hawthorne paused and glanced up at her. “Like hell it isn’t. One of these days, you’re going to push yourself too far, and it’ll be a lot worse,” he said. “Especially because you never tell anyone out of, what? A sense of self-preservation?”

“I just don’t need people fussing over me when, in all reality, I'm fine and there are other people with a lot worse.” She thought about how much of a beating Steve had taken, and Will had been possessed literally about an hour ago. So was it really worth spending all the energy worrying about her?

He shook his head and finished. “Maybe, but I’m not concerned about other people. It’s you I’m worried about, and I hardly know enough about first aid to keep up with how reckless you are,” he said. “I’m not a doctor.”

River scoffed. “Gee. Thanks, McCoy.”

Hawthorne gave her a playful push and rolled her eyes. She laughed and sat back for now, letting her leg rest. After all they’d been through, she definitely needed it. Her leg would take time to get better, but it was nice knowing she had her brother looking out for her.

Now that everyone was trying to return to their normal lives (if they could even call anything about their lives normal), River and Hawthorne had to deal with going home.

Except they’d actually taken everyone’s advice and talked to Hopper about their situation. It was hard to talk about, and River didn’t really want to do it. Her brother had been far more eager to vent and open up to him. She only wished she could open up that easily.

Of course, he had to question them in order to get an investigation going, which was undoubtedly the hardest part for her. It was one thing to vaguely tell him the basics, but quite another to go into detail.

River sat at a table, the only other person in the room was chief Hopper. She wasn’t intimidated by him. He didn’t seem very scary, but maybe that was just her. Really, she just wasn’t the best with authority figures, especially the police.

“Has he ever hit you? Or your brother?” Hopper asked cautiously.

River looked down, her lips pursed and her anxiety at an all-time high.

“Yes.”

“Is it a daily occurrence?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Anything else you need to tell me?”

So far, she’d had an easy time, but this was where she started having some difficulty talking about it. Up until now, she’d always justified her father’s abuse. Maybe it was to make herself feel better, but she knew deep down nothing about it was okay. That he shouldn’t have hurt them in the first place.

She went on to explain how he verbally abused them, though it was mostly focused on her brother. He’d had too many expectations for Hawthorne, but he could never live up to them. She’d always defended him. It wasn’t his fault he was more interested in practical things. Sewing, gardening, other things that weren’t conventionally “manly.” It was all just a bunch of bullshit in her opinion.

“My father. He, um, used to be a soldier before we moved here,” River explained. “That was a long time ago, but I think it changed him for the worse. He was probably the best father ever, but once mom died, it was like he suddenly changed.”

More than anything, she knew how much he loved her mother. She’d passed away from illness, back when they’d been stuck in Hawkins Lab, so they never got to say goodbye. And when they’d escaped and found him again, he was like a completely different person.

“Not that it justifies anything, but I don’t think mom passing away really helped,” she continued. “He tried to teach Hawthorne things he saw more fitting for a boy to learn, I guess. As bullshit as that sounds. It was like he was hellbent on making us as miserable as he was.

“When he was mad, dad really had a thing for punishment. He liked to lock us in the closet until he felt like we learned our lesson. Sometimes, that meant hours of being holed up in a dark closet alone.”

“Did he do that often?” Hopper interjected.

River nodded and refused to meet his eyes for a moment. “And since he didn’t think he could get through to Hawthorne, he had to move on, of course.” Her voice caught in her throat for a moment, and he gave her a reassuring look.

“I suppose, in a way, I was a project to him. Something he could have control over.” She hated thinking about all the days she spent training like he wanted her to. And when she wasn’t doing that, she was practicing whatever activities he wanted her to. Violin, ballet (like her mom used to teach), whatever he deemed a fitting use of her time. He wanted her to be perfect at whatever he chose for her. Complete control over everything she did.

He never even let her out of the house unless he knew where she was going, and even then, he forbade things like parties or meeting with friends (not that she had many), especially if boys were involved.

She explained all of this to Hopper, doing her best not to lose her cool. There was just so much to explain, and she felt like she could hardly cover it all.

"How long have you guys lived in Hawkins?"

"Six years, almost seven. Since I was about ten," River answered. "We, uh, moved her from Russia, believe it or not. I've spent so much time learning English, and let me tell you. It's not easy."

"Why did you move?" Hopper inquired.

River shrugged. "A lot of reasons. Mom was sick, and there wasn’t much good in keeping her there, where she couldn’t get help. Dad also thought we’d have better chances living our lives out here, for whatever reason.”

There were a lot of reasons they left, and sometimes she greatly missed it.

By the end of her explanation, she was near tears. She wasn’t one to cry in front of others, so she held back as well as she could. Hopper gave her a pat on the back, and she flinched just a bit before relaxing and trying to pass it off as nothing.

“Hey, I’m gonna do whatever I can to get you out of this,” he assured her. “You and your brother. I know this is a lot for you both, but I’ll do what I can to make things at least a little better.”

River nodded, getting out of her chair and rubbing her eyes. Technically, they couldn’t go back home, so River and Hawthorne needed a place to stay. Apparently, Dustin had explained the situation enough to his mother, and she’d been more than happy to let them stay with them until everything was sorted out.

While she’d been hesitant to accept, Hawthorne urged her to give in, so now they were staying with the Hendersons.

River was walking back, her leg still a bit sore, and she finally letting loose a few stray tears. The wind blew harshly, red strands of hair obscuring her vision. She had a winter jacket on, but it was only doing so much to keep the cold from biting at her skin. Despite the cold, she found herself lost in thought, the few tears she let fall feeling even colder as they tried to freeze over.

This whole situation she was in really sucked. She was grateful for the help, but having to admit to the horrors of her home life for the past four years took a lot out of her. She was so absorbed in her sorrow, that she hardly noticed Steve pulling up beside her.

“I swear, you people need to get your ears cleaned.” She turned, raising an eyebrow.

“Can I help you, Harrington?”

He had a grin on his face, and she almost hated it. She couldn’t quite bring herself to feel even passive aggressive towards him, though. It felt too unwarranted at this point.

“Look, I can tell you're trying to hide it, but clearly you’re not having a good time,” he said. “At least let me help. You don’t have to mope all the way back to Dustin’s house.”

"Thanks, but no thanks."

Steve scoffed. "I'm getting the feeling that you don't really like me."

"Oh, whatever gave you that impression?" Before River could add to her sarcastic remark, he sighed and threw his hands up.

"I'm trying to be nice here," he said. "I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot, but just let me fix things."

There was a pause as River debated with herself. He did seem genuine in trying to help, and that made her feel a little bad for being a huge jerk.

"Besides, it's snowing, and you'll freeze before you make it back."

Groaning, she gave in and joined him in his car. "You really are confusing, Steve Harrington."

"What's so confusing?" he asked, his grin appearing again.

River rolled her eyes as he started the car again. "I just don't understand. You were such a jerk just last year."

"Yeah, well a lot changed."

She couldn't say he hadn't been helpful in defeating the Mind Flayer, and he'd been oddly protective of the children, even if he did seem fed up over watching them. And it was kind of nice, really, how quick he was to stand up for Lucas. As a matter of fact, he still had a few bruises.

"How's your face?" she blurted out.

Steve chuckled and looked at her for a moment. "Is this your way of flirting?"

River couldn't help it when his face warmed up a little at the idea. "Whatever. You know what I meant."

He focused back on the road and shrugged. "I've felt worse," he answered. "It's not so bad now."

River nodded, hesitating for a moment. "You know, I could fix it," she offered. "Um, I have some healing abilities.”

"You've been holding back on me, Matthews?" he joked.

"Well, I mean, I can heal you. The only drawback is that I basically absorb your pain in place of it."

Steve shook his head, not liking the sound of that.

"It's not worth it," he said. "I'm almost completely better anyways. What I'm more worried about is why you were so miserable a second ago."

She sighed and worried the hem of her sleeve. "It's no big deal. I'll admit, I'm not the best with my emotions," she said.

"Is it about your dad?"

"How could you tell?" River replied, her tone laced with sarcasm. She sighed and apologized. "It's just...it's a shitty situation, okay?"

"Well, no shit. That's why I'm making sure you're okay."

"Jesus, why do you care so much?"

River hadn't meant to snap. She really did appreciate his concern, but she was having a hard time accepting that anyone could feel so bad for her. She could feel the tears coming back, and wiped at her eyes, though it was a fruitless effort. By now, they were already parked outside Dustin's house.

Giving her a worried look, Steve placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. "I know you don't realize this, but after what we've been through, you're part of this weird family now," he said. "And we look out for each other. So don't think that you have to go through this alone. Same goes for Hawthorne."

His words surprised her a little. She'd never really seen him act so genuine. Wiping the rest of the tears from her eyes, she sighed and looked away for a moment.

River laughed dryly. "Told you I'm bad with my emotions."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Steve said. "You're not the only one. We're all working through shit. It happens."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just, uh, don't hesitate to talk to me. I know we don't exactly get along well yet, and I totally get that. I used to be an asshole," he continued. "But seriously."

River gave him a slight smile and nodded. "Thank you, Steve."

It took about a week for the police to finally get a case going and send Carter Matthews away, but he was finally as good as gone.

Realistically, Claudia Henderson would have happily let them stay as long as they wanted, but River knew they had to find a more permanent solution eventually. Besides, it was too risky, and the last thing they needed was for either of the twins to accidentally slip up and use their powers.

In a surprising turn of events, Hopper had proposed a plan of his own. He had already had El living with him, and maybe he figured two more super-powered kids couldn't hurt, because he offered to take them in himself.

It held a lower risk of them getting caught since he already knew about their abilities, or at least that they had them.

It was the best option they had, so they took him up on his offer. He'd already cleared out rooms for them in his cabin, and they were allowed to take whatever they wanted from their house, which was abandoned now that their father was gone.

The same night of the Snow Ball, River and Hawthorne were going through their belongings, packing them into boxes. Hopper gave them some space for now, as he'd been helping El prepare for the dance.

River felt a little envious since she'd never been allowed to go to a dance before, but she pushed it aside. It didn't matter much. She didn't like things like that, so she probably wouldn't enjoy it anyways. Too many people, way too much noise that would overwhelm her.

As River was packing up some of the action figures she had on top of her bookshelf, there was a knock on the door. Wondering who the hell it could be, she hurried downstairs and took a peek out the window.

To her surprise, Steve was standing at the door, shivering from the cold. She unlocked the door and let him in.

"Steve? Um, what are you doing here?" she asked.

He kicked off his shoes before entering. He wasn't wearing a coat, just a long-sleeved shirt. A mistake, clearly. "Just came by to see how things are going."

River raised an eyebrow and laughed a little. "Aren't you taking Dustin to the Snow Ball?"

"Already taken care of."

Shaking her head, she led him to the kitchen, she quickly made him some hot chocolate without bothering to ask, knowing he'd only decline.

She handed him the mug and leaned against the counter as he sipped at the warm drink.

"Seriously, what are you doing here?" she repeated.

"What? I can't be a good person and check in on you?"

"Steve, we're barely even friends, and it's like you've suddenly decided to just barge into my life," River said.

Sighing, Steve set down his mug and ran his fingers through his hair. "Like I said, just checking in," he insisted. "I guess I just feel bad. I mean, for the longest time, I thought you two were weird for being so reclusive, but I didn't realize it wasn't really your fault. That, and I was the worst and didn't think about anyone but myself anyways."

"I think you're a hell of a lot better now," River assured him. "The Steve I knew before wouldn't risk his life for a bunch of 13 year olds."

There was a slight smile on his face, and she couldn't help but think it suited him. It seemed so genuine, like he was actually happy. She wondered if she'd ever feel that way now that things were changing.

"I heard you guys will be living with Hopper now," he said.

River nodded and played with the hem of her sweater. "Yeah, it's probably for the best. He's already got El, so it'll help us lay low and figure out our powers."

"What do you know you can do so far?" he asked curiously.

"Besides reading minds and healing? I know that I have this weird ability to control shadows and darkness, if that makes sense."

"Uh, not really."

"It's like...okay, you know how, like, there are superheroes that can control water, fire, whatever?"

Steve nodded.

"It's like that, except with...shadows? It's kind of hard to explain, and super hard for me to control," she said. "I, uh, don't have a good track record of keeping it under control."

Steve gave her a curious look, silently asking her to elaborate.

River bit her lip and sighed. "Okay, I'm about to tell you something, but this stays between us. Got it, Harrington?"

"Yeah, yeah. My lips are sealed."

River hesitated for a moment before she explained herself.

"Okay, when I was ten, my family moved her to America. From Russia. And, of course, it's kind of a process to officially immigrate and all, so it took some time. There were some bumps in the road for sure, and, at some point, things got a little complicated.

"We were having some issues, something about not having proper documentation, or whatever. And, I don't know, things escalated a little, and of course more people got involved. But because I was little and didn't know what was going on, I freaked out, and my powers went a little haywire."

River sighed and looked down for a moment. "It's my fault we got separated. If I hadn't lost control, they wouldn't have taken us away to experiment on my brother and I," she said. "I'm what caused this whole mess."

"Hey, hey. I'm sure your brother doesn't blame you for anything," Steve assured her.

River shrugged. "Maybe not. But I certainly blame myself." She shook her head. "Whatever. It's not a big deal. There's nothing we can do about it now."

Steve sighed and gave her a look of concern. Then he seemed to have a realization.

"Wait, so if you moved from Russia, I'm guessing River isn't your real name," he said. "Not exactly Russian sounding."

He was more observant than she gave him credit for. "It's not. My birth name is Vera, but only my brother really calls me that anymore," she explained.

"And Hawthorne?"

"Anatole," she answered. "His name's Anatole. But I'm sure if you called him that, he'd kill you."

They both shared a laugh, which was a first.

"Do you think you'll start going by that again?" Steve finished his hot chocolate, though he had some on his upper lip.

River shrugged and handed him a napkin. "Maybe," she said. "I wouldn't mind it too much, but honestly, I don't really care too much either way." In her opinion, her name didn't really matter so much in the grand scheme of things. It was a name, and just that. It seemed like such a mundane thing to fuss over after everything they've been through.

"Actually, Hopper got our birth certificates, and he had them changed," she added. "So, legally my name is River Hopper now, so that's a thing."

She surprisingly didn't hate it. In fact, River could kind of get used to it. Maybe it would take her some time to warm up to Hopper, but he was already a hell of a lot nicer than their father was.

By now, Steve’s hot chocolate had gone forgotten. He perked up when he had a sudden thought.

“Oh, how’s your leg?” he asked. “It looked pretty bad.”

“Actually, it doesn’t really hurt much anymore,” River said. “I got a cool scar though, so that’s pretty cool.” Steve laughed and shook his head. “What? So you think you’re a badass now?” he teased.

“Um, who said I wasn’t before?”

“Not to say you aren’t, but that’s my title, thank you very much.” River hit his arm, only making him laugh more.

“Maybe I should have let the Demodogs eat you.”

Steve gave her a look of fake shock. “Wow, I’m hurt. After all the trouble I’ve gone through of being nice, and you want to throw me to the wolves...Demodogs? Whatever.”

River rolled her eyes and cleaned his mug once he’d downed his hot (more like lukewarm by now) chocolate. He tapped his fingers against the counter, fidgeting before speaking again.

“So, um, now that you’re gonna be moving in with Hopper, I’m guessing you’ll probably be celebrating Christmas with him and El,” he said. “I mean, I’m sure he wants to let El have a normal holiday celebration.”

“Probably. I don’t celebrate Christmas, though, so I’m not sure how all that works.”

“What?”

“I don’t celebrate Christmas, Steve. I’m Jewish.”

“Oh.” Steve nodded, leaning against the counter. “Oh, that’s cool. I mean, I don’t know anything about that, but you know.”

River laughed and dried off her hands. “It’s fine. Honestly, I’m not the best at keeping up with all the ins and outs of it,” she explained. “I mean, my parents were a lot more religious than me to begin with, but I don’t know. Maybe one day I’ll get back into that once my life is a little more normal.” With so much going on in her life, other than working out her powers, she hadn’t found much time to get into the whole religion thing. Plus, her dad had fallen out of the habit himself, especially when he’d really gone off the deep end.

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Steve shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, whatever the case, my parents are having a party, if you wanna stop by. I mean, you don’t have to, but it always sucks being surrounded by snobby adults.”

It wasn’t like she’d had any plans to begin with, unless Hopper had things planned. Sure, it might be a little awkward since they’d just barely started getting along, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Sure. I mean, I don’t really see why not.”

Steve grinned brightly. “Great! Uh, it’s in, like, a week, so don’t worry about it too much.”

It wasn’t long before he excused himself. The snow was piling up, and he wanted to get home before it got any worse. River had packing to finish anyways, so she showed him out and got back to work. Her Star Trek posters weren’t going to pack themselves. She’d appreciated the break, though, whether she’d actually admit that or not.

Taglist: @bravest-at-heart @musicalytrashpanda @queenofthehairharrington

#steve harrington #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #will byers #joyce byers #jim hopper #jane hopper #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction

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ohjaimelannister · 6 years ago

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Do you think Hoppers actually dead though?

O K A Y.

I’ve been looking for an excuse to pull all of this together so here we go! NO Anon, I do not think that Chief James Hopper has gone and died on us. There’s no REAL evidence (there are easter eggs though) however and the Duffer Brothers could still pull the rug out from under us but hey.

No I do not believe that Hopper is dead. Although some things can be interpreted as pretty final and if the Duffers really kill him off I will never watch this show again, because it’s horrifically SHITTY writing and im already super tired of that this year lmao.

One - There is no body? We were never showed a body or what’s left of one? We have seen bodies for Benny, Barb, Bob and Billy (and even people who were in it for like 5 minutes). THEY EVEN PRODUCED A FAKE WILL WHEN THEY WANTED US TO THINK HE WAS DEAD. THEY AREN’T AGAINST SHOWING US BODIES!!! Which brings me to my next point!

Two - They also aren’t against to showing us death. Lots of gory detailing death, WHOEVER it is. Billy died horrifically but you saw it even though hes a kid. Bob got ripped to shreds. And even those dudes at the beginning of S3 died horribly? They still showed it. Hopper’s death??? It cuts away. You see NOTHING. AT. ALL. There aren’t even any remnants OF a body where he was standing, and Joyce goes down there and LOOKS. Surely shed find something? Gooey grossness like the bodies at the beginning? Nope. You could argue that they’d be against showing us the death of a beloved hero and a main character but. Again. Bob was beloved and arguably one of the sweetest characters in the show and he was ripped to bits in front of us and Joyce. Billy was a kid for all intents and purposes, still he died a horrible death. Not one bit of that was cut away.

Three - If you look in the shots hes not on the platform when the thing explodes????? like at all? Either that’s badly shot or its done deliberately because he’s just not there anymore? There’s the portal to the Upside Down and you can see a ladder in the shot too, so maybe he either went into the Upside Down or down the ladder and got caught by the russians?? We just don’t know.

Four - We see the devastated Eleven and the aftermath of what happened at Star Court. Then it jumps to three months later? Okay, odd that were not shown anymore of the grieving or the funeral. Then of course Eleven read the SPEECH. Think about the end of it specifically and about LEAVING THE DOOR OPEN 3 INCHES!! You can see from one of the final shots of Star Court that the gates not CLOSED. It was healing but it never fully closes. So Hopper could be in the Upside Down, or travelled through it to Russia on the other end?? Who knows. Point is, they included this line at the end for a reason. Whether the reason is that hes actually dead and they’re just being profound or that its a hint about his fate, its meaningful.

Five - During the ending the song HEROES by Peter Gabriel plays, this is the same song that was placed over them finding Wills fake body, and after all the goodbyes and the ‘speech’ where it ends with “keep the door open three inches” well. Come on.

Six - Then it cuts to Russia and you hear the “not the american” line, and Hopper was called “the American” throughout the series by that Russian baddie. Should I start waving Red Flags here or???? Then again, a lot of people are saying this could be Brenner. Okay I 100% get your logic Im with ya, and for a few days I’ve also thought it could be Brenner. But here’s the thing. Elevens powers. Brenner makes her use them to spy on a russian man in Season 1. Hinting that there’s more going on here than just super powers, kids and other dimensions. Don’t forget that in the 80s the world was in the grip of the Cold War, and things would have started reaching a boiling point for this long before 1985 when it ‘officially’ began. We were never given any answers about why Brenner was spying on this man, or even Russia. Or even if he WAS spying for the US. Nothing, it’s a throwaway scene. Or IS IT? Russians show up in Season Three somehow knowing about the Upside Down, having failed at their own attempts to open a gate in Russia. They somehow know that its Hawkins they need to be in to successfully open their gate and potentially get monsters to use, oh I don’t know, in a WAR???? How would they have known any of this information to begin with?? Oh I wonder. We were told all about Brenner being alive and out there in season two (and we were never told WHERE and this is not referenced again), but as far as I can remember Eleven has never shared this with anyone else, even though it’s completely RELEVANT information. And as far as I can remember (its been a hell of an emotional few days) I dont think were given any explanation about how the Russians knew about the Upside Down, Hawkins or anything. So maybe the reason they knew is BECAUSE BRENNER is the one giving them their directives? Because hes worked for THEM this whole time???

Seven - Interestingly also Eleven lost her powers? JEEZ ISN’T THAT CONVENIENT!!! Because the first thing shed use them for is to look for Hopper even if she was told he was dead. Shed look, 100% for the man who saved her, gave her a home, loved her, worried for her, cared for her like she was his goddamn OWN. Conveniently though now SHE CANT??? Interesting.

Eight - And now. There’s the voicemail message. In one of the episodes (my brains so fried I cant remember which one sorry) Murrays gives out his landline number, and when you call it you can hear him give a message to Joyce. You can listen to it here. You can tell this is after season three, because why would he talk to Joyce Byers? Surely if he was trying to reach someone for information it would be Hopper? “I have an update, its best if we speak in person" an update??? About what??? Why is he coercing with joyce??? Notice how he says “it’s not good or bad but its SOMETHING” and then says “we’ll talk about it in person” (or something like that) why would he be calling joyce with an ‘update’?????????? AND ON WHAT EXACTLY?? INTERESTING!!

Nine - Theres this interview with the cast specifically ABOUT Hopper, the death and the post credits scene. And I love David Harbour but, you cannot lie for shit my angel.

Ten - Millie has said in an interview “ Her dads gone, or so she thinks” COME ON.

Eleven - Again WE KNOW DAVID HARBOUR IS LIKE THE MARK RUFFALO OF STRANGER THINGS. And hes bad at keeping shit to himself. Hes already told us at the end of last YEAR, literally a month after they finished filming season three that the Duffers have told him the ending to the series as a whole. Why would any creator do this for a man they have effectively just fired, because his character died? Why would they tell him? They wouldn’t.

Tweleve - Again. David Harbour, bless his heart, I think its trying to give us HINTS and bread crumbs to follow. Last week he changed his instagram photo from Hopper in S1 to the number 6. Odd. Today he changed it to the number one :

Twelve continued - Basically if he changed it to an 8 next, we know hes trying to hint at Murrays voicemail message and this is a clue for Hopper. Because why else would he bother?

Thirteen - Theres also this screenshot from Cara Buonos instagram where she literally SAYS about him being in Kamchatka, and uses the Russian word for PRISON. (Of course this could just be a joke between the actors

Fourteen - Theres also the fact, which is not evidence mind you, that its incredibly shitty writing to have both the men that Joyce Byers loved/loves to die in front of her? And actually having her put the action in motion that kills the man she loves? No. I wont accept that. And weve been shown her non willingness to believe in peoples death, everyone and their mothers told her Will was dead and she was being crazy. Did she listen? No. And she got her boy back. Will she think once she has a clear head that Hoppers dead? Maybe. Which is why she asks Murray to investigate. Hence the Voicemail Message.

Fifteen - Its also incredibly shitty and hard to swallow, for Elevens sake too. I mentioned already how much she loves Hopper and finally got a true parent in him. Do you honestly think they’d put her through all of that just to lose him NOW? Like i said, its convienent how shes lost her powers at this very crucial moment.

Sixteen - DAVID. HARBOURS. BEARD. RIGHT. NOW.

And SEVENTEEN -Just in case y’all are having trouble with any of that it looks like David Harbour has let sorta slip (my god I fucking ADORE THIS MAN LET ME TELL YOU). I dont know how reliable this is mind you because its not coming from a BIG source, but HERE he hints at knowing who the American is, after telling everyone else (see the interview above ^^) that he doesnt know and he cant say anything.

‘During an interview with David Harbour, I attempted to delicately get around the fate of Jim Hopper. Harbour, however, came right out and gave it to me straight. “This is the question I’m going to have to dance around–” I began, only for Harbour to interrupt me and ask, “The ending?” “Right,” I said. “Is there a way you can talk about the future of Hopper without…” I trailed off here, only for Harbour to ask: “Well, did you see the post-credits scene?”I had, of course. And so I straight-up asked: is that Hopper behind the door? According to Harbour, that’s the most likely scenario. Throughout the season, the main Russian baddie refers to Hopper as “the American”, and having another Russian refer to the mysterious prisoner in the same way was the big giveaway.Of course, knowing that Hopper is alive, and knowing how he survived and ended up in Russia, are two different things. We’ll have to wait for season 4 to get that answer. And we’ll have to wait to see how things unfold from there. Will a big chunk of season 4 involve Hopper escaping that Russian base, and trying to get back to America? Time will tell. One thing is clear: Hopper still has a long journey ahead of him; not just physically, but emotionally.’

SO, basically Jim Hopper has not left us, Joyce or Eleven. And if the Duffer Brothers have done all this to screw with us, well. Im not gonna be responsible for what I do.

I FEEL JIM HOPPER IN THIS RUSSIAN PRISON TONIGHT!!!

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK!!!!!!!!

#Stranger Things #Jim Hopper #David Harbour #Jopper #strangerthingsspoilers

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hellzyeahwebwieldingreviews · 5 years ago

Text

Untold Tales of Spider-Man 09: Deadly Force – by Richard Lee Byers

Pretty flawless honestly.

Spider-Man is still deep in mourning after the death of Gwen Stacy three weeks before. In the time since, a killed dubbed “the Rooftop Ripper” has murdered blonde women by carrying them to the tops of buildings and torturing them before tearing them apart with superhuman strength. With the Ripper’s victims reminding him of Gwen, Spidey is determined to bring the killer down. Spotting a figure climbing a building, Spidey pursues. When he gets to the roof, he finds the Ripper, a large man in a ski mask, waiting for him. Not intimidated at all, the Ripper tells Spidey he’s been anxious to have some “fun” with him. He goads Spidey by telling him he’s killed once tonight, then describes a bit of the gruesome details, finishing by promising to kill again if Spidey doesn’t stop him. Spidey leaps to the attack and the Ripper pummels him into unconsciousness.Spidey awakens hours later to find himself “cradled in someone’s arms.” He soon realizes the arms belong to another Ripper victim. He tears himself free. “Now he could see every ragged gash and mutilation.

It looked as if the Ripper had carried away pieces of her as souvenirs.” Spidey remembers that the Ripper promised to kill again that evening if he wasn’t stopped. Anguished, Spidey departs. “But no matter how fast he swung through the city, he couldn’t leave the sight and feel of her behind, any more than he could forget the sight and feel of Gwen’s inert body dangling in his arms.”Later, an emotionally damaged Peter wanders the Empire State University campus. He doesn’t know how he’s going to stop the stronger, psychopathic Ripper.

Then he realizes that he fought the Ripper “the way he fought everyone, taking care not to do any permanent damage.” He decides he must go all out, use “every iota of his strength from the first second.” But can he use deadly force when it “violated everything he believed in?” Still, he considers, “If he’d eliminated Dr. Octopus in one of their early encounters, the deranged scientist would never have gone on to cause the death of Gwen’s dad. If he’d killed the Green Goblin, Gwen herself would still be alive.” He decides that the Ripper is “viler than any of them” and mulls over the fact that, “Cops used deadly force when lives were at stake. Why shouldn’t a super-hero?” But he still can’t decide whether he can justify it enough to do it.Later, Spidey talks to the police at the scene of another Ripper murder and finds out they have no clues.

As Peter, he goes to the Daily Bugle. There he sees Jonah Jameson’s latest headline: “Is Spider-Man the Ripper?” If hits him like a blow but he can’t get angry because “he couldn’t shake the ghastly feeling that even though the accusation was completely false, on another level it was entirely valid. Spider-Man was to blame for at least the most recent murders…because he’d failed to stop the Ripper when given the opportunity.” This decides him. When next encountering the Ripper, he plans to use deadly force. That night, “desperate for a rematch,” Spidey hears a woman scream and comes upon a ski-masked figure grappling with her. Using full power, he shatters the man’s shoulder and kicks him in the face before realizing his opponent is not the Ripper but a teen-aged purse snatcher. Soon after, Spidey watches as an ambulance takes the teen away and realizes he was lucky he didn’t kill him.

This incident reminds him that the only thing that keeps him from becoming the menace JJJ thinks he is, is his personal code of honor. He knows that he cannot try to kill the Ripper even if that puts him back where he started. Thinking about it, he realizes that he was tired and hungry in his last Ripper battle, as well as enraged and emotionally vulnerable. He vows to be better prepared next time.Not long after, Spidey witnesses the Ripper abduct another blonde woman and he follows him to the rooftop. Centering himself, Spidey uses his webbing, speed, and reflexes to separate the Ripper from his intended victim, unmask him (“…revealing a boyish face with apple cheeks and a snub nose, the face of a baseball player in a Norman Rockwell painting”), frustrate him, and enrage him.

Then he goes on the offensive, pummeling the Ripper so severely that the killer tries to escape by throwing his victim off the roof. Reminded of his failure with Gwen, Spidey leaps down and rescues the woman, before catching up with the Ripper and knocking him out cold.In the aftermath, as the police take the Ripper away, Spidey wishes he could have caught the Ripper sooner, wishes he could have saved all his victims, wishes he could have saved Gwen. “But at least he tried. And he knew now that he would always strive to preserve life and never take it, even when facing an enemy as twisted and evil as the Ripper…Spider-Man was a hero, now and forever, and the knowledge eased his sorrow at least a bit.”

This is definitely one of the strongest stories in the anthology and a contender for the best one, or at least my favourite.

There are several reasons for that:

Unlike the other stories this one fits pretty relatively seamlessly into canon to the point where you could adapt it and not have to No. prize too much. The main continuity violation is the fact that Spidey by this time period had taken life before technically (the Finisher in ASM Annual #5) and had attempted to violently murder someone before (the Goblin in ASM #122). However, you could argue that the former was self-defence and the latter was a matter of revenge, which is not the same thing as flirting with becoming the Punisher out of principle

The story is incredibly believable in context as part of the Peter’s grieving process

The action set pieces are very clearly conveyed considering this is prose and we can’t actually see what is happening

The story expands upon a gap in time that not only has plenty of breathing room but is about a subject that’s frankly a lot more compelling than Doctor Bromwell or how Aunt May felt about Peter moving out or friggin Ant-Man. By making this story hinge upon Peter’s internal struggle and deal with a very specific MAJOR event in his life the audience is just naturally more emotionally invested.

The story strikes a balance between exploring the aftermath of a very specific life event for Peter but also a much broader conceit of the super hero genre

The story also keeps a tight focus with the story totally driven by what is going on with the Ripper and only using supporting players that serve that central narrative. Obviously we all love the supporting cast and the subplots they bring to the table, but for short stories like this I think a tight focus is ultimately a better option.

The weakest components of this story is the Ripper himself. We never learn how he got his powers, why he has a fetish for gruesomely killing blonde women and he’s sort of just…functional. He’s sort of like Doomsday in the ‘Death of Superman’ story. Everything about him revolves around a very specific purpose for one story.

I didn’t dislike him personally though, but taking a step back I can see why he is kind of a weak point in the story and why violently murdering blondes is probably on the nose for a Spidey story. For me personally though I wasn’t bothered.

I guess when you have a topic as serious as ‘should super heroes kill’ you do naturally invite violence into the story and having blonde women murdered from great heights makes Spidey’s consideration of excessive force totally believable.

But the story does a good job refuting this often discussed ideology that I despise from certain Spider-Man fans. It makes the astute point that if Spidey can beat the Rhino and other guys out of his weight class there is really very little reason for him to kill.

However, the perennial con of all these stories rears it’s head again. The narrator is just miscast for this anthology and that was never more true than with this tale. This story demands Spidey sound threatening and serious. The vocal performance just makes him sound WAY too soft.

Nevertheless, overall a solid story I’d recommend checking out.

#Untold Tales Of Spider-Man #Spider-Man #Peter Parker #Gwen Stacy

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pinesprings · 4 years ago

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Aetea: Chapter 2

(Just give me a reason, why is it so hard to find one)

Chapter One

Summary: The can of worms is open but it's not the only thing that is. Hearts get poured out somewhere amidst the action and the aftermath

Notes: It's finally here! Took longer than I expected. This is twice as long as the 1st chapter due to.. personal reasons. Im treating you fluff today uwu. I certainly do hope it's better than my anxiety is telling me it is. Anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: child abuse, blood and violence, head injury, injuries, panic attacks I guess. In one word, angst.

Reading Time: 28 mins (3.5k words)

Or read here on ao3

***

It wasn't supposed to go this way. No, no. It was supposed to be fine.

This did not qualify as fine.

But like lives are not supposed to sail in the storm and the storm is not supposed to help death outrun their years by sinking them beneath the waves and foam, things don't always go as planned.

JJ's body wasn't supposed to look so broken and Kiara's hands weren't supposed to have blood on them. No, her fingers shouldn't have been dyed in this dark crimson of sin.

The remainder of tears stored in her decided to leave her eyes and dance with the blood in her hands, dance with the sin, try to wash it away.

She let out the weakest mumble of despair as realization had hit her. She might have killed someone. She might have-

Her eyes moved frantically between the two bodies slumped over each other, as full of life as all those inanimate objects littering the ground. They were both too still. She gasped at the sight, panic overwhelming her and her senses dimmed by the thought that plagued her brain.

That she had no damn idea what to do.

Kiara kneeled down and gathered all her strength to move the weight of the monster off of her friend. She gritted her teeth in a feckless attempt to free the blonde boy from being crushed by the man.

Even unconscious, he was still causing him pain.

She cursed under her breath before pushing again with all her might and managing first to shove the man to the side, then to get ahold of the boy, pulling him on top of the mess of tangled limbs.

"JJ! JJ can you hear me?" she practically yelled at his bruised face, her voice cracking under the pressure. Not getting an answer, she swallowed the throbbing pain wanting to escape her throat and tried to put some kind of order in her pounding head.

Heartbeat. She had to check his heartbeat.

She wiped her palms on her thighs to rid them of the sweat. A pointless action, since the fluid kept escaping through her pores, itching her skin as it fell down in thick droplets.

Taking a deep breath, Kiara placed her fingers on his neck and by the time thirty seconds had passed and she could calculate the rythm of his pulse, she was ready to faint.

It was fast, but steady.

A breath that she wasn't able to let out before evaded her lips, along with a relieved chuckle. His heart sounded just like any heart should. Still, his breathing was ragged. She figured it was because of the state of his ribs and nose. His entire body was covered in scrapes and the various bruises had already started dyeing purple patches of skin.

She was dreadfully sure she had heard something break, perhaps right before she had…

Right before she had potentially murdered someone in cold blood.

Oh god.

Sweat started showering her again, an insufferable heat urging her to try -and fail- to catch her breath. Drowning in vague but persistent ramblings racing through her brain, Kie felt like she could throw up any minute.

Should she call 911?

Should she check if the monster is still alive?

She should call.

But first check.

But what if..

…what if he's dead?

For a solid minute the single thing she felt capable of doing was pacing back and forth while frantically pulling at her hair, as if she was plucking the weed from the field of her mind, so that she could plant a sensible contemplation.

Resisting the ever growing urge to vomit she crouched next to the unconscious body of the man, reluctantly raising her hand above his nose. In a swift flare of his nostrils warm air blew against her palm.

A sniffle escaped her as she withdrew her hand from the repulsive face.

She sat down, her head facing her bent knees. Another one. A tear followed.

Slowly tears were falling like currents destined to ford countries and forests of her cheeks to end up in the sea of her lap. She let each and every muscle in her body relax and fall down, mirroring that one wall that falls and lets the enemy breach.

Surrendered to the sensation of emerging from the moonlit waves and breathing in the midnight breeze.

Rich, chestnut waves a crown on her head as it arose to face the ceiling, or perhaps what laid beyond, and while the tears were still fresh carving their path down her skin, she started laughing.

Laughing so loud it almost sounded hysterical. Nothing made sense anymore so why should that matter?

"I'm not a bloody murderer" she announced in between laughs, the knot in her stomach starting to dissolve just an inch. Taking a deep, shuddering breath she whipped her phone out from the back pocket of her shorts and dialed those three numbers every soul knows by heart.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I--"

Kiara suddenly froze. She turned to look at JJ's broken form with guilt in her eyes. That was it. Questions would be asked and the answers required would simply birth more problems. The wolves had chased them and they had run, but now they had come all the way to the start of the cliff.

They would have to learn how climb down the rocks. To survive.

"Miss?"

Her attention shifted back to the ongoing call as she took a deep breath before spitting out those next sentences that would save her JJ, but could perhaps doom him.

"Two people are injured. Badly" she declared with an unnaturally casual tone. She flinched at how cruel and unfeeling she sounded after having been drained of the pearly tears. Numb, she ventured. Yeah, that should be the word.

After having shared their location and been told that a bus would probably arrive there in less than fifteen minutes, Kiara sat down on the edge of the couch with her gaze fixed on JJ's closed shut eyes. She pictured those wonderful blue eyes, captivating depths of the ocean, waves inviting, that could devour you in a heartbeat, bringing you down beneath the horizon, the warm rays bathing your salty skin in the sunlight like a faraway promise of safety. Like home.

She always felt secure with JJ. When she could smell his scent of carefree summer and admire his loose strands of hair flowing with the gentle wind like golden sand reshaping the desert hills, she felt untouchable. Clear dominance over her self, only she could dictate her destiny, in spite of any concept of fate. Ironically enough, it was not her will that demanded she quenched her thirst in the radiant oasis that were his eyes, amidst the fervor of his blazing smile.

I'm getting carried away, she reminded herself and dismissed the thoughts with a shake of her head.

She decided it would be best if she didn't attempt to wake him up. It would serve no purpose other than she'd have an easier time waiting, the knot in her stomach would have begun to untangle.

Her fingers absentmindedly toyed with her bracelets while her concerned glare lingered on JJ's limp form. Instinctively, her grip tightened on the bright colored beads when her eyes met with the purple patches of skin. They looked like a spiraling vortex, bizarre black holes embroidered on his soft epidermis.

Kiara was exhausted of witnessing the manifestation of his father's corruption on his body. She yearned to feel him in the safety of her lap, her breath caressing his ear with soft whispers of comfort. And when his wounds would heal she wished they never reappeared, no secret pain staining his teasing smirk after he had found yet another way to mess with her.

The ambulances arrived shortly indeed. Father and son were loaded inside the vehicles while paramedics tended to the most urgent wounds. Kiara played along the lines of being too shaken up to provide any answer to questions, which wasn't that far from reality. She reached her parents' car, loyally waiting parked a few feet away from the house and turned on the engine.

Following closely behind the vehicles as they rode to the hospital she utilized the few minutes to try and conjure a scenario that would explain what happened as painlessly as possible, but the thoughts kept slipping through her mind. Her grip was tight on the stirring wheel, the knuckles on her clammy hands assuming an almost deathly tint.

He's going to be alright, that was all she kept repeating in her brain like a poem.

Maybe if she said it enough she would believe it.

***

"Hey.. hey, you're awake"

JJ's eyelids drowsily fluttered open only to wince at the immense brightness his pupils were greeted with. He begrudgingly welcomed the cold, emotionless white light while his eyes adjusted to the silhouette looming over him only a breath's distance away.

Kie, he figured, if the soft voice and lovely smile were anything to go by.

JJ sighed in relief at the familiar presence lending her warmth to his waking body, estranged by his surroundings. Or perhaps that's what he would have done, had the air not caught on his chest and diminished into a spark of flame that burnt more and more as it licked his bones and climbed up his ribcage. The pain elicited a faint wheezing sound from his lips, the later which parted with a difficulty that could only indicate they had been sealed together only for a significant amount of time. He didn't release the breath before the inferno flaring inside his chest dissolved into a dull fit of throbs.

"What's wrong? JJ! Are you alright?" she whispered-shouted somewhat frantically, the undercurrent of panic mildly enhancing her as usual gentle voice.

JJ simply nodded, his teeth still grinding to help deal with the pain born from what he assumed was a broken rib.

A quick -although dizzy- glance around the room was enough to confirm that he was in fact in a hospital room, and soon the pale mechanical beeping of a machine perched behind Kiara shifted into his focus, enhancing the whole 'hospital aesthetic'.

" 'ey Kie…" JJ barely rasped out. His throat felt as dry as a sun-cooked raisin- a weird metaphor but it was the one that dared materialize into a thought. Nevertheless, his words were accompanied by a sleepy smile.

"miss m?"

A genuinely joyous grin was plastered on her features as soon as his breath tinged his vocal cords to produce the melody of speech. The exhale of air that left her body was long, perhaps releasing two breaths caught at once.

The skin around his nose was itching him but his limbs felt way too heavy to lift, so he let them stay warmly tucked beside his torso. The pleasant heat and smell of the freshly washed sheets spread across his body made it even harder to wish to move.

Kiara's face lit up with realization as her brain processed the way his voice was hoarse and rough, deducing that JJ's throat was most likely in need of hydration after that many hours of being asleep.

"Do you want anything? Water?" she offered, already pouring some of the transparent liquid in a spare cup from the stack on the bedside table. The sound was almost soothing but JJ willed himself awake. Making a huge effort to regain motion in his arm to press the button that tilted the bed so that he was no longer lying down, his fingers found his nose to scratch away the itch, only to be met with the rough feel of a cast.

Kiara practically shoved the cup into his hands.

"Here. Drink" she ordered and he complied, gulping down the liquid greedily. The pain awakened in almost every part of his body but he ignored it, instead reveling in the pleasant velvety coolness of the water.

"How are you feeling?" Kie asked him as she plucked the halfway empty cup from his fingers and placed it next to the telephone on the bed stand. Looking at her a bit better he could make out dark circles underneath her eyes. She looked overall tired and pale.

"Just peachy" he yawned. "What happened?"

"After…?"

"You know" he sighed bitterly

"He- You.. almost woke up a couple of times. Like, your eyes stirred a couple times, you probably don't remember. The doctors said you were lucky because you had no brain damage, but you still-"

JJ shook his head.

"I meant, how come he stopped using me as a piñata"

Kiara stopped and stared at him for a second -perhaps hurt by the choice of words- before her shoulders drooped and she leaned into the chair.

"I… I smashed a vase over his head"

"You did what?" JJ asked while a sly grin grew on his face. He chuckled incredulously, which he immediately regretted when the searing white pain rumbled in his chest.

"He's still alive" she said with pursed lips, almost as if she considered the outcome unfortunate.

He searched her eyes for as long as it took him to sober up again and for the severity of the situation to sink in again.

"Here?" he mumbled, dark shadows making his eyes misty.

Kiara simply nodded solemnly. Her brows remained firmly in a deep frown as they fell in a brief moment of uncomfortable hush. The thoughts neither of them was brave enough to voice were sure to invade every cell of his mind as he gazed groggily up at the IV leading nutrients and all that medical mumbo jumbo he didn't know to the catheter penetrating his forearm.

Just as he was about to ask for more details two swift knocks prompted both their heads to turn to the door. The ivory painted wood was shunted aside to reveal a woman dressed in the pearl white robe of a doctor over scrubs.

"Good morning mister Maybank."

JJ flinched at the name.

"I'm dr. Garcia, you're my patient for today" she said primly, uncrossing her arms from the chart balanced against her chest. "I see you've woken up! Don't worry, I'm just going to check a few things and change your casts"

"Whatever you need do, doc" he said with shallow fervor.

By the time traces of sweet cologne were all left in the room from dr. Garcia, any tension in the atmosphere between them had dissipated. JJ's thoughts were less blurry, his mind perhaps had awaken, but with it arose freshly painful memories and the loose ends they brought.

The previous evening kept repeating and playing in his brain much alike scratched vinyl, stuck to the same part of a song, condemned never to leave the nicked words behind. As his senses felt the terror all over only without the rage to numb the pain, his ears remembered a sound he wouldn't think he could forget, even for that short amount of time.

A million faces changed on his skin as he pondered and gathered the courage to bring the issue up, afraid phrasing would take the dream away and crush it like a flimsy piece of foil. The accelerated beeping of the machine mirroring the crazy thumping of his heart against his ribcage only betrayed him further.

"Hey, Princess?" he said cautiously, but to his ears it sounded like a desperate whimper. He gulped and plastered his best nonchalant expression on his features before resuming. "Do you remember when I decked him in the face, what you told me. Did you mean it?"

Even JJ himself could realise how pathetic of an attempt at his voice not shaking that was. The lump in his throat made it immensely more difficult to speak, combined with the throbbing pain in his chest that visited at every passage of air through him.

"What I said- Oh. "

She fixed her gaze on the ground, smiling sheepishly. Before she hid her face out of JJ's eyesight he managed to catch a glimpse of her furiously blushing cheeks. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Did you mean it?"

Kiara looked at him, fidgeting restlessly. She hugged her torso, brushing her blouse soothingly with her fingers. Whether she picked up at the way the machine beeped almost as persistently as a heart attack, she didn't show it.

One brief intake of breath that could have lasted for a decade. To say JJ had been hanging from her lips would be an understatement.

One inhale, and then the answer.

"Yes"

The blonde gawked at her, stunned.

"I meant it"

JJ shook his head, leering back a little.

"But what about Pope? I thought.."

The girl waved her hand dismissively.

"There's nothing between me and Pope. If anything we're more of siblings. I had this discussion with him too, I just" she paused, "I hadn't found an opportunity to tell you -well, until now"

She peered at him expectantly but JJ was malfunctioning.

She bit her lower lip.

"You know, after the entire gold fiasco.. John B's disa-.."

Her voice broke at the mention of their friend. The heel of her palm shot up to wipe at the welled up corner of her eye. "I needed.. something- someone to hold on to. Like an anchor"

"But I guess deep down even before then, I knew. I wanted you to be my anchor." she paused, smiling bitterly.

"I've known for a while. I like you, and a lot"

JJ was glitching like his cousin Kyle's relic of a laptop, perfectly mimicking a deer caught in front of headlights. His mouth opened and closed right back as he fumbled for words. He could practically sense a blush creeping in and painting all over his cheeks and underneath the cast.

Kiara giggled timidly, burying her face in her palms.

"You know what just forget it"

"-But I've made so many moves!" JJ finally blurted out, tone almost accusatory.

"What?"

Kiara sat back straight and stared at him, only traces of shame remaining in her eyes, for it gave way to bafflement.

"You always rejected me, so I accepted that nothing between us would ever happen" he frowned.

"JJ." she grinned as she caught on with his claims, "Joking about my ass doesn't count as a move"

"I-" he tried, looking mock-offended "It's a lovely ass!"

Kiara laughed and JJ loved it, cherished the sound melodious and calming like the gurgling of refreshing spring water.

His own burbling laughter blended with hers in perfect sync, in spite of his ribs protesting in ache.

"Seriously, I did. Numerous times" he mumbled somberly.

"Yeah, yeah, you sure did" she teased, raising her eyebrows smugly. "…so?"

"So.. you like me a lot, huh?" JJ teased loftily, gifting her a lopsided grin. His chest burned like a wildfire, and this time it wasn't due to the hurt.

The taunt earned him a scoff.

"Yeah?" Kie raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"Well I like you a lot too" he said simply. His smirk melted into a sincere smile filled with love and uncertainty.

He felt bare, naked.

Aflutter, the boy apprehensively regarded the girl, what now his heart was exposed and offered as a promise he was afraid would be refused to be made.

The girl looked at him almost fondly as he struggled not to cower in the comfort of the sheets. The heat almost felt unbearable all of a sudden and the skin beneath the gauze and casts felt damp and itchy.

"You sure I'm not dead?" he gulped, "Cause this feels a lot like-"

Whatever muffled words followed were drowned out as Kiara cautiously leaned in and planted her salty lips on his, tucking her loose strands of hair behind one ear. JJ simply stared with his not swollen eye open wide at the soft lips encompassing his skin in their warmth, before he gave in to the kiss.

-Heaven

It was tender, fragile, an intimate moment as they shared their love, in whatever form they knew love to be. Gently, carefully, like being afraid that the full strength of their passion would shatter the other with as much ease as a fire would crumple the edges of love poem-filled paper.

She took the offering.

Suddenly the two were one and a whole, like the notes of a harpism finding their place in the melody, only to be sung and forever treasured in the minty aftertaste of raindrops on twilit grass. Their flesh demanded to be melt in the heat of one another, and then the beads to be intertwined as they bloomed into smoldering flames.

Kiara pulled back but the memory of her taste was imprinted on JJ's lips, leaving him breathless.

"I love you"

They could be eachother's reason.

"Love you too, idiot"

For as long as it made sense.

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